Last night we were just about to lock up when there was a faint knock on the front door, and a weak cry of ‘Odi!’
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
But our enthusiasm was short lived, as the MC came onto the stage dressed in a hideous blue chitenge shirt, grabbed the microphone and shouted ‘Here at last is the woman you’ve all be waiting for, Dollar Tujilijili!’
The crowd jeered and booed as out onto the stage staggered a bulbous hippopotamus of a woman, wrapped in a huge blue chitenge which was knotted above her huge swinging breasts. The crowd groaned as she menacingly pointed one finger at them and shouted Your hour has come!’ They shook their fists at her, shouting Donchi kubeba!
‘Why don’t they leave, instead of waiting to be insulted?’ I wondered.
‘They’re hoping Mampi will come back,’ laughed Sara.
‘You starving illiterate peasants!’ screamed Dollar, still pointing her finger at the crowd, ‘You will never get any development here until you join RB, the Royal Bedroom!’
‘Give us our chitenge,’ they shouted back, ‘we’re ready to go home!’
In reply she did a little dance, swinging round to show them her vast rump, decorated with a huge RB, around which was written Royal Bottom.
‘That looks like a rumbustious rump!’ I declared.
‘You Nsenga men,’ taunted Dollar, ‘Come and fondle my lovely bums! Let’s see what you are capable of!’
But the men fell backwards, as if repelled by this moving mountain of pulsating flesh. ‘Ha ha, you useless men, you can’t do anything!’ she cackled.
‘I thought these Nsenga men appreciated a dancing derriere,’ I laughed.
‘A fully mature female Nsenga bum is reckoned to have 134 muscles, and is capable of dancing to 24 different tunes simultaneously,’ Sara explained. ‘But Dollar has an uneducated Ngoni bum which is over-matured, over-weight and over-used. It has become flaccid and droopy, and quite out of control.’
‘Doesn’t Dollar know this?’
‘Of course not,’ laughed Sara.
‘Why not?’ I wondered.
‘She’s drunk,’ said Sara.
‘The only way to become prosperous is to touch the Royal Bottom!’ declared Dollar. ‘Only by voting for the Movement for Moral Decay can you enter the Royal Bedroom, and join the ruling class in the endless pleasure of feasting, merrymaking and fornication.’
‘Sounds like a good deal,’ I said. ‘Maybe I’ll vote for them.’
‘Shut up and listen,’ said Sara. ‘This is something new. It sounds like the MMD has at last developed vision and strategy.’
‘The only way
‘And you men must go out and impregnate the wives and daughters of foreign tribes, so that we infiltrate their families with our Royal Bottoms, and unity in the east will become the unity of the nation. But you dried up men are too lazy and impotent to join the Men for Massive Deflowering. Even my own miserable husband, when he looked at my vast beauty, the poor man would just collapse and shrivel to nothing!’
‘He was scared of suffocating between her huge breasts,’ laughed Sara.
‘Or having his bits bitten by her barbaric bottom,’ I suggested.
‘That is why our beloved Father of the Nation is working every day at his duty of fathering the nation, because you dried-up men do not have the courage to rise to the occasion. If you do not give him some assistance, he may have to send out the Red-Lipped Snake to sneak under blankets and deliver the royal donation!’
At this the women screamed and began to flee, but Tujilijili went on regardless. ‘Let me now see if you men are ready to join the Royal Bedroom, and deliver the royal donation. Let me see if you can be aroused!’
So saying she undid the knot on her chitenge wrapper and cast it aside, revealing all. But instead of rushing forward to fondle her many dangling extremities and attributes, the men all screamed and ran off into the bush.
She stood there naked, shouting ‘Am I not beautiful? Are you all homosexual?’
But there was nobody left to answer. Even the camera crew must have fled, because at this point the screen went blank.
‘Their election strategy is hopelessly and laughably counterproductive,’ I cackled. ‘All the voters are completely repelled, and have fled into the arms of Cycle Mata.’
‘On the contrary,’ replied Sara, ‘Dollar has a very shrewd strategy which will prove most effective.’
‘How do you work that one out?’ I sneered.
‘It’s quite simple,’ said Sara calmly. ‘By the end of September, all of these jokers will have been arrested and charged with corruption and abuse of office!’
‘Dollar will plead not guilty by reason of insanity!’
‘Marvellous!’ I laughed. ‘An unarguable defence! She has already proved her case! Another nolle prosequi!’
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
‘Look at the high and mighty seated in the front row,’ said Sara, ‘the very thieves and hypocrites that misused their power to persecute and terrorise him.’
As we were entertaining ourselves with these subversive whispers, a priest walked towards the lectern and announced ‘All rise and sing Hymn No.396, What a friend we have in Jesus. There’s nothing more uplifting than a good tune, so I decided to give it a go…
How his death is hard to bear,
What a burden he did carry,
Opposing all that was unfair.
O what peace he had to forfeit,
O what pain he had to bear,
All because he dared to tell us,
That our rulers do not care.
Had he trials and tribulations?
Was shushushu everywhere?
He would never be discouraged,
Took it to the Lord in prayer.
Can we find another Duffy?
Who can all our sorrows share?
Duffy knew how we suffered,
And broadcast it everywhere.
We were weak and heavy-laden,
Raising voice we did not dare,
Duffy was our only ally,
Walked into the lion’s lair.
Raised his voice to high and mighty,
Now send him to the Lord in prayer,
Voice and courage he did give us,
Now his voice is everywhere.
As we sat down, I got more scowls from the row in front. ‘Why can’t you just stick to the words in the hymn book?’ Sara whispered irritably.
‘The original message was too conservative,’ I explained, ‘I was worried that Duffy might climb out of his coffin to contradict it.’
‘May his soul rest in peace,’ said Sara, ‘even without your assistance.’
Now we all sat down as some nondescript priest began some long rambling account of the life of Paul Duffy in an inaudible voice. Having left home without breakfast, I began to doze off, despite the hard wooden pew which had been specially designed to keep me awake.
But I was aroused from my slumber by a clear voice saying ‘the reading this morning is taken from The Epistle of Paul to the Lozis, Chapter 23, Verses 5-11…’
I looked up, and there was a bishop standing in the pulpit, dressed in white cassock, with a tall white mitre on his head. His skin was as white as his cassock, making him look more like a ghost. He certainly had my attention as he began the reading…
‘And a cancer has fallen upon this land, which is eating up the people, and leaving the land barren and spoilt.
‘But this is not a cancer of the body but a cancer of the economy, for this cancer which is eating away at the Land of the Lozi is called economic growth.
‘But some of the victims of this malignant cancer called economic growth are yet praising it, saying the country is richer every year, and we shall soon be free of poverty and disease.
‘But I say unto you that economic growth is the poverty and the disease. For when we were a poor country living on fish and wheat and goats we were better off, our children were well fed and healthy, and were schooled in the synagogues. But now that we have discovered the great riches of copper, we are poor and starving.
‘For King Herod tells us that the Romans will only come to mine our copper if we work for starvation wages. And all the copper is taken away by the Romans, and we see none of it. This wealth is used to build
‘And Herod allows this because the Romans give him a cut, so that he can build his palace and live like a Roman, while the rest of us live as landless slaves in our own country.
‘The cancer of economic growth is eating into this country, corrupting our leaders and destroying the land and its people. But the Pharisees tell you to pray to the Lord for your salvation which is in Heaven. But I say to you that Jesus died to establish the
Now the bishop looked up from the Good Book. ‘Here endeth the first lesson,’ he declared, as he walked down from the pulpit, and seemed almost to float as he walked up the aisle towards the coffin, and disappeared into it.
I felt Sara’s elbow dig into my ribs. ‘Wake up!’ she said. ‘You’ve slept through the entire service! It’s time to go!’
‘Nonsense!’ I retorted, ‘I enjoyed the funeral service immensely! I’m even thinking of booking this venue for my own!’
‘So what can you tell me about the sermon?’ Sara asked suspiciously, as we walked out into the bright mid-day sun. ‘What did the bishop say?’
‘He said that the voice of Paul remains the voice of the people!’
‘Did he say that?’ Sara wondered. ‘If his voice remains, then perhaps he has resurrected?’
‘Not yet,’ I said confidentially. ‘The voice of the people is due to resurrect on 20th September.’