King Panga

King Panga

          ‘Grandpa,’ said Nawiti, ‘tell me a story about a king.’

          ‘What sort of king do you want? A good one or a bad one?’

          ‘A bad one!’ cackled Nawiti, rubbing her hands in glee.

          ‘I’m glad you’ve asked for a bad one,’ I chuckled, ‘because good kings are hard to find. I think I’ve got just the sort of king you’re looking for. His name was King Panga, and he lived long ago in the Kingdom of Zedia.’

          ‘Why was he a bad king?’

          ‘Who can tell why he was bad. Maybe when he was small, his mother didn’t punish him when he did wrong things.’

          ‘No, I meant why did people say he was bad.’

          ‘Because,’ I explained, ‘King Panga was far too bossy, and wouldn’t listen to anybody. He would tell the police whom to lock up, instead of letting them decide for themselves. And he would lock up his enemies even if they hadn’t done anything wrong.’

          ‘Look, Grandpa,’ said Nawiti, ‘that’s how kings were in those days. It’s no good being a king if you can’t boss everybody around. The job just attracts that type of person.’

          ‘You’ve got a point there,’ I conceded. ‘But King Panga also used to waste the people’s money. He wasted a lot of money building a tall tower, reaching right up into the sky, so that he could walk up to Heaven to consult God.’

          ‘So he went to Heaven?’

          ‘No. The tower got only halfway, then it fell down.’

          ‘Well,’ said Nawiti, ‘that’s the sort of thing you expect from a king. What else did he do?’

          ‘He built himself a huge golden coach pulled by twenty-four elephants…’

          ‘You mean horses.’

          ‘No. In those days there weren’t any horses in Zedia.’

          ‘Look, Grandpa, you have to understand how things were in those days. That’s the sort of thing kings do. You can’t have a king without a golden coach. The other kings would laugh at him.’

          ‘But he was wasting money. There were no nurses or medicines in the hospitals, no books in the schools and no seeds for planting. Meanwhile the king was wasting money on building roads everywhere so that he could drive his coach everywhere.’

          ‘So what did they do?’

          ‘Led by a bishop, they all went to the palace to see the king. And the bishop spoke for all of them, saying You can’t just rule anyhow like this, you must have a constitution.

‘And he king replied A constitution, what’s that?

          ‘Then the bishop told him, saying A constitution is a set of rules which we will give you, setting out the limits of your powers, requiring you to listen to others, and making sure you look after us and not just yourself.

          ‘And the king replied, saying Show me a copy of these rules!

          ‘But the bishop replied, saying We shall show you a copy of these rules in two years time, after we have agreed amongst ourselves.

          ‘And the king sneered, saying Huh, I could do the job myself in ten minutes.’

          ‘And did they come back in two years time?’

          ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘The bishop and his priests went all round the country, holding meetings everywhere with everybody, and finally they drew up a constitution of ten basic rules which, even if followed by a foolish king, could make him appear quite sensible.’

          ‘So they went back to the palace to give the constitution to the king?’

          ‘They did indeed. But they found the king’s soldiers at the gate, armed with machetes. And the sergeant in charge said The king says that it does not need a thousand people to deliver ten rules. He commands that only ten people can enter the palace, each carrying one rule. These ten people will constitute the constitution which shall be given to the king!’

          ‘And did the people agree?’ asked Nawiti.

          ‘They had no choice,’ I explained, ‘because the machetes were very sharp.’

          ‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti, ‘what happened in the palace? Was the constitution presented to the king?’

          ‘Nobody knows what happened inside that palace,’ I said grimly. ‘The people waited all night outside the gates. Early next morning there was a sound of marching, the gates opened, and out came a company of soldiers carrying on their shoulders ten coffins, which were laid on the ground before the weeping crowd.’

          ‘Then the sergeant in charge addressed the crowd, saying The king has declared that he finds these ten rules unnecessary. He also declares that it is not the job of the people to give the king a constitution, it is the duty of the king to give his people a constitution.

          ‘With this announcement, the sergeant threw down his machete, its blade sticking into the lid of one of the coffins, the cold steel quivering in the morning air. There! shouted the sergeant, There is your new constitution.’

          ‘That wasn’t a constitution, it was just a machete!’ said Nawiti, as tears streamed down her face.

          ‘It was a rule of governance,’ I explained. ‘Down the side of the machete blade was inscribed Nobody can question the King. This made it clear that the country was not to be ruled by a constitution, but by the machete.  And that is why, from that day to this, a machete is always known as a panga in the land of Zedia.’

          ‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti, ‘he really was a bad king.’

          ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Let that be a lesson to you. If you ask for a bad king, that’s what you get.’

A Born Liar

A Born Liar

          ‘Nawiti,’ I said, ‘go and wash your hands.’

          ‘I’ve already washed them!’ she retorted.

          ‘No you haven’t,’ I said.

          ‘Look at them!’ I said, as I took hold of her hands and showed her the dirty palms. ‘How can you say you have washed them?’

          ‘Because I washed them yesterday,’ she retorted.

‘You go and wash them, then I’ll tell you a story.’

          ‘What about?’ she asked.

          ‘About a little boy who always told lies.’

          ‘Now where’s my story?’ she said, as she danced back from the bathroom, waving her little clean hands in the air. ‘And what was the name of the boy?’

          ‘His name was Wonama,’ I replied. ‘And nobody took him seriously because he could never tell the truth. Every time he opened his mouth he lied. He lied even when there was no known reason for doing so. For instance, he would tell the other boys that he was friendly with a lion in the forest, or …

          ‘Perhaps he really was friendly with a lion in the forest,’ suggested Nawiti.

          ‘And the next day he would say that his best friend was an elephant,’ I laughed

          ‘Did he have any friends?’ Nawiti wondered.

          ‘None,’ I said. ‘Not even an elephant. Nobody could trust him, nobody could believe him. Nobody could get to know him, because every day his story changed. Even him, he didn’t know himself, because he couldn’t face the truth about himself. It was like a terrible disease. He had an awful allergy to the truth.’

          ‘Did the disease go away as he got older?’

          ‘That was the problem,’ I said ‘Grownups can forgive a lie from a naughty little child, provided it doesn’t happen too often. But when an adult lies all the time it becomes a very big problem.’

          ‘What sort of problem?’

          ‘Well, for instance if a driver stopped and asked him which was the road to Kabwe, Wonama would immediately point in the direction of Kafue! He caused much confusion and wasted petrol.’

          ‘Perhaps he really thought he was pointing in the direction of Kabwe,’ suggested Nawiti.

          ‘No, that was the strange thing about Wonama. Speaking the truth made him feel ill, so he had to lie. Then he felt better.’

          ‘Did he do well at school?’ asked Nawiti.

          ‘Of course not,’ I laughed. ‘Even if he knew the answer to a question he would automatically say something else, so he failed all his exams.’

          ‘So now he was in a fix,’ said Nawiti. ‘If everybody was upset with his lies, wouldn’t it just have been easier to tell the truth?’

          ‘He knew that. But the truth would just stick in his throat. It couldn’t come out. But a lie was so tasty and satisfying and he enjoyed his lies so much. It was more like a medical condition. He was just a born liar.’

          ‘So I suppose he couldn’t get a job?’

          ‘Of course not. He would claim to be a carpenter when he wasn’t, so he’d be fired the next day. Plumber, welder, teacher, builder, singer, writer, no job lasted longer than a day.’

          ‘He was nothing,’ said Nawiti sadly. ‘He must have been very unhappy with himself.’

          ‘He was,’ I said. ‘Until one day he suddenly and unexpectedly discovered an advantage in lying. He told an ugly old woman that she looked young and beautiful, and she put her arm round him and gave him a kiss!’

          ‘She liked his lie!’

          ‘She even seemed to like him! The secret of being liked was simply to tell people the lies which they wanted to hear! Even if it was an outrageous lie, they would believe it!’

          ‘So he decided to become a politician!’ exclaimed Nawiti.

          ‘Exactly,’ I laughed. ‘Within a couple of years he had moved from being the most despised person in the land to being the most loved. He would go round saying The people gathered here are the most beautiful on Earth! and everybody would laugh and cheer and dance.

          ‘But perhaps they were the most beautiful on Earth,’ suggested Nawiti.

          ‘You’ve forgotten that Wonama was a liar,’ I said.

          ‘Oops,’ laughed Nawiti, ‘I almost believed him.’

          ‘Now in those days the people didn’t like the ruling Prince, so he would say things like The Prince is a thief, he sends thieves to steal money from your pockets while you are sleeping and the people would dance and cheer, singing The Prince is a thief! Off with his head!’

          ‘He had discovered the value of the nasty lie,’ said Nawiti.

          ‘And more than that,’ I said, ‘he soon discovered the value of promises. He would say Make me the Prince and I will put the money back in your pocket! and all the people would dance and sing Wonama for Prince! We shall all be rich!’

          ‘And did the people make Wonama their new Prince?’

          ‘Indeed they did,’ I said. ‘They carried him shoulder high to the palace, all singing Wonama in the palace, money in our pockets!’

          ‘And did he put the money in their pockets?’

          ‘No,’ I replied. ‘He didn’t.’

          ‘But why not,’ she complained irritably. ‘They all believed in him. And he was now the Prince. He had all the power to do it. Why didn’t he just keep his promise?’

          ‘He couldn’t,’ I explained, ‘because if he had done that, then the promise would have become the truth.  And Wonama couldn’t speak the truth. He was a born liar.’

          ‘Oops,’ said Nawiti, ‘I’d forgotten that bit!'


  

          

Chimbwi No Plan

Chimbwi No Plan

     ‘Grandpa,’ said Nawiti, ‘tell me a story and then I’ll go to sleep.’

     ‘All the animals of Mfuwe,’ I began, ‘were gathered around in a big circle. It was the day of the Big Trial, where the Great Elephant sat as judge, and Chief Ha Ha stood accused of referring to the Great Leader as Chimbwi No Plan.’

     ‘Huh,’ said Nawiti, ‘that doesn’t sound like a terrible insult to me!’

     ‘You have to understand the politics of the animals in the game park,’ I explained.

     ‘When my friends the Tellytubbies go into the forest,’ said Nawiti, ‘they find all the animals are very sweet and friendly, and they kiss them all. Even the lions wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

     ‘It’s very different in Mfuwe,’ I explained patiently, ‘where all the animals are political animals, and very dangerous. Even a fly can lay eggs in your skin and make you go rotten all over.’

     ‘Even so,’ wondered Nawiti, ‘what was so terrible about calling him Chimbwi No Plan?’

     ‘Because Chimbwi had come to Mfuwe as the Saviour of the Nation. Before that, all the animals had been oppressed by the Movement of Mad Dinosaurs, who had brought in the Ching Chang pandas to steal all the bamboo and export it to Chang Ching. They had destroyed the forest, employed the monkeys as slaves, and reduced the animals to starvation.’

     ‘But then came the Great Leader?’

     ‘One evening, as the animals were gathered on the banks of the Great Luangwa, they saw a Great Pabwato coming from afar. As the boat came closer they saw a large hyena, who stepped out of the boat and walked on the water …’

     ‘Am I supposed to believe this story?’ asked Nawiti.

     ‘All this happened in the days of Christianity,’ I explained, ‘when people easily believed in miracles. ‘As the hyena walked majestically amongst them he declared I am King Chimbwi, sent by God to save you. I am Leader of a new party called the Plan Forward, and I have a great plan to move forward. We shall chase the Dinosaurs back to Jurassic Park. We shall chase the Ching Chang back to Chang Ching, and we shall be happy and rich forever and ever.’

     ‘Now I’m beginning to see,’ said Nawiti, ‘that calling him Chimbwi No Plan could be rather dangerous.’

     ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Especially when talking to hyenas. So perhaps we can now return to the court?’

     ‘I’m already there,’ said Nawiti.

     ‘The Great Elephant,’ I continued, ‘now addressed the prisoner, saying Chief HaHa of the Up and Down Party…’

     ‘The Up and Down Party?’ laughed Nawiti.

     ‘Yes,’ I said irritably. ‘HaHa was leader of the monkeys. They were very good at running up and down trees, but they couldn’t make much progress on the ground. So, as I was saying, the Great Elephant said You are charged that, on a date unknown, at a place unknown, in the presence of witnesses unknown, you were heard to say Chimbwe No Plan. How do you plead?’

     ‘Not guilty My Lord. And who is the complainant in this case? Has King Chimbwi complained that he has lost his plan?’

     ‘Er, no,’ admitted the judge. ‘Perhaps we had better ask him!’

     ‘Has Chimbwi complained that anybody stole his plan?’ persisted HaHa.

     ‘Er, um, no, I don’t think so,’ said the judge, looking bewildered.

     ‘Do we have any evidence that Chimbwi ever had a plan?’ wondered HaHa.

     ‘Um, ah, I was assuming that he must have had one,’ replied the judge.

     But as the Great Elephant spoke, a pack of hyenas began to gather around his legs, growling and baring their teeth.

     ‘Oh dear,’ said Nawiti, ‘were they threatening the judge?’

     ‘The hyenas had eaten the previous judge,’ I explained. ‘Being a judge in the jungle is a very dangerous occupation.’

     ‘Well,’ said the judge, now beginning to shake, ‘perhaps you are guilty of defamation!’

     ‘Defamation, My Lord?’ wondered HaHa. ‘I can see that it might be defamatory to call somebody a murderer or a prostitute, or even an adulterer, because such accusations might ruin the reputation of a person previously seen as respectable. But is it damaging to somebody’s reputation to say that they haven’t got a plan? Surely, My Lord, most of us do not have a plan. To say that somebody does not have a plan is about as defamatory as saying that they do not have an umbrella!’

     But now the hyenas were beginning to snap at the judge. One had hold of his tail, and two more were jumping up, trying to reach his testicles.

    ‘Ah, ah, eeeh,’ squealed the elephant, ‘Just one more question, Chief HaHa. Do you yourself have any plan on how to govern Mfuwe?’

     But the hyenas didn’t like this question either, as one alpha male managed a high leap and tore a piece off the elephants ear, as all the other hyenas laughed and cheered.

     ‘Certainly I have a plan!’ boasted HaHa. ‘You see, Chimbwi made promises but he has no plan on how to fulfill these promises. What he needs to do now is to clear away the bamboo, plant maize and sweet potatoes, employ all the monkeys in cultivation, use labour intensive methods, export our crop to…

     ‘Ha Ha Chief HaHa!’ squealed the judge triumphantly. ‘Now you have revealed your guilt! How do you know all these things? Clearly you are the one who stole the plan from our Great Leader! I sentence you to ten years for theft!’

     ‘Hurray!’ squealed all the hyenas. ‘O wise judge! O clever judge! A Solomon come to judgement!’

     ‘Grandpa!’ said Nawiti sleepily, ‘who’s taking me to school tomorrow? Mummy’s gone to Kitwe.’

     ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘somebody will take you.’

     ‘Just promises,’ she said, ‘but no plan.’