Pabwato Chaos

Pabwato Chaos

            I was busy exploring the mysteries of a brandy bottle when whistling through the door came my grandson Khondwa, wearing narrow jeans and a wide smirk. ‘Hullo,’ I said, ‘have you come to see your Grandpa?’

          ‘Not really,’ he said, ‘I’ve come to get some lunch.’ And so, without any further ado, he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Five minutes later he came back with an assortment of cornflakes, biscuits, cake and strawberry jam, and some dark and evil looking drink.

          ‘I thought you were supposed to be away in boarding school,’ I said. ‘Didn’t your father send you to Pabwato Secondary?’

          ‘School’s finished,’ he said. ‘I’m on holiday.’

          ‘Funny name for a school, Pabwato,’ I said.

          ‘That’s your problem, Grandpa,’ he said, as he wiped some strawberry jam from his nose, ‘you think everything’s funny.’

          ‘But the school is in Mpika,’ I persisted. ‘Funny place for a boat.’

          He took a long swig of the filthy black liquid. ‘It’s the symbol of the school. Symbol of what we stand for.’

          ‘Oh, I get it,’ I said. ‘All paddle together. Take orders from the captain. All team mates, cooperating for collective progress, moving in the right direction, getting ahead. Getting ready for the long race ahead of you. Marvellous thing, education.’

          ‘It was a long time since you were at school, Grandpa,’ Khondwa laughed. ‘It’s not like that anymore.’

          ‘No computers in my day,’ I admitted. ‘But we still got our qualifications. School and university. Then get a good job. All work for the common good. Improve the world. All paddle together. I’m sure you’ll do well, Khondwa my boy!’

          ‘It’s not like that anymore,’ Khondwa repeated. ‘A university degree is a sure route to unemployment. At Pabwato we prepare for the real world!’

          ‘Oh very good!’ I said. ‘Vocational training. Not everybody can get to university. Bit of agriculture and carpentry! Honest sweat! Very good for you! Make a man of you!’

          ‘Poor old Grandpa,’ sighed Khondwa. ‘You’re really living in the past. How old are you now?’

          I took a swig of the brandy. ‘OK,’ I said, ‘What do you do at this damned Pabwato?’

          ‘We’re trained for power struggle,’ replied Khondwa. ‘The school is founded on the educational method of Perpetual Fiasco. The school is divided into two camps, and we fight for possession of the Pabwato.’

          ‘There really is a boat?’

          ‘Oh yes. A huge wooden canoe with a hundred paddles. The whole curriculum is concerned with who can get control of the Pabwato! That’s what life is about, Grandpa! Power! It’s us or them! Control or be controlled!’

          ‘Don’t you study maths, science, history, that sort of thing?’ I wondered.

          ‘Nobody knows anything about things like that in Pabwato. The only subject is Politics – the pursuit of Power.’

          ‘And how is power obtained?’

          ‘Not by economics or maths,’ laughed Khondwa. ‘Power is obtained and maintained by force!’

          ‘But where is the Headmaster in all this?’

          ‘He’s the Captain of the Pabwato. He always acts as the Referee and gives rewards to the crew that has captured the boat!’

          ‘But you’re on dry land. What are the paddles for?’

          ‘For hitting people round the side of the head. The crew wields the Paddle Force, and the attacking pirates use the Punching Fist, and the entire battle is called the Pabwato Fiasco. This is what it’s like in the PF! It’s PF versus PF!’

          ‘Has the school always been run this way?’

          ‘Oh yes, ever since it was founded by the Headmaster, Mr Chimbwi Noplan.’

          ‘Are there any teachers?’

          ‘He doesn’t need any, he knows it all.’

          ‘Is there a Board of Governors?’

          ‘All appointed by the Headmaster.’

          ‘So which students make up the crew and which play the pirates?

          ‘It depends on which side wins.’

          ‘But who decides who joins which side?’

          ‘One side is led by the officers of the school cadets, and this is known as the Great Big Military. The other side is led by the school prefects, and they are known as the Ministry of Justice.’

          ‘And what do they mean by Military?’

          ‘They mean Might is Right!’

          ‘And what do they mean by Justice?’

          ‘They mean Revenge!’

          ‘And does the system work?’

          ‘It all worked very well until a couple of months ago.’

          ‘What happened then?’

          ‘Our dear Headmaster, Captain Chimbwi Noplan, suddenly disappeared. After that, the Pabwato Fiasco game had no Referee.’

          ‘Where did he go?’

          ‘Nobody knows. Some people say the Barotse Royal Establishment were after him for stealing their Nalikwanda. Others say he just got bored with the endless chaos of Pabwato Fiasco, and went away on a world tour.’

          ‘So what happened then?’

          ‘The Great Big Military weren’t content with just capturing the Pabwato, they wanted the entire school, and to take over control from the missing Chimbwi. So then the Ministry of Justice took revenge and burnt Pabwato to ashes.’

          ‘You mean the boat?’

          ‘The entire school!’

          ‘I was wondering,’ I said, ‘why you’re school term had ended so soon . What are you going to do now?’

          ‘I was thinking of joining the Youth Wing of the Movement for Murdering Democracy,’ he said.

          ‘Yes,’ I said, as I patted him on the shoulder. ‘Now you’ve had a good grounding in politics, I’m sure you’re well qualified to play your part in destroying the entire country.’

Gone to the Dogs

Gone to the Dogs

I was sitting on the veranda when round the corner staggered Aunty Cathy, flopping into a canvas chair in a cloud of dust. ‘Another funeral?’ I asked.

‘It’ll be my funeral next,’ she gasped.

‘Don’t say that,’ I laughed. ‘I shall need you to arrange mine. I’ll go and make a pot of tea, and you can tell me all about it.’

‘So what’s been happening?’ I asked, as I came back with a pot of tea and a glass of brandy for myself. ‘You look as if you’ve just escaped from the ruins of Benghazi.’

‘The ruins of Chilenje,’ she corrected me. ‘The place is now more like a war zone.’

‘What’s happening?’ I asked. ‘I thought you said everything would be alright with the takeover by the new Godfather, what’s his name?’

‘Round Belly,’ sighed Cathy. ‘Yes, we thought we’d be alright with him. Such a jolly fellow, always laughing and cracking jokes and inviting people for free beer, we really thought he’d look after us.’

‘Ha!’ I laughed. ‘A Godfather is always a Godfather. They just run protection rackets and collect the proceeds! You got what you asked for!’

‘It’s alright for you, living in Kalakiland. But in the Land of Zed we have to live in the world of reality, not the world of wishful thinking. Things were really bad when Round Belly offered us his protection.’

‘How bad?’

‘Every morning after waking up, the first thing you’d do would be to go to the sitting room and check if the TV was still there, then to the kitchen to see if the pots and pans were still there.’

‘Don’t your yards have walls and gates?’

‘One morning I woke up to find the gates had been stolen.’

‘So what was Round Belly’s solution to the problem?’

‘He said he’d employ patrol dogs to frighten the thieves away. Each household would pay him ten pins a month and all would be well.’

‘But it didn’t work?’

‘Before long, with all those ten pins, he’d built himself a double story house and bought a Merc.’

‘But did you get protection?’

‘We were terrorized by his dogs! They would come into the house and eat all the food. Soon the people were starving.’

‘But you still had your TV!’

‘Yes, but that was a mixed blessing. Every night on TV we had to watch stories of how Godfather Round Belly had saved the people of Chilenje, and how happy we were with the Godfather of the Nation.’

‘So why didn’t you protest?’

‘Some people tried to hold a meeting at Libala Football Field, but the dogs attacked them. Some lost legs, others had their bellies ripped open, and several died. The survivors were arrested for assault.’

‘Assault?’

‘They tried to hit back at the dogs.’

‘And did Round Belly know about all this?’

‘That was the thing. Nobody believed that such a nice jovial fellow as Round Belly could be behind it. Even me, I thought the problem was just that he had employed wrong people. For instance, a known criminal called William Bandit had been put in charge of the dogs.’

‘Perhaps Round Belly was also surrounded by wrong advisors?’

‘Exactly. That was just what people were saying. They didn’t tell him what was really going on, but what he wanted to hear. And he had a notorious crooked lawyer, called Red Lips, who used to whisper poison into his ear.’

‘Why didn’t you go and see him? Talk to him? Advise him?’

‘We did. We went to his big mansion, and he was absolutely charming. A real nice fellow. He showed us some of his dogs. Poodles and Labradors, which were playing with this children. He said his dogs were harmless, and these vicious dogs which were terrorizing us must have come from Chibolya. He had always been an activist for peace, and couldn’t stand violence in any form. He promised us that he would deal with the people that were trying to tarnish his name. Then gave us a nice braii of T-bone steak and beer, after which we all shook hands and left in high spirits.’

‘You were convinced?’

‘Oh yes. He seemed a very nice man.’

‘And did things get better?’

‘Things got worse. The next thing was that he gave away land to foreigners to set up factories. One factory for making coffins and headstones and another for making tea cups out of human skulls, which are very popular in Ching Chang.’

‘So more employment! That was good!’

‘That was worse. The workers were paid only four hundred pins a month. Their wives and daughters had to go on the street to support them.’

‘Then why didn’t the workers protest?’

‘They did. Most of them were killed by the dogs. The survivors were arrested for protesting without a permit.’

‘So did you still believe that Round Belly was really a very nice man?’

‘Yesterday morning I confided to my neighbour that I was beginning to think that Round Belly actually knew about all these things. That perhaps he was the one behind everything.’

‘And did she agree?’

‘She didn’t say anything. But last night a bulldozer came and flattened my house. That’s why I’ve come to take refuge in Kalakiland.’

‘What!’ I gasped. ‘You must report all this to the Human Rights Commission!’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she sneered, ‘They went to the dogs years ago!’