The ‘enzi za Mwalimu’ factor
In human conflict when one part is loosing men more than they can recruit into the ranks, they usually increase the conscription age. Men as old and in their fifties are pressed into armed service. It is called dad’s army. There is an emergency on and you need every hand to help.

It seems the ruling CCM is crisis and they have recruited a dad’s army to help out. Five veteran CCM leaders, headed by former CCM chairman for Dodoma, Mzee Pancras Ndejembi on Sunday strongly reprimanded CCM dogodogos to stop even thinking of challenging the Prez, Jack Mrisho for the re-election of the presidency come 2010.

According to this dad’s army everything is squeaky clean within the CCM. The wazee also told the young guys (dogodogo) to stop pointing fingers and recoil from the stink within the CCM. In short the dogodogo should wear smiles while facing the stench. In the days of dad’s army ‘enzi za Mwalimu’ everything was okay. Dad’s army also roundly condemned rebuke fellow party members for attacking scandal-plagued politicians.

Quite. But dad’s army should know that in the days of Mwalimu, party members did not steal public monies like there is no tomorrow as it is now. And, worse, there seems to be no punishment, but a tarting up of the whole farce! You just cannot spray perfume on rot. The stench of rot will always seep through.

In our cultures younger Africans usually don’t speak back to the older members of society, however much they have goofed. But now it seems the younger members have decided not to take such blamed sitting down. One of the dogodogos in the CCM, Fred Pendanzoe has decided to break the law of ‘omerta’ – the mafia’s law of silence.

The Kishapu legislator has what most people want to hear. He has called for the purging of the ruling party and cadres implicated in various recent corruption scandals, as part of a wider crackdown on high-level graft in the country.

I doubt if the dad’s army will find those words very romantic and sexy. The veteran leaders have waved warning fingers on ruling party MPs who have developed tendency to publicly speak out against prominent CCM public leaders facing serious sleaze allegations.

“My fellow countrymen, I urge you to unite in this fight against corruption. We have nothing to lose, except our poverty,” said Mpendazoe.
“Just a few Tanzanians are enjoying the wealth of this nation,” he added and in the process divulging a state secret!

He emphasized that CCM leaders plagued by sleaze allegations should be kicked out of the ruling party’s ranks, for the good of the party itself.

Mpendazoe further warned that the government could face a public backlash of unanticipated proportions if political heavyweights behind the infamous Kagoda Agriculture Limited company are allowed to go scot-free for their prominent role in the Bank of Tanzania external payment arrears (EPA) looting scandal.

for sale: bongo

Selling their own mothers

The country is awash with horror stories about astonishing human greed. But it seems that what we've seen is a just a tip of an ice-berg. It seems to befall Tanzanians who suddenly found themselves in positions of unbridled power. They have caught this disease of doing anything they want anytime. 

The contagion is now spreading even to the wananchi. Villagers in Ndumbai Village in Mkinga District in Tanga have just been caught trying to sell off an island off the Indian Ocean, to that modern thief, euphemistically called 'an investor' without authority of the ministry concerned with lands. 

You can see it clearly that those greedy village drunks were approached by this 'investor' who wanted to construct a modern tourist hotel on the island, which borders Kenya . The poor ignorant fellows wanted to sell chunks of their own country, thinking that it will improve their lives. Beerwise, that is. 

You can see it clearly that this modern day Karl Peters was just a front for some hotel chain. That German thug Karl Peters was a front for the German government to come and buy some parts of the then Tanganyika and offer 'protection' in the 1880. 

The thugs went to the chiefs in Morogoro and Dar es Salaam, made them sign some documents (using their thumbs as signature, of course). Before you could say 'kaput' they had signed the country away and it was called Deustche Ostafrika. Tanganyika became German East Africa, The Wazungu formalised their parceling away of Africa in the Berlin Conference in 1885. 

In short, they stole our lands. The story has been major exploitation eversince.When Africans started to die and grumbled to die in an essentially European tribal wars (World War 1 and 11) the wazungus changed style. They gave us independence. Chose a fellow black man for us and own flag and national anthem. 

The shiny black ruler was worse. He decided to single-handedly own the entire country. He terrorised and killed his own people except his ethnic group who he promoted every morning. This has happened in East Africa and most parts of the continent for decades. The African ruler was as smooth as Mzee Bob Mugabe who is presently teaching his people how to vote intelligently. 

The wazungus had lied very doggo while the flag and national anthem rulers ran the show. Except in areas like our neighbours up north, Gabon , Cameroon , Comoros , you name it. The mzungu is supreme. The jails are for Waswahili and the four-wheel drive vehicles are for wazungus. Watch how a Mswahili clowns when he or she is next to a Mzungu and you get a rough idea. 

Today the Mzungu is coming back big. When the Karl Peters gang came to Tanganyika they plied those dum dum chiefs with cheap whisky and a couple of Frankfurter sausages. The chiefs went mad and signed the country away. 

So history has seen that happen. History is now repeating itself. Today's Karl Peters are guys the politicians like to flag off as 'investors'. I will be honest -- to me most of them are just a bunch of crooks. I don't know where we get this nonsensical belief that there are some guys out there in the world who love us very much. The guys also have containers full of US dollars which they want to give to Tanzania ! 

Utter nonsense, that. But that is what I hear is happening all around us. I hear the 'investors' are parceling chunks of our country. The totos of the fools who are signing away our country will have no place to go except come to the town, and everybody knows that we can't handle that pressure. 

I think the ministry of lands has something to tell Tanzanians about our lands. In Zanzibar, the entire East coast has been parcelled off by the mafia who build ocean beach resorts. 

I don't know how long they have leased the lands to -- 99 years? Forever? Of course no native is allowed in those areas. They are for tourists. Locals can never be tourists! 

Rr-r-r-ring! She wants you to add some money into her phone account. And you can be sure that she would not phone you, but ring another punk with whom you share her pleasures. Another call. The landlord wants the rent for six months. Is ‘dari’ (meaning darling) going to pay? Then, let another ring from ‘dari’. Her mother is sick, she wants to transport her from her village in Mpanda District. Will ‘dari’ help? 

R-r-r-r-ring! She now wants a Rav4. She has seen a very good one at the showroom in town and if the sucker really loves her he will buy her one. Believe it or not, the male suckers are aplenty. They buy those toys. I hear one Fisadi type has made it a point of buying his harem of chicks a red Mercedes Benz each. 

One day another call comes. Now she is tired of paying rent. She wants her own house. You have been paying her rent and now she wants you to build her a bloody house! But then, somewhere in the world there is a sucker born every minute. Men gladly do those things in the name of love. The guys must be mega dumb to do that. Ever heard of a chick buying a guy a phone? Paying rent or her dude? Buying him a car? Building him a house? That will be the day! 

bongo doktaz

dokta mrisho ngasa

Big thanks Dr Ngassa, Dr Haroub and Dr Nsajigwa!

I thought the ludicrous clamouring for fake doctorate degrees in our United Republic was confined to the Mainland only. No sir, the people of Zenj are also at it – big time. Everyone wants to adorn his or her name with a ‘Dakta’ from the universities of Kusadikika. It looks pretty. Just like having earrings on one’s ears. 

My spies in Zenj tell me that a PS in some ministry there has adorned himself with a ‘dakta’. His staff was not impressed. So he closed his office and roamed the entire islands of Zanzibar and Pemba. His message: “From now on, all Ministry of Education staff should call me ‘dakta’ or serious disciplinary measures are going to be taken!” he has ordered. 

My spooks tell me that, the staff, and especially in the education ministry, are gunning for the ‘dakta’ title like there is no tomorrow. Most of them are ex-Form 4. But they hate it. The real fun comes when you tell them to write a short speech in either Kiswahili or English. 

You got to have strong ribs when you go through that speech, otherwise you could end up dead with laughter. The ‘daktas’ we have can hardly spelltheir own names. Their only qualification 

is being staunch party members. But I am not surprised. This is because Bongo has long ignored merit. 

In my beloved motherland, mediocrity is king. People with heads so thick you can hardly drive a six-inch nail into them are the winners. They rule because they have the King’s ear. The dog of the king is the King of dogs, you know! 

One day we will wake up to be told that the United Republic of Tanzania does not belong to us. It will have been sold to a bunch of some 21st Century thieves called investors. They will subsequently fence it like in Rujewa District and then rent it to the Tanzanians for farming at a handsome rent. 

But Wednesday night I noticed the real guys who deserve the title ‘Dakta’. They were Dr(s) Mrisho Ngassa, Shadrack Nsajigwa and Nadir Haroub ‘Cannavaro’ of the Taifa Stars. I saw them with my very eyes when they clinched a well-deserved 1-Nil victory over Cote d’Ivoire. 

In that you saw hard work, skill, tenacity, stamina and grit. The diminutive Dr Ngassa’s goal was a classic, which warned my evening. The mental strength of the team under their Captain Shadrack Nsajigwa was evident that our boys (the real daktas) are growing in stature. 

Those are the real daktas that Tanzanians like to see. Not a bunch of guys with nothing above their shoulders, adorning themselves with some decorations to their names and pompously 

strutting around, blubbering a lot of words without actually saying anything. 

But come to think of it, if the empty heads want to decorate themselves to look pretty then we should let them. This is a democratic country. If men want to wear earrings and adorn themselves with henna or ‘dakta’ titles, then let them. But then, there ought to be a law on okaying fakes in the country!

Equality? What equality?

IN the anti-AIDS advert in the media, a guy called Fataki is busy trying to seduce a little girl for some hanky panky. At first it’s funny, but then later you start thinking – are men the only culprits in the love game? 

I certainly don’t think so. Having been a man all of my life, I think I know a thing or two about the game. One thing I am sure of is that women control the game all along. They check the scene out and when they are ready they pounce. 

Men all along think that they are the smart ones chasing the ka-chick. They will lie their heads off that they are what they are not. The smart women playing along and let the poor dude think that he is winning. In the end, the guy goes to his mates and brags that he has ‘gotten her’. 

The truth is that the guy has been had. He has been neutralised. Finished! Kaput! While most men are scratching their crotches and reading this column this morning, they might as well consider this, for starters. Oftentimes, I always insist that women treat men as walking wallets. 

When women sense that the guy is loaded with EPA monies they pounce on him. They wear those hypnotising eyes. The guy ends up looking like a poor dog glaring at a hungry python. Instead of running away the dog runs towards the snake and gets eaten. While the Fataki advert is about to some jibaba wanting to take advantage of ka-little chick, that is not the reality. Ask any man worth his gender and they will tell you that the deadliest seductresses are young bintis on the prowl. 

I know how dumb men can be. You offer her a drink at some place and before you can say ‘wallet’, she has already gotten his cell-phone number. Then God help you. 

wahishimiwa

The joys of an MP

Most Tanzanians will be forgiven for thinking that most of our ‘honourables’ are seeking the higher ideal when they bundle themselves in suits and sit in Dodoma ready to make laws for us. But the majority of them are not there to serve the Tanzanian masses. They are there for the moola, money, pochi. Once you find yourself an MP, you can be rest assured that your chow and drink will be secured for the next five years. 

It’s the pochi thing which is the forefront of their minds. A fake PhD helps, of course. From the looks of it, the government is giving an encouraging nod to the fakers in our Bunge. This seems to be the trend of time. Few things are real in Tanzania . Fakes run supreme. But the pursuit of money is the real motivating factor for most of the Bunge guys to achieve that office. 

But to be fair to a few of them, some Bunge guys are real patriots and feel something for their country. They are honest guys although they seem to be swimming upriver.The vast majority are the pochi guys. I remember the late patriot, former Prime Minister Edward Moringe Sokoine, used to call them the goon squad. These guys would sit in the Bunge and enjoy a lengthy snooze. They would never support nor oppose anything. 

But, come the elections, they would come out of their snooze and claim to want to ‘serve’ the masses (read, serve their pockets!). But the wananchi are hitting back. A member of House of Reps in Zanzibar has just baulked at the demands from some of his constituents. One mwananchi demanded from the MP that he was marrying off his daughter. Would the MP kindly contribute ‘something’ for the wedding ceremony? The MP obliged. 

The MP had hardly had a bath when another call came. One of his constituents said he had a Maulid ceremony on a night next week. Would the MP, you know, contribute something? The MP reluctantly donated something while muttering unpleasantries. Then there was a call next day from an old buddy of the MP. He wanted to get himself another wife. So he wanted the MP to contribute to the dowry. The MP parted with some cash for the dowry. But was not before he privately lectured to his friend that footing bills for his constituents are not part of his job. 

The last straw was a few days later, when one of the constituents went to the MP to ask for a donation. You see the hapless mwananchi had an overflowing toilet. He wanted the MP to contribute ‘something’ to help unblock the overflowing loo The furious MP called a press conference instead. He lambasted his constituents that he could understand his peoples’ demands for dispensaries, and decent schools. But his job was definitely not to help guys to pick second and third wives and help unblock overflowing toilets! I wonder if he will win the general selections, some call elections, next year. 

Big thanks Dr Ngassa, Dr Haroub and Dr Nsajigwa!

I thought the ludicrous clamouring for fake doctorate degrees in our United Republic was confined to the Mainland only. No sir, the people of Zenj are also at it – big time. Everyone wants to adorn his or her name with a ‘Dakta’ from the universities of Kusadikika. It looks pretty. Just like having earrings on one’s ears. 

My spies in Zenj tell me that a PS in some ministry there has adorned himself with a ‘dakta’. His staff was not impressed. So he closed his office and roamed the entire islands of Zanzibar and Pemba. His message: “From now on, all Ministry of Education staff should call me ‘dakta’ or serious disciplinary measures are going to be taken!” he has ordered. 

My spooks tell me that, the staff, and especially in the education ministry, are gunning for the ‘dakta’ title like there is no tomorrow. Most of them are ex-Form 4. But they hate it. The real fun comes when you tell them to write a short speech in either Kiswahili or English. 

You got to have strong ribs when you go through that speech, otherwise you could end up dead with laughter. The ‘daktas’ we have can hardly spelltheir own names. Their only qualification 

is being staunch party members. But I am not surprised. This is because Bongo has long ignored merit. 

In my beloved motherland, mediocrity is king. People with heads so thick you can hardly drive a six-inch nail into them are the winners. They rule because they have the King’s ear. The dog of the king is the King of dogs, you know! 

One day we will wake up to be told that the United Republic of Tanzania does not belong to us. It will have been sold to a bunch of some 21st Century thieves called investors. They will subsequently fence it like in Rujewa District and then rent it to the Tanzanians for farming at a handsome rent. 

But Wednesday night I noticed the real guys who deserve the title ‘Dakta’. They were Dr(s) Mrisho Ngassa, Shadrack Nsajigwa and Nadir Haroub ‘Cannavaro’ of the Taifa Stars. I saw them with my very eyes when they clinched a well-deserved 1-Nil victory over Cote d’Ivoire. 

In that you saw hard work, skill, tenacity, stamina and grit. The diminutive Dr Ngassa’s goal was a classic, which warned my evening. The mental strength of the team under their Captain Shadrack Nsajigwa was evident that our boys (the real daktas) are growing in stature. 

Those are the real daktas that Tanzanians like to see. Not a bunch of guys with nothing above their shoulders, adorning themselves with some decorations to their names and pompously 

strutting around, blubbering a lot of words without actually saying anything. 

But come to think of it, if the empty heads want to decorate themselves to look pretty then we should let them. This is a democratic country. If men want to wear earrings and adorn themselves with henna or ‘dakta’ titles, then let them. But then, there ought to be a law on okaying fakes in the country!

Equality? What equality?

IN the anti-AIDS advert in the media, a guy called Fataki is busy trying to seduce a little girl for some hanky panky. At first it’s funny, but then later you start thinking – are men the only culprits in the love game? 

I certainly don’t think so. Having been a man all of my life, I think I know a thing or two about the game. One thing I am sure of is that women control the game all along. They check the scene out and when they are ready they pounce. 

Men all along think that they are the smart ones chasing the ka-chick. They will lie their heads off that they are what they are not. The smart women playing along and let the poor dude think that he is winning. In the end, the guy goes to his mates and brags that he has ‘gotten her’. 

The truth is that the guy has been had. He has been neutralised. Finished! Kaput! While most men are scratching their crotches and reading this column this morning, they might as well consider this, for starters. Oftentimes, I always insist that women treat men as walking wallets. 

When women sense that the guy is loaded with EPA monies they pounce on him. They wear those hypnotising eyes. The guy ends up looking like a poor dog glaring at a hungry python. Instead of running away the dog runs towards the snake and gets eaten. While the Fataki advert is about to some jibaba wanting to take advantage of ka-little chick, that is not the reality. Ask any man worth his gender and they will tell you that the deadliest seductresses are young bintis on the prowl. 

I know how dumb men can be. You offer her a drink at some place and before you can say ‘wallet’, she has already gotten his cell-phone number. Then God help you. 

Namnaani Mgoshi wa ndima

Mgoshi wa Ndima

Joe Makamba - what is ‘work’?

Couldn’t get power last Wednesday So I went some watering hole. Somehow they had electricity. I plugged in my laptop and started firing this column.

As I was writing this piece Wednesday mid-day I felt like having a beer. “No,” said the bar girl: “Beer will be sold only after 4 p.m.”

I threw a tantrum. Who does not have spare time to work. Joe Makamba’s name came to the fore. I got outraged – why is Joe Makamba trying to look for work?

There is plenty of work for him. Maybe I should point it out to the mheshimiwa – there is rampant crime, armed robbery.

There are buildings collapsing and the coming scandal of greedy thugs who have erected buildings without building permits. There is rampant cholera year in year out.

When I was little, I used to see my dad go to work in the morning and come back in the afternoon. It was a nine to five job. The colonialists even gave out permits to the then ‘officers’ to have a drink! Five beers a week!

Joe Makamba is trying to do the same. Joe and his bunch of, well, I would not call them idlers, but people who need something to do. So they sit and get allowances to tell us when to drink our beer.

I drink, or don’t drink, whenever I want. No government or legino is going to tell me how to spend my money!

Maybe Joe should tell us what do they mean when they talk about ‘time for work’ then? If I hauled a lorryful of potatoes from Mbeya. The trip takes all night. I arrive safely in Dar the next morning. Go to my place and earn a badly needed sleep. Is that not work?

Then I wake up later, eat and go for a beer, only be told that it is not ‘time’ yet to drink beer. But at the same time you can drink your head off in those international hotels in town.

I have seen numerous officials getting bombed in those ‘international’ when it so-called working times. They are not harassed.

I am a nocturnal animal. I thrive past midnight. I think of this column and immediately pull my computer. I have never seen anyone from the regional commissioner’s office querying on why I work past midnight.

I get paid by this government-owned newspaper. Now why should Joe Makamba and his bunch come and tell me how to spend my money, eh?

njaguzzz

Njaguzzz busy at work

Who will police the police?

I don’t agree that all cops are a bunch of crooks, no sir. I know some brilliant policemen in Bongo. The thing is they professionally do their jobs, only to get mega- frustrated by the senior cops. “Leave that case, and that’s an order!”

It happens in almost in all strata of government and the armed forces. Leave that case alone, big would say. Kill that story, the newspaper big would order.

I hear, when minister for public security, Brazza Baker Mwapachu asked names of crooked police officers he was handed over the list twenty senior police – in short the police food chain.

Brazza Baker winced and and promptly ‘sat’ on the list. Trouble is –where do you start? With small dagaa, of course and leave the whale sharks alone.

By the way has anybody noticed the gargantuan size of our top cops from regional police commander and up? Has it got to do with ‘eating’?
Just asking. Though a friend once said curiosity killed the Tanzanian cat.

The prez has said that he has the names of those who chop in the government. But he said he will give them time to change their evil ways.

I don’t know about that. Can you teach old thieving dogs new tricks? Not easy. Besides, he might find the rot so extensive it may mean firing his own government. So he throw up his arms in despair and decides to let fat thieving sleeping dogs lie. Kula huku, we acha tu!

As his counterpart, down south (Read:Malawi) Bingu wa Mutharika discovered the rot was so extensive, that he had to abandon ship and start his own party. Can he open the can of worms?

But Jack Mrisho will want to vigorously fight the rot to prevent his country from sliding into a third rate, sorry, third world cassava republic. Not an easy job.

As I said earlier there are good Tanzanians out there ready to work hard. They are being frustrated by those nameless, faceless, colourless rotten apples whose qualification is to grovel to the political elite

Bongolese must now to try to start a system based on merit, not shameless cronyism. Someone is tapped to be ambassador to some foreign country.

He goes on to hire wife,in-laws (most of them out-laws) to work in the embassy on government pay! Othear hire literally their entire home villages on government payroll. And nothing happens.

Eti because this dum dum is a friend of the prez. He in fact becomes the unelected co-president. I think,with such behaviour we will continue to be called the cassava republic of Bongo!

romance

TANESCO spoils a romantic evening

I was with a few relatively well-off lads and some chicks, having a lovely time. TANESCO had forced us to have a romantic evening. Its pitch dark.

This was after spending the day creatively – reading, not listening to crap on radio and telly. Even the people become quiet as they re-discover the forgotten art of conversation.

hy? There was no power,of course. So we opted for a candle-lit dinner. A barbecue. Red wine flowed. Sizzling goat meat teased noses. No noises. Only voices of humans getting lower and lower. It’s fun to see humans courting.

It’s fun to watch human being at it. You wonder what they are lying to each other about. But you can also observe skirts getting shorter. Hands all agrip. Or is it the wine?

Then all hell breaks lose. The lights come on forcing everybody to adopt ’normal’ positions. Skirts are hastily lowered and hands retreated from,er, naughty areas.

“What is this? Why are we being harassed like this? How can TANESCO just swutch on power like that? This is oppression of the wananchi!” yells a youngish lad.

“But the power is back. Haven’t you heard of power-shedding?” I try to be helpful.

“Yeah! But they just cannot switch on power when I was about to be kissed by my lady! Now I will have to start all over again. It’s just not
fair! Someone should shoot TANESCO, and I mean now!” he screamed.

“I will be careful with the shoot word. You might have the entire Tanzania police force here in a minute. They are quite edgy these days.”

“But sir, I feel very strongly about this. I think we should have 24-hour power cuts. Some of us want wives, you know. If we have darkness for 24 to 48 hours, I personally will march to support the government. The young guy said. His girl was also breathing venom, after their ‘proceedings’ were rudely stopped by TANESCO. But I calmed them down. I will send the electrical company the bill for calming down some romantic couples.
If we have a 24 hour power cut we could face a baby boom later in the year. A population explosion. Now that will be another problem!