Buffaloes and Rabbits

Buffaloes and Rabbits

‘Once upon a time,’ I began, ‘a long time ago, the Land of Mfuwe was ruled by an old dinosaur called King Nyamasoya.’

‘An old dinosaur as king,’ laughed Nawiti, ‘what a silly idea!’

‘Not in those days,’ I explained. ‘Those were the days when huge fat animals ruled all the smaller ones.’

‘Why?’ asked Nawiti.

‘This was in the days of the jungle, when might was right, and power went to the high and mighty, and smaller mortals had to do as they were told.’

‘Why?’ Nawiti persisted.

‘In those days, when a naughty little monkey asked her Mummy Why?, her Mummy would reply saying This is the way it has always been, or We have to support the government of the day, or We’re not supposed to ask questions like that!

‘My Mummy says it’s good to ask questions.’

‘But in the Kingdom of Mfuwe,’ I said, ‘asking questions was seen as a threat to the power of Nyamasoya, and he could send his hyena to eat you.’

‘But were these large animals in power because they were large,’ Nawiti wondered, ‘or were they large because they were in power?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ I admitted.

‘You’re a Grandpa!’ Nawiti scoffed. ‘You’re supposed to know these things!’

‘It’s not that simple,’ I tried to explain. ‘The large animals always claimed that they were in power because they were larger and stronger, with bigger brains.’

‘But did the small animals believe that?’

‘Their large powerful leaders had always told them so. Their mummies and daddies had always told them so. Their teachers and priests always told them so. It seemed like the natural order of things. The lords of the jungle were born to lord it over the smaller animals. Big animal superior, small animal inferior. This was the only commandment in the Jungle of Mfuwe.’

‘This story,’ said Nawiti, ‘is crying out for a hero.’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘And so it happened that along came a cobra called Cycle Mata.’

‘Who upset everything?’ suggested Nawiti.

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Oh good,’ she laughed, rubbing her little hands with glee.

‘He told the small animals that the dinosaur and the elephants and the hippos were all excessively large and fat because all the monkeys and rabbits and duikers have to pick the masuku fruit and take it to their leaders, who grew too fat because they were overfed.’

‘And all the animals were too small because they were starving?’

‘That too.’

‘So Cycle Mata was really saying that the rich were stealing from the poor!’

‘Exactly. So Nyamasoya was furious, saying that stealing only happened when the poor took from the rich, but when the rich took from the poor it was called taxation.’

‘Then Cycle Mata said that taking all the masuku fruit was corruption. This caused Nyamasoya to get into a rage, saying the leaders were entitled to eat all the masuku, because they were larger and needed the extra energy to power their huge brains, and that there was no such thing as corruption in Mfuwe.’

‘What is corruption?’ asked Nawiti.

‘Corruption,’ I explained, ‘is when everything goes rotten.’

‘And was everything going rotten?’

‘The elephants and hippos had so much extra masuku that they were letting it go rotten, and making it into kachasu. While their subjects were starving, the leaders were over-fed, over-weight and completely drunk.’

‘Drunk with power?’ suggested Nawiti.

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘That was what Cycle Mata said. But at first the obedient little animals didn’t believe him, for they had been brought up to respect their leaders, who always did their drinking in private.’

‘But then they saw one drunk?’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘One day, when Cycle Mata was holding a meeting, there was a great crashing and trumpeting, and out of the forest stumbled a great she-elephant, the dreaded Dolla Tujilijili. She staggered right into the meeting, insulted everybody, urinated all over the elders, and then fell down flat in a drunken stupor.’

‘That was when they really lost respect for their leaders?’

‘Exactly. That was when Cycle Mata led all his followers into the Land of Zed, and established democracy.’

‘What is democracy?’

‘It means that rich animals assist poor animals, and not the other way round. The large assist the small, the strong assist the weak, and so on. All animals are declared equal.’

‘So did all the small animals follow Cycle Mata to the Land of Zed?’

‘Only the rabbits ran away to join Nyamasoya, after they were offered larger rations of masuku.’

‘And did they get their extra rations?’

‘No. It was the hyenas who got the extra rations when they ate the rabbits.’

‘And did any big animals join Cycle Mata?’

‘Only the buffaloes,’ I said, ‘because they were promised leadership positions.’

‘And were they given?’ asked Nawiti.

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘They were all given the job of pulling ploughs to till the land.’

‘Was that fair?’ she asked.

‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘In a democracy, leaders are servants of the people.’

The Memorial Service

The Memorial Service

It was Friday August 25^th 2012, and Sara and I were attending the Memorial Service for Nyamasoyaurus, the last of the Mad Mighty Dinosaurs, who had dropped dead the day after the election, exactly one year earlier.

‘We are gathered here today,’ intoned the priest, ‘to honour the memory and life of Nyamasoyaurus, the Great Dinosaur who managed to get rid of the dreaded MMD that had been ravaging this country for the previous twenty years.’

I looked round the church, which was packed, with people even standing in the aisles. The front three rows were filled with Nyamasoyaurus’s many widows and former mistresses, all dressed in somber black, except of course for the Swazi girls, who sat there completely naked, according to their tradition.

‘As I look around this Cathedral of the Very Cross today,’ the priest continued, ‘I see a great multitude of people. Any yet, when I officiated at Nyamasoyaurus’s funeral only a year ago, this great cathedral stood empty, except for the six men from the undertakers who were employed to carry the coffin.

‘I remember looking around the empty church and asking the empty pews whether such a man, so despised and abandoned, could ever reach the Kingdom of Heaven. Seeking the answer to this question, I read from the Gospel according to John, Chapter 14 Verses 1-2, where Jesus advises Simon Peter on the difficulty of getting into heaven…

‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you so. I go to prepare a place for you.

‘Of course, we all thought at that time that Nyamasoyaurus was a sinner who would go to hell. But we now know that the Lord found a mansion for Nyamasoyaurus. Because the Lord knew, as we did not know, that Nyamasoyaurus sinned not for himself, but he sinned for us, that we might enter the Kingdom of Heaven here on Earth.’

The huge congregation murmured in approval.

‘The Lord in his wisdom realized that Nyamasoyaurus’s chosen life work was to enable us to rid ourselves of the dreaded MMD. But he also knew the weakness of the people of the Land of Zed, who had been brought up to respect authority and to believe that their leaders were working for the people.

‘And the people were easily deceived, because the Dubious Kafupi and Monstrous Muwelewele always talked very fair about good governance, and did their sinning in secret.

‘And so Nyamasoyaurus conceived a great plan to save the people from their tormentors. Upon the untimely death of the Monstrous Muwelewele, Nyamasoyaurus stepped forward and declared that he was the only one to continue the legacy of the Great Departed, because he was the most ancient of the dinosaurs, and therefore the only one to lead the Mighty Mad Dinosaurs, the dreaded MMD.

‘And the new Great Leader Nyamasoyaurus continued to speak continually of good governance. But he dropped the policy of sinning in secret. Instead he openly instructed the judges to find the guilty innocent and the innocent guilty. He set up the palace as the contract centre for all public works, and took ten percent. He boasted that he was taxing the people to raise money to subsidise rich business men. He increased unemployment and reduced wages until people were destitute, while all the time boasting that their predicament would attract investors.

‘But very few people complained, and most continued as usual, saying the government must know what it is doing. So now he went further, borrowing vast amounts of money for huge hospitals which were left empty because there were no doctors or nurses, and building huge schools where there were no teachers, because he adamantly refused to pay them.

‘But his plans to destroy the reputation of the MMD did not work. People just said He means well, he’s just a bit stupid. Only a few people protested. So next he sent the police to shoot these few protesters. Now there was more discontent, but the results were still very disappointing.

‘Then, at last, the Church took an interest, and castigated the MMD for leaving the poor to starve to death. Now Nyamasoyaurus saw his big chance. He cursed the entire Church for plotting against the state, denouncing cardinals and bishops as Satanists, witches, homosexuals and perverts. He waged unrelenting war on Mother Church, swearing to kill her.

‘Now the people were really annoyed, for the Church had always protected them from parasitic leaders. They finally realized that the MMD was nothing more than a gang of criminals who had captured the state. So they threw them out at the next election, and elected St Michael as their next Great Leader.

‘Nyamasoyaurus died immediately afterwards. His great work was now complete. He died alone and unappreciated, for the people hadn’t realized that he died for them.

‘And now, to conclue this Memorial Service, we shall sing Hymn No.338, sung to the tune of The Church’s One Foundation.’

The congregation rose to their feet, and lifted the roof with this rousing hymn…

The Church’s one destruction

Was Nyamasoya Lord;

She must support election

By fire and by sword;

From hell he came and sought her

For his unholy bride,

With her own blood he killed her,

And for his life she died.

Mid strife of the election,

And tumult more like war,

She arose by resurrection

And faith for evermore;

With election victory glorious

St Michael proved the best,

And now the Church victorious

Is free like all the rest!

The Divorce Court

The Divorce Court

The judge leant towards the beautiful woman sitting in front of him. ‘Zambiana,’ he said in a kindly voice, ‘please explain to the court why you are seeking a divorce from this man.’

Tears welled into her eyes as she tried to explain. ‘Your honour, this man has ruined me. When my first husband died, his last wish was that I should marry the farm manager. He said that Nyamasoya was the right man to look after me and the family farm. So I respected my husband’s dying wish, even though my relatives warned me that he was not to be trusted. But they were right. He has stolen everything and left me destitute.’

The judge now turned to Nyamasoya. ‘Is this true?’

‘Your honour, it is the exact opposite of the truth. The late Muwelewele would be proud of the way I have developed the farm. I have gone into production of jhathropa for export, installed an irrigation system, invested in planting and harvesting machinery, and the annual turnover is now ten million dollars a year. When I took over it was just a subsistence operation, they were just scratching around with chickens, vegetables and a few pigs.’

The puzzled judge now turned to Zambiana. ‘There seem to be two very different sides to this story. Is the farm prosperous or ruined?’

‘Both, your honour,’ said Zambian sadly. ‘All this development was done with borrowed money. He has borrowed more than the value of the farm, which is now run by the Ching Chang people from whom he borrowed the money. All the money from sales goes straight to the Ching Chang for repayment of the loan. In the meantime all my relatives and workers on the farm are starving and dying. We are destitute.’

The baffled judge now turned back to Nyamasoya. ‘Is this true?’

Nyamasoya now treated the judge to a broad and genial smile. ‘Of course it is true, your honour. It is entirely normal to borrow money against the value of the land in order to invest in development...’

‘Yes yes,’ interrupted the judge irritably, ‘but is it true that all Zambiana’s workers and relatives are now destitute?’

‘I am in the awkward position having to contradict my dear wife,’ smiled Nyamasoya, ‘but she has little understanding of business. That’s why the late asked me to take charge. As a matter of fact, when I first took over, everybody on the farm was unemployed. But I have now given them all jobs.’

The judge now turned to Zambiana with a weary smile. ‘It seems that all your workers and relatives are fully employed. From what your husband has told us, we imagine that people on neighbouring farms must be jealous of your prosperity!’

Now Zambiana stood up shaking with rage, pointing at Nyamasoya. ‘This man has stolen our farm. They were once all self-employed farmers, growing their own food in a mixed farming operation and selling the surplus to the late. Now Nyamasoya has rented the land to the Ching Chang and all the farmers have now become wage labourers on what was once their own farm. They are paid only five pins a day, and they cannot eat jhathropa. We are all destitute.’

‘I notice,’ said the judge, ‘that your husband is dressed in a very smart suit, and arrived at this court in a new Mercedes. This appearance doesn’t seem to tally with your story of poverty and destititution.’

‘Him!’ shouted Zambiana, ‘the Ching Chang allow him to keep 10% of everything, so that they can externalize all of the remainder to Hung Hong. Nyamasoya is busy buying a farm in the Bahamas while the rest of us are starving.’

‘I also notice,’ said the judge, smiling at the beautiful Zambiana, ‘that you are wearing a very nice new blue chitenge, which I must say suits you very well.’

‘It’s the first time in years that my husband has bought me anything,’ sobbed Zambiana. ‘But he saw the danger of my appearing here in my usual worn out rags.’

‘I wonder if there is not more to this dispute than meets the eye,’ said the judge. ‘How are the marital relations between the two of you?’

‘There you’ve put your finger on it!’ shouted Nyamasoya. ‘She never wanted me, she was just following instructions from the late departed. But now she has fallen for some smoothy from the big city, a dubious character called Cycle Mata!’

‘Is there any truth in this story?’ asked the judge, as he turned towards Zambiana.

She blushed and cast her eyes down. ‘Yes, your honour. He doesn’t shout at me or insult me. He listens to me. He loves me. He doesn’t steal from me. He’s the one I want.’

‘I have come to a decision,’ declared the judge. ‘You, Nyamasoya, should not attempt to cling on where you’re not wanted. I grant Zambiana a divorce, and further order that the farm must be returned to her as the rightful owner. I further declare that Nyamasoya should be investigated for attempting to steal the farm when he was only given the job of looking after it.’

As Nyamasoya strode angrily from the court, the judge turned to smile at Zambiana. ‘Well, there you are my dear. What are you going to do now?’

‘I’m going to marry Cycle Mata,’ she replied. ‘He’s going to manage my farm properly!’

The judge put his head in his hands. Then he looked up, and there were tears in his eyes. ‘My dear Zambiana,’ he said softly, ‘I hope you’re making the right decision.’

THE MARCH PAST

The March Past

On Sunday, like all good journalists, I was there at the Freedom Statue to see the marching of our loyal workers past their Great Leader, the carrying of banners and the great speeches. What a glorious and impressive occasion of state, enough to stir the patriotic heart of all loyal citizens! Bugger the Royal Wedding, we have Labour Day!

I was standing on the pavement opposite the Great Leader’s dais, where the Beloved Father of the Nation stood to take the salute from each marching cohort. First down the road, behind a big red banner proclaiming Chambeshi Exploitation, marched a brigade of identical ill-fitting brown suits. As they drew level with the Great Leader their commander shouted Eyes Right! Salute! and the Great Leader picked up his microphone and shouted Starvation Wages for All! Whereupon they all responded in hearty unison Thank you Sah!

Now came the next cohort, behind a bright yellow banner announcingSlavery PLC. The sequence was very similar.

Eyes Right! Salute! shouted the commander, as the brown suits all saluted.

Strikes are illegal! declared the Great Leader.

Thank you Sah! sang the workers joyfully.

Then came another cohort of ill-fitting suits behind a bright blue banner reading Work, Sweat and Blood and Company Ltd,

Eyes Right! Salute!

I give you batons and bullets!

Thank you Sah!

I turned to Ample Mapulanga from The Digga Deepa, who happened to be standing right behind me. ‘Why do the workers keep saying Thank you Sah! when they are promised death and destruction?’

‘What workers?’ asked Ample, looking around with the keen eye of an investigative reporter.

‘The workers marching past our Beloved Leader!’ I hissed angrily.

‘They’re not workers,’ he laughed. ‘Workers were banned from Labour Day years ago, after one cheeky worker shouted at the Great Leader and asked for a wage increase.’

‘So who are all these people in horrible brown suits?’

‘They’re all Chinese managers from the new extractive industries,’ explained Ample.

‘Extracting copper?’ I suggested.

‘Extracting flesh and blood,’ sneered Ample, ‘and possibly a few kidneys.’

Finally all the identical cohorts of identical brown suits had given their identical salutes, and now stood at attention to hear further gems of wisdom from the Great Leader, our Beloved Father of the Nation.

‘We are gathered here today,’ began the Great Leader, ‘at the Freedom Statue, which represents the figure of Capital breaking free from the chains of regulation and workers rights, in order to be free to accumulate wealth.’

‘Ching Chang!’ cheered the Chinese managers

‘Only by keeping down wages can we encourage more investors to come to this country. And only by brutally putting down protests and strikes can we keep down the wages down.’

‘Hing Hong!’ cheered the identical brown suits.

‘How does the Great Leader expect the workers to vote for him when he says such things?’ I whispered to Ample

‘That’s why he imported two million Chinese,’ said Ample. ‘They’ve all been given the vote.’

‘I am taking this opportunity,’ continued the Great Leader, ‘to announce that Desertification Unlimited of Shanghai are investing 500 million dollars in a new project to clear all the trees from Northern Province. This will create 10,000 new jobs, provide a dollar a day for the workers and a further dollar a tree for the treasury.’

‘Ho Ho Bling Bling!’ cheered the brown suits, now jumping up and down with excitement, as the surrounding crowd stood there in sullen disbelief.

‘It seems everything he says and does,’ I said, turning again to Ample, ‘is intended to please the Chinese rather than us!’

‘What d’you expect?’ laughed Ample. ‘He’s a Chinese puppet!’

‘But how did he become a Chinese puppet?’

‘Same way as other Chinese puppets,’ laughed Ample. ‘He was made in China!’

‘You mean they’re pulling the strings?’

‘Exactly,’ said Ample. ‘You see the canvas canopy on top of the dais? That contains the Chinese puppet master. He’s pulling the strings. If you look carefully, you can even see the strings. But the puppet is a brilliant imitation, every roll of fat and obscene gesture is replicated perfectly. See that Chinese lorry behind the statue? That’s where they keep all the gear!’

‘A mobile Great Leader! He must have imported it from China!’

‘He imported nine of them,’ laughed Ample. ‘One for each province. That’s why you see him on the TV every night, laying foundation stones in ten different places. The election campaign will have ten Great Leaders, but only one Cycle Mata!’

‘So if this Great Leader is just a Chinese puppet, where is the real one?’

‘You know our Great Leader is very fond of traditional ceremonies. I’m told he’s gone to Solwezi for the Dance of the Naked Virgins. This is the time of year when they initiate their young girls into womanhood. You know he takes his duties as Father of the Nation very seriously.’

‘Couldn’t one of the puppets do the job?’

‘Oh no,’ laughed Ample. ‘That one needs the real thing.’

The Dogs' Dinner

The Dogs’ Dinner

‘Grandpa,’ said Nawiti, ‘Tell me a story, then I’ll go to bed!’

‘Once upon a time, a long time ago,’ I began, ‘the Republic of Mfuwe was ruled by His Excellency the Monstrous King Rhinoceros.’

‘Was he a Good King?’ asked Nawiti.

‘They all start well, and then get worse and worse,’ I said. ‘What started off as a rather jovial little ngulube from Chipata, soon turned into a Monstrous Rhinoceros.’

‘His head got bigger and bigger?’ suggested Nawiti.

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘Everybody became very alarmed at his enormously big head. Except himself, who thought it was a miracle.’

‘But did he look after the kingdom properly?’ asked Nawiti.

‘That was the problem,’ I said. ‘As the Rhinoceros got fatter and fatter, so his subjects got thinner and thinner. The king and all his court of flatterers, con artists, praise singers and parasites were eating up all the food, leaving nothing for the other animals.’

‘So what did the animals decide to do about it?’

‘They had to find out what tricks the Rhinoceros was up to. The problem was that he had set up his palace deep in the dark forest, where most animals were scared to go because of the owls, snakes, ghosts, evil spirits, and worst of all, the king’s hyenas. So they decided to send a group of watchdogs to find out what was going on.’

‘To watch what the king was up to?’

‘Exactly. To follow the king’s every move and report back to the animals.’

‘How did they report back?’

‘They scratched the news onto a flat stone. Then an elephant pressed the stone onto a banana leaf, to make many copies. Even to this day, newspapers are called the press, and the pages are called leaves.’

‘And did it work?’ asked Nawiti.

‘Oh yes. Every day the eagles airlifted the news from the forest to the animals in the valley, where it soon became known as the Daily News.’

‘And was the news good?’

‘Not to begin with. The Watchdogs soon sniffed out what the king was up to. They found that the king was chopping down the trees of the forest, which was being floated down the river and exported to Ching Chang. All the food from the forest was used to feed the Ching Chang workers, and that was why the animals in the valley were getting nothing.’

‘So the animals were very annoyed?’

‘Very annoyed,’ I admitted. ‘In fact they were just about to march en masse into the forest to depose the king, when the news began to get better. One day the watchdogs wrote Now we have been here longer, we have come to understand better what your beloved king is doing for his animals. We are now interviewing the king to clear up earlier misunderstandings.’

‘And did the animals believe all this?’ asked Nawiti.

‘Some were doubtful, saying things like Is the king still getting fatter? But over the coming months the news got better and better, and they were more persuaded.

‘And what was this better and better news?’ Nawiti asked suspiciously.

‘The Daily News was now reporting that ‘soon the benefits will be trickling down to all the animals. The king is just beginning the ten-year Forest Development Project. Soon the useless Mukwa Forest will be replaced with a Mango Forest, and in only five years we shall begin to reap the benefits. Then all the animals will stop getting thinner, and start getting fatter. Then the king will build schools for all animals, so that they can also learn how to grow into rhinoceroses, or at least hippopotamuses. Then we shall be independent at last.’

‘Then the animals were very pleased, and would have celebrated their independence with a great feast, except that they had no food to eat. But there was one clever young lioness, Mumbi Munkusa, who didn’t believe a word she was reading in the newspapers. So she traveled day and night until she reached the forest. Then she crept through the forest at the dead of night, until she came to the king’s palace. And what did she see?’

‘She saw the watchdogs feasting with the king!’ declared Nawiti.

‘Exactly!’ I said. ‘Believe only what you see! There she found the most disgusting dogs’ dinner you ever did see. There they were, lying about on the ground, bloated with food and tujilijili. The palace servants were roasting more eland and kudu on a huge spit, while some of the dogs were licking the king’s boots. Others were licking his arse, since he was now far too fat to attend to his own toilet arrangements.

‘Traitors!’ roared Mumbi. ‘You have been corrupted! You’re nothing more than puppy dogs and lap dogs! We employed you as watchdogs!’

‘Then the lap dogs rushed at Mumbi and tried to eat her, shouting Don’t call us dogs! We’re press secretaries, public relations managers and image builders!’

‘And did they eat the brave Mumbi?’ asked Nawiti.

‘Of course not!’ I laughed. ‘They’d been eating too much sweet honey from the forest, so they had no teeth!’

‘My teacher,’ said Nawiti sadly, ‘says that we’re all animals.’

‘That’s true,’ I agreed. ‘But some are more animal than others.’