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A Question of Morality

Ronald Elly Wanda - 12/2/2007

What a dramatic Sunday I’d had. First, in the early hours of dawn a bizarre SMS landed on my GSM reading: “I’m preg.” I’d had a cushy evening during the latter part of the weekend and understandably as you would expect, I didn’t take much notice of the message until much later, when I’d delicately detoxed with a rescuer’s cup of Kenya’s finest KETEPA pride that the communication sunk in. Following a brief and panicky inquiry, it turned out that it was Mary, an Irish girl living in Londonderry (Northern Ireland) who’d mistaken my digits with those of Tunde, her intended Nigerian recipient (presumably her boyfriend) also supposedly living in London.

Nevertheless, my delight was obvious, having been exonerated from Mary’s shocking excitement and Tunde’s apparent paternity, I did not envy, even for a moment, the bigotry and culturally calculated intolerance that awaited their interracial domiciliary in today’s pretentious yet Brutish Britain. Determined not to let the episode halt my usually habitual Sundays, later that afternoon, I caught the Piccadilly line and meandered London underground exiting at Marble Arch, I then legged it through to Hyde Park and I arrived at my intended destination- Speakers Corner. I’d come here to witness British freedom of speech in action. I dissected several speeches by various characters, some of whom included an Islamic woman rumbling about hijabs; a bearded white man arguing for European protectionism; a hard-looking, mixed-raced woman on the masculinity of feminism etc. However, it was the last speaker, I must confess, that engrossed me the most. It was an interesting Kikuyu-looking gentleman (fair skinned, decayed teeth, hairless, short, wearing a green buttoned sweater), who’s subject was the depredations of imperialism. “I tell you”, the Kenyan mwanainchi proclaimed. “When I slaved on the tea estates during the Emergency, I did my bit to help my brave brothers in the bush fighting imperialism. Yes I did!” Referring to the legendary M.A.U M.A.U (Muzungu Aende Ulaya, Mwafrika Apate Uhuru) movement in Kenya. “Do you want to know what I did?” he asked us. Of course I (and I imagine the rest of the congregation) wanted to- we were transfixed. “Every single sack of tea that passed through the shed where I worked I pissed on it. Yes I did, I pissed in it liberally, and satisfied that it would be ending up in your mouths!”

Amidst the civil laughter that ensued from the crowd, I couldn’t help but think the old man had a strong point. He played a crucial role against British imperialism, however minuet others might consider his contribution; the key thing is that it had an impact- it left a bitter taste in the mouths of the colonial hooligans who consumed KETEPA at the time…

Later, I allowed the old man’s dialogue to encircle my mind as I commuted northbound the Victoria line. Disembarking at Seven Sisters and eventually settling at the East African living room (The Three Crowns), hopping to unwind with the ideal formula of relaxology. I mean a warm Tusker- with the Observer- as well as African music bouncing politely on the background.

My mathematical configuration didn’t last long. It was abruptly interrupted by a loose Kigalian Interlocutor. The character rumbled endlessly like a mad politician at Kamukunji grounds in old Nairobi. A few months back, this personality suffered embarrassment after she was accused of husband- snatching and home wreckage by a Tanzanian who was once her best friend. Naturally, she expected me to respond “aah, bambi, sorry!” It was not to be, much to her disappointment. .. “Where is the morality in her application?” I wondered. Affairs are an emotional botox. They make you feel better about yourself in the short term, but leave an ugly mess in the long term. What a day!