The usual suspects had converged at the cemetery – a coterie of bitter, envious, desperate and vengeful individuals still reeling from the shock of defeat, August 2021, at the hands of one villager from Bweengwa; otherwise better known as Kachema. During their last convocation, they had resolved to give ‘birth’ to the United Kandiles Alliance (UKA) to try and wrestle the coveted crown from Kachema!
Mpundwi had just finished invoking the heavens above when they noticed a couple of hefty men in dark suits and sun glasses swiftly sweeping around the premises…..they were carefully examining litter strewn all over the place for any evidence – empty bottles of champagne and Jameson, disposal plates and cups, folks and serviettes!
“Look at what I just found…..” one of the men wearing white gloves waved a used condom at the others.
“I knew it!” exclaimed their supervisor; a stout, heavyset balding man in an over-sized suit which made him look awkward. “Let’s keep on digging; we’ll find something to pin them down…..”
The Kandiles were unsettled…..they were now panicking. They had now suspended the deliberations and studying the men in dark suits and sun glasses, coyly. Had their lid been blown off? Who could’ve snitched on them? Could it be Sin or Fredo since they were reluctant to join them?
“We could perhaps relocate to one of the Synagogues” Mpundwi suggested, trying hard to remain calm. “I know of a few ‘men of gold’ equally willing to help us champion our agenda……”
They exchanged glances surreptitiously as the men in dark glasses and sun glasses inched closer.
“If only his excellency could be considerate enough to pamper them with brown envelopes,” Imbhoila chortled at her own pun. “their hearts would obviously be filled with overflowing glee….”
Jagwa let out a loud guffaw and quivered hysterically as he wagged a warning finger in her direction. This seemed to have had magical influence on the others. They chuckled exuberantly as they slapped themselves on their backs, playfully.
“I can assure you colleagues……” Jagwa had finally found his voice, trying to sound as sober as possible, “Am not called kasaka kandalama for nothing…..”
This elicited further laughter as the men in dark suits and sun glasses looked on, amused.
The Kandiles quickly ambulated to their waiting SUVs which they had left on idle, as fuel wasn’t a problem for them, thanks to the bottomless wallet of Jagwa. They reversed and whipped their machines onto the highway and sped-off towards one of the shanties; tossing empty bottles of Jameson and Blue Label and empty packets of jiggies through their windows in the process! In the meantime, Mpundwi and Puree were busy making frantic phone calls on their iphones which Jagwa was kind enough to gift them on his birth-date.
“We’re almost there…..” Puree had burst into his irritating laughter as usual.
In due course, they found themselves at a spectacular Synagogue nestled between tin-roofed shacks. They were quickly ushered-in and made to sit on the front pews. The military jungle boots, favoured by the gadas, which the ‘man of gold’ was sporting immediately grabbed their attention.
“He’s one of us…..” Cha’ngra whispered. “No doubt about it…”
Puree subtly passed a bulging brown envelope to one of the ushers who in turn handed it to the ‘man of gold.’ He quickly slid into his socks without even bothering to check the contents for he already knew.
He smiled gaily and flashed a thumbs-up at the Kandiles and nodded as a way of assuring them everything was under complete control.
The church service usually entailed singing of hymns, reading some scripture followed by a sermon based on lections assigned for the day. The ‘man of gold’ of course had no qualms straying from the established norms and practices. He rushed the congregation through a single hymn and neglected to refer to any scripture!
“As you can see; there’s no power in the Synagogue today…….” he was smiling, his voice pregnant with sarcasm. “Our ladies can’t even enjoy twerking anymore!”
The gathering was shocked, save for Kandiles who obviously relished his powerful message and clapped.
“How much is aka bunga?” he studied their faces to gauge if the message was sinking in. “Today, you’ve to sweat to put food on the table! If you are keeping an extended family like nephews, nieces and uncles…..send them back to the village as you can’t afford to feed them, anymore!”
He went on to remind them how they can’t afford bus fares to see them anywhere, and bemoaned the rising number of street kids as “if there’s no government in place”.
“Has this government delivered on the jobs they promised you,” his eyes was desperately searching the pews for any nurses and teachers who may have been deployed recently. “Next time they come pleading for your votes with ‘ifitenge,’ ignore them!”
Jagwa was impressed, of course. As they were ushered out to rush for another programme, he instructed that another envelope be allocated to the ‘man of gold’ “for the job well done.”
Their motorcade was soon wounding its way out of the sprawling settlement to find their way to another shanty compound much closer to the city where most street vendors resided. They found some of the faithful waiting to welcome them at the gate.
“You can’t eject vendors from the streets without providing them alternative trading spaces,” the ‘man of gold’ had suddenly digressed and pushed the Bible aside to impress his benefactors.
“You used to make a lot of money from the streets…..Are you still making money today? No!” He quickly proffered an answer before anyone would dare contradict him. “You’re suffering; you can’t even afford to give tithes and offering!”
Jagwa and his entourage couldn’t hide their happiness. This was definitely what they expected to hear. Someone to keep reminding the masses that they are suffering.
“Why must you go hungry in the name of keeping our streets clean?” Of course no one was going to answer the question for such wasn’t allowed in the Synagogue.
“Especially you the marketeers,” his face had turned serious. “You’re the ones they come to sweet-talk with their sugar coated language!”
He warned everyone against doing chipwena once ‘aba Red’ came their way, but instead embrace the Kandiles.
“Our Creator is so angry with this government that He has decided to switch off the supply of rains!
A handful of students from YUNZA could be seen fidgeting and shaking their heads. Before the service, they were at pains trying to convince some of the congregants that the the entire region was affected by El Nino – a warming of the ocean surface, or above-average sea surface temperatures, in the central and eastern tropical Pacific Ocean, hence the persisting drought.
“I don’t care if you choose to disagree with me or not!” he exploded. “What am saying to you is from God!”
He was so peeved-up that he hastily concluded the service without offering a closing prayer! He summoned the Kandiles to come with him to his office where he was a proud recipient of a generous supply of brown envelopes which they tasked him to share with like minded ‘men of gold.’
Prince Bill M. Kaping’a
Political/Social Analyst
Kapin’a, Get to terms with your god’s failings. The writing is on the wall. Your god is but reading the nature of clouds by the door side. It will not be long before the showers pour. Your god is just the Seventh in the line of Kateka’s in Zambia, remind him as he always pretends to be the first, he is seventh and counting.
Attention Mr. Author!
Congratulations on your well written masterpiece. It is very easy to know and understand the rationale behind your article. You are definitely talking about the disorganised PF losers, even though you have not used their real names. Be it as it may, you depict Mr. HH as a shock to disorganised PF losers, whereas you characterise PF losers as being bitter and envious. Mr. Kapinga, you are correct and write additional facts about PF’s previous acts and, touch on PF’s intentions. Once more, thank very much for your efforts and time set aside for reading my responses and responding.