By Pacharo Felix Munthali
As the parties and the referee warm up
Towards this ostentatious match
Hosted at the Match-Mecca
My psyche is soaked
In the web of flummox
Beyond stratosphere
Expectations echoing
Hope once more called hope
All to the same God begging favours
Another year is here
Another boogie to enjoy
For comedians and orators
Lunatics and the principled
To manipulate and obfuscate the gullibles
2009
The dancing year
The dust swirling
Tears once more
Another mixed bag
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
VOICES FROM REALM
By Pacharo Felix Munthali
Here we don't have knowledge of the existence of days nor nights. That after a tedious, energy-reneging job one has to sleep is a discourse non-existent here. It's an existence prodigy. All we have is glory, glory and more glory. That while I was down there I was impecunious old man, who could even hardly buy salt; to be here it is totally a different microcosm. A wonder I never imagined, a wonder ineffable to simply clarify for easy comprehension for a mind polluted with worldly lies.
When I was down there I was looked down upon, unlike here where we all are on the same scale the way Jesus treated the sinners and the otherwise. Down there, I will never forget…
I was complicatedly condemned, dissolving though not deserving, into utmost cruel ballistic trap that instantly exhibited a new home page in my life. Or should I say in my lives?
Those folks! Those folks gave me bitter lessons; lessons that wrecked and plummeted my life into a wanderer. How I hated to be in a country where your immediate contributions were not acknowledged. They wait for you to start getting ill. As if they have hit the bull's eye like a horde hunters that has grounded a marauding lion, they flock to your preaching messages of good will, deep down you can read them as if they are saying die fast, your death should be dissolved into a political rally.
You see, St. Peter, down there I had played a role in the struggle against the colonial whites. Together, a sign of solidarity and African Socialism in our African spirits, we marched miles, not feeling hungry neither fatigue. We were chased now and again from our own lands in our own country, our lands snatched away, but we stood on our ground. Not even an itch did we leave our country.
"We fear only the one who can destroy the soul not the body," our songs whittled away fears of unknown astray arrow that could hit one of us anytime. That we knew. That we saw.
In the azure skies guns rattling had rumbled, souls crumbled and numerous of unfortunate individuals in all extremes of spasm of pain grumbled. Oh, not unfortunate, the patriots one by one ceased breathing, reserving the breathing air for the coming generations. But there was no turning back. We marched forward, not facing east nor west. We soldiered on like wounded lions.
"Let your bullets wipe out our generation, but let the posterity tap water of hope and happiness from our deep wounded hearts filled with blood," we would chant, singing twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.
Without bothering myself to go through tumble-and-rolling procedure of going to the immigration department, I saw the infamous Gweru without being required to produce a passport. What a wicked place! In those dark rooms, days passed. After some times we got released in the 60s. For some of us, we were released abit late, young man!
By the time some of us were released, euphoria outlandishly splendid had seeped through the country infiltrating all and sundries' hearts. We were forgotten. Some of our friends then swimming in the media grandiose, had forgotten us as well. That we had worked with them around the clock, that was forgotten. We were looked at as mere supercilious creatures.
All the constructive criticisms we leveled against them were brusquely brushed aside and thrown to the birds in the bush. I hope, St. Peter with the holy ones here knows that. Then it reached the point that we had to run away from our own country. This happened after going through taxing experience that used to come along with detention without trial, St. Peter, at least here its very professional. Beaten in prison in all sorts of forms we endured. Upon being released, I had no option but let myself secretly snake out the country.
You go East, West, North or even South, but in all these directions home always remain the best. You know what, St. Peter, even though in the country I lived I enjoyed a comfortable life, it was disheartening upon realizing many of my people were under the punitive chain of oppression. I came back…
I came at a time when the craze called democracy had swiftly swept through the country. The politics that we used to practice had as well changed. I miserably failed to win a parliamentary seat even in my hometown. From unsung hero to the sung villain, imagine – true hero to zero scenario. If you can't beat them join them, but I chose my own way – I retired. That is when I found myself at Nthalire with my life in the last attempt to curb and silence the monster called poverty that had raid roots in my life at the time. My constructive criticisms were for the second time overlooked.
With many problems chocking many hidden potentials that people had, though I was old, the problem of cancer was on me. Unfortunately nobody came in. When calls were being made that me, Chibwatiko, a man who has seen sixty decades plus is battling with the problem of cancer nobody came. But when they heard that it was now worse and admitted at Kings hospital like thirsty athletes scrambling for bottles of water they came. It was too late, St. Peter…
Those folks…
On my funeral some individuals stood tall, claiming that until the time of my untimely death I was their friend, my heart missed a beat. Some of these are the ones that did not offer the help when my problem was just starting, now on my funeral they claimed to be my comrades. Oh God!
By the way St. Peter look down there. You see what I have been telling you. Look at house those elders in the country are behaving. Scrambling for a funeral. Abbreviating a funeral place as if a place where one can do his political rally. It is sad, how do you look at it St. Peter. Please speak, at least now.
"How I wish I had spoken"
"You are already speaking by saying that, St. Peter"
The trumpet is blown. There is no longer the view of the world. St. peter is gone. I have no choice. But follow as well.
Here we don't have knowledge of the existence of days nor nights. That after a tedious, energy-reneging job one has to sleep is a discourse non-existent here. It's an existence prodigy. All we have is glory, glory and more glory. That while I was down there I was impecunious old man, who could even hardly buy salt; to be here it is totally a different microcosm. A wonder I never imagined, a wonder ineffable to simply clarify for easy comprehension for a mind polluted with worldly lies.
When I was down there I was looked down upon, unlike here where we all are on the same scale the way Jesus treated the sinners and the otherwise. Down there, I will never forget…
I was complicatedly condemned, dissolving though not deserving, into utmost cruel ballistic trap that instantly exhibited a new home page in my life. Or should I say in my lives?
Those folks! Those folks gave me bitter lessons; lessons that wrecked and plummeted my life into a wanderer. How I hated to be in a country where your immediate contributions were not acknowledged. They wait for you to start getting ill. As if they have hit the bull's eye like a horde hunters that has grounded a marauding lion, they flock to your preaching messages of good will, deep down you can read them as if they are saying die fast, your death should be dissolved into a political rally.
You see, St. Peter, down there I had played a role in the struggle against the colonial whites. Together, a sign of solidarity and African Socialism in our African spirits, we marched miles, not feeling hungry neither fatigue. We were chased now and again from our own lands in our own country, our lands snatched away, but we stood on our ground. Not even an itch did we leave our country.
"We fear only the one who can destroy the soul not the body," our songs whittled away fears of unknown astray arrow that could hit one of us anytime. That we knew. That we saw.
In the azure skies guns rattling had rumbled, souls crumbled and numerous of unfortunate individuals in all extremes of spasm of pain grumbled. Oh, not unfortunate, the patriots one by one ceased breathing, reserving the breathing air for the coming generations. But there was no turning back. We marched forward, not facing east nor west. We soldiered on like wounded lions.
"Let your bullets wipe out our generation, but let the posterity tap water of hope and happiness from our deep wounded hearts filled with blood," we would chant, singing twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.
Without bothering myself to go through tumble-and-rolling procedure of going to the immigration department, I saw the infamous Gweru without being required to produce a passport. What a wicked place! In those dark rooms, days passed. After some times we got released in the 60s. For some of us, we were released abit late, young man!
By the time some of us were released, euphoria outlandishly splendid had seeped through the country infiltrating all and sundries' hearts. We were forgotten. Some of our friends then swimming in the media grandiose, had forgotten us as well. That we had worked with them around the clock, that was forgotten. We were looked at as mere supercilious creatures.
All the constructive criticisms we leveled against them were brusquely brushed aside and thrown to the birds in the bush. I hope, St. Peter with the holy ones here knows that. Then it reached the point that we had to run away from our own country. This happened after going through taxing experience that used to come along with detention without trial, St. Peter, at least here its very professional. Beaten in prison in all sorts of forms we endured. Upon being released, I had no option but let myself secretly snake out the country.
You go East, West, North or even South, but in all these directions home always remain the best. You know what, St. Peter, even though in the country I lived I enjoyed a comfortable life, it was disheartening upon realizing many of my people were under the punitive chain of oppression. I came back…
I came at a time when the craze called democracy had swiftly swept through the country. The politics that we used to practice had as well changed. I miserably failed to win a parliamentary seat even in my hometown. From unsung hero to the sung villain, imagine – true hero to zero scenario. If you can't beat them join them, but I chose my own way – I retired. That is when I found myself at Nthalire with my life in the last attempt to curb and silence the monster called poverty that had raid roots in my life at the time. My constructive criticisms were for the second time overlooked.
With many problems chocking many hidden potentials that people had, though I was old, the problem of cancer was on me. Unfortunately nobody came in. When calls were being made that me, Chibwatiko, a man who has seen sixty decades plus is battling with the problem of cancer nobody came. But when they heard that it was now worse and admitted at Kings hospital like thirsty athletes scrambling for bottles of water they came. It was too late, St. Peter…
Those folks…
On my funeral some individuals stood tall, claiming that until the time of my untimely death I was their friend, my heart missed a beat. Some of these are the ones that did not offer the help when my problem was just starting, now on my funeral they claimed to be my comrades. Oh God!
By the way St. Peter look down there. You see what I have been telling you. Look at house those elders in the country are behaving. Scrambling for a funeral. Abbreviating a funeral place as if a place where one can do his political rally. It is sad, how do you look at it St. Peter. Please speak, at least now.
"How I wish I had spoken"
"You are already speaking by saying that, St. Peter"
The trumpet is blown. There is no longer the view of the world. St. peter is gone. I have no choice. But follow as well.
HOW DO WE SERVE OTHERS?
By Pacharo Felix Munthali
We wake up everyday. We pray to the Lord. We praise him, so do we ask for forgiveness. For we were born the sinners; we sin in body, mind, spirit etc. For the book of Mark 7 v. 21 confirms that, "from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders." For that we ask for forgiveness. A new day is born; new activities are on the menu. We live a very Holy life. "Oh God!" we praise Him, for we know at least Ten Commandments of the Lord are not violated. If we had wronged him, we have repented.
Then this other day, we find ourselves seeing a group of individuals. On basis of their dressing even before they speak to us, we label them sinners. We deem them wicked; for the heaven or paradise has nothing in offing for them. We look at such individuals as spiritually outcasts. We tell each other, we must not associate with them - for so doing, will tatter our image.
In the book of Luke, Jesus Christ allowed the prostitute come to Him. The Pharisees disapproved this. The woman was seen as a sinner, "why is Jesus, Our Lord allowing the sinner wash [ing] His feet." They looked at the woman as a very wicked. She didn't deserve to touch the body of Jesus Christ.
When Jesus Christ said he was going to have dinner in the house of Zaccheus some people murmured. How come is Jesus doing this? He can't go to the house of the sinner. But when that happened, Zaccheus gave part of his worthy to the pour. The man changed.
Jesus Christ was unique. He had the tendency of getting involved with those that people pre-judged that they are the sinners. These were those that people thought that had sinned a lot, as such, they did not have any chance of getting to the heaven or paradise, according to the perception of the Pharisees.
Jesus our Lord was, and is still a loving father. He does not throw out the sinners, especially those deemed as sinners by the people. He calls on them; he joins them. For how can one understand their problem by just ignoring them? For how can one bring salvation on them by pre-judging and pre-determining their destiny? If we feel that they are sinners, letting them rot in their stinking sink of sins is not a solution. We need to help them.
Jesus Christ before departing in the book of Mark (16 v. 15) He said to them, "go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature," this is what as holy Christians it is needed to be done.
It becomes very sad seeing people, especially those that see themselves holy interacting with their holy counterpart only. How can people be served if we are not helping them? If as those that have the gospel we are not coming to them [those we see as sinners] to have their path illuminated, how can such people have the salvation?
As Christians you can try to practice the entire given commandment, but when you let your neighbour be sinning then you are not helping matters. Jesus ate and lived with the sinners. "This man receives sinners and eats with them," the Pharisees complained (Luke 15 v. 2) of Jesus Christ. As Christians we can change the world by interacting with them. But how many times do we do that?
We wake up everyday. We pray to the Lord. We praise him, so do we ask for forgiveness. For we were born the sinners; we sin in body, mind, spirit etc. For the book of Mark 7 v. 21 confirms that, "from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders." For that we ask for forgiveness. A new day is born; new activities are on the menu. We live a very Holy life. "Oh God!" we praise Him, for we know at least Ten Commandments of the Lord are not violated. If we had wronged him, we have repented.
Then this other day, we find ourselves seeing a group of individuals. On basis of their dressing even before they speak to us, we label them sinners. We deem them wicked; for the heaven or paradise has nothing in offing for them. We look at such individuals as spiritually outcasts. We tell each other, we must not associate with them - for so doing, will tatter our image.
In the book of Luke, Jesus Christ allowed the prostitute come to Him. The Pharisees disapproved this. The woman was seen as a sinner, "why is Jesus, Our Lord allowing the sinner wash [ing] His feet." They looked at the woman as a very wicked. She didn't deserve to touch the body of Jesus Christ.
When Jesus Christ said he was going to have dinner in the house of Zaccheus some people murmured. How come is Jesus doing this? He can't go to the house of the sinner. But when that happened, Zaccheus gave part of his worthy to the pour. The man changed.
Jesus Christ was unique. He had the tendency of getting involved with those that people pre-judged that they are the sinners. These were those that people thought that had sinned a lot, as such, they did not have any chance of getting to the heaven or paradise, according to the perception of the Pharisees.
Jesus our Lord was, and is still a loving father. He does not throw out the sinners, especially those deemed as sinners by the people. He calls on them; he joins them. For how can one understand their problem by just ignoring them? For how can one bring salvation on them by pre-judging and pre-determining their destiny? If we feel that they are sinners, letting them rot in their stinking sink of sins is not a solution. We need to help them.
Jesus Christ before departing in the book of Mark (16 v. 15) He said to them, "go into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature," this is what as holy Christians it is needed to be done.
It becomes very sad seeing people, especially those that see themselves holy interacting with their holy counterpart only. How can people be served if we are not helping them? If as those that have the gospel we are not coming to them [those we see as sinners] to have their path illuminated, how can such people have the salvation?
As Christians you can try to practice the entire given commandment, but when you let your neighbour be sinning then you are not helping matters. Jesus ate and lived with the sinners. "This man receives sinners and eats with them," the Pharisees complained (Luke 15 v. 2) of Jesus Christ. As Christians we can change the world by interacting with them. But how many times do we do that?
EMPOWERING THE YOUTHS
By Pacharo Felix Munthali
Malawi leader, President Dr Bingu Wa mutharika, is possibly a bigger dreamer than himself. He seems to dream like someone who dreams everything he does or achieve. Some have said that even before people knew that one day he would assume the role of the first citizen of Malawi, he had already dreamed of being one.
Even though in 1999 his party did perform miserably, less than Kamlepo Kalua's Tchwee Mwana Tchwee sloganed party, with age catching up with him at a splinting fashion, his dream neither faded nor did he look back – had hope in his dreams.
During the Media chat he had a month ago, the president put it lucidly how he wishes he had a media center, where journalists could go to interact and find all sorts of information for the success of the profession. The old man keeps on dreaming, even though he might be at turbulent time - he still find way to divert out of the forest of political uncertainty and build a paradise in Malawi, though at times it look more of illusion than reality.
Now at a time when the youths are plunged in all sorts of human miseries, with punishing unemployment blocking their thinking veins, the president seems to have plans for them as well – at least not misusing the youths politically.
As the National Youth Policy stipulates: "the youth profile in Malawi shows lack of basic opportunities available to them, although they constitute a large sector of population," yet they are the ones facing lots of impediments.
This has been compounded by the presence of a range of adverse conditions that impinge on the youth; the most seriously being poverty."
But the National Youth Policy with lack of multi-sectoral approach cannot achieve its goal of seeking "to develop the full potential of the youth and to 'promote' their active participation in National development."
Such scenario amongst a colossal of reasons culminates in "youth non-involvement in decision making."
For long time the youths have been told that they are the leaders of tomorrow. But the question is still unanswered, when does tomorrow come? What is tomorrow? There are time you find a very senior official, be it a politician or otherwise, telling a group of school leavers some of them in late twenties or there about, that their tomorrow shall come.
The political field is another area that is drowning the youths into an abyss of hopeless and uncertainty. You find someone in the youth league from twenties until he or she gets sixty, yet they call that one a youth, whose tomorrow is coming. When is tomorrow coming?
With our educational system up to the universities that emphasizes on finding white-collar jobs, it means more graduates looking for jobs flood the market, each year escalating the problem almost already out of hand. For MSCE holders more are languishing in their homes, jobs have grown legs to be found. The question of capital for them to start their own business seems to not have any immediate answers.
The dream of president Bingu Wa mutharika shouldn't have come at the right time. During the occasion he put it lucid that there are many youths looming around the streets not knowing what to do, as they are many of them than the jobs available.
At a time when to have a business loan you need a collateral that favours only the elites in the country's commercial banks, for the youths to be empowered and stand on their own the only way to achieve that is through availability of ordinary people friendly loans.
As the president put it, he wants to establish Malawi Development Bank with the aim of developing "local business men" that happens to be ordinary Malawians.
With the bank he said: "you can get a loan somewhere and the bank will guarantee" to this far the bustling problem of collateral as an obstacle will be silenced.
As other countries are boasting of owners of the giant Search Engine Google in their thirties here, we are having people in their thirties, forties and there about doing nothing. It is a pity that politicians are using some of the country's youths, in various ways some of which are detrimental to their future. In the end the youths are giving in not by choice but because of circumstances beyond they muscles resulting in accepting politicians to misuse them.
The country needs the youths that have been empowered – the youths who can be visionary and dream what they want their country to be like in the years to come. With the Malawi Development Bank, done the way it is said if it manages to crawl from cobweb of dreams into reality, chances have it that the youths can forget about the past miseries and look forward to a prosperous tomorrow. At least everybody with some doses of pragmatism can keep on dreaming, letting those dreams crawl in the process.
But how does the country dream? The does not need the escalation of the very same businesses that all and sunder do. People must be innovative. Copying each other can not help the nation. The said Malawi Development Bank must encourage the people to bring unique ideas for the business, not selling mandasi in the whole neighbourhood.
As the president dreams so should the Malawians. All should think of what they can do for their country. The youths if given the capital, they should be encouraged. Our education system must change – it should groom students to be entrepreneurs, not as someone who will be employed as a boss at a certain organization, company or government. It's only the visionary that excels ion this world of ruthless liberalization, and involving the youths in all this is a key.
Malawi leader, President Dr Bingu Wa mutharika, is possibly a bigger dreamer than himself. He seems to dream like someone who dreams everything he does or achieve. Some have said that even before people knew that one day he would assume the role of the first citizen of Malawi, he had already dreamed of being one.
Even though in 1999 his party did perform miserably, less than Kamlepo Kalua's Tchwee Mwana Tchwee sloganed party, with age catching up with him at a splinting fashion, his dream neither faded nor did he look back – had hope in his dreams.
During the Media chat he had a month ago, the president put it lucidly how he wishes he had a media center, where journalists could go to interact and find all sorts of information for the success of the profession. The old man keeps on dreaming, even though he might be at turbulent time - he still find way to divert out of the forest of political uncertainty and build a paradise in Malawi, though at times it look more of illusion than reality.
Now at a time when the youths are plunged in all sorts of human miseries, with punishing unemployment blocking their thinking veins, the president seems to have plans for them as well – at least not misusing the youths politically.
As the National Youth Policy stipulates: "the youth profile in Malawi shows lack of basic opportunities available to them, although they constitute a large sector of population," yet they are the ones facing lots of impediments.
This has been compounded by the presence of a range of adverse conditions that impinge on the youth; the most seriously being poverty."
But the National Youth Policy with lack of multi-sectoral approach cannot achieve its goal of seeking "to develop the full potential of the youth and to 'promote' their active participation in National development."
Such scenario amongst a colossal of reasons culminates in "youth non-involvement in decision making."
For long time the youths have been told that they are the leaders of tomorrow. But the question is still unanswered, when does tomorrow come? What is tomorrow? There are time you find a very senior official, be it a politician or otherwise, telling a group of school leavers some of them in late twenties or there about, that their tomorrow shall come.
The political field is another area that is drowning the youths into an abyss of hopeless and uncertainty. You find someone in the youth league from twenties until he or she gets sixty, yet they call that one a youth, whose tomorrow is coming. When is tomorrow coming?
With our educational system up to the universities that emphasizes on finding white-collar jobs, it means more graduates looking for jobs flood the market, each year escalating the problem almost already out of hand. For MSCE holders more are languishing in their homes, jobs have grown legs to be found. The question of capital for them to start their own business seems to not have any immediate answers.
The dream of president Bingu Wa mutharika shouldn't have come at the right time. During the occasion he put it lucid that there are many youths looming around the streets not knowing what to do, as they are many of them than the jobs available.
At a time when to have a business loan you need a collateral that favours only the elites in the country's commercial banks, for the youths to be empowered and stand on their own the only way to achieve that is through availability of ordinary people friendly loans.
As the president put it, he wants to establish Malawi Development Bank with the aim of developing "local business men" that happens to be ordinary Malawians.
With the bank he said: "you can get a loan somewhere and the bank will guarantee" to this far the bustling problem of collateral as an obstacle will be silenced.
As other countries are boasting of owners of the giant Search Engine Google in their thirties here, we are having people in their thirties, forties and there about doing nothing. It is a pity that politicians are using some of the country's youths, in various ways some of which are detrimental to their future. In the end the youths are giving in not by choice but because of circumstances beyond they muscles resulting in accepting politicians to misuse them.
The country needs the youths that have been empowered – the youths who can be visionary and dream what they want their country to be like in the years to come. With the Malawi Development Bank, done the way it is said if it manages to crawl from cobweb of dreams into reality, chances have it that the youths can forget about the past miseries and look forward to a prosperous tomorrow. At least everybody with some doses of pragmatism can keep on dreaming, letting those dreams crawl in the process.
But how does the country dream? The does not need the escalation of the very same businesses that all and sunder do. People must be innovative. Copying each other can not help the nation. The said Malawi Development Bank must encourage the people to bring unique ideas for the business, not selling mandasi in the whole neighbourhood.
As the president dreams so should the Malawians. All should think of what they can do for their country. The youths if given the capital, they should be encouraged. Our education system must change – it should groom students to be entrepreneurs, not as someone who will be employed as a boss at a certain organization, company or government. It's only the visionary that excels ion this world of ruthless liberalization, and involving the youths in all this is a key.
THE STARTLING VISIT
By Pacharo Felix Munthali
It is roughly noon. I have been walking, if not crawling the whole morning. I don't know where I am carrying myself to, neither do I know where I am coming from.
It is not all that blistering. The sky is cloudy. With Chiperone breeze forcing trees in a conversion that is but a murmuring of leaves, the atmosphere is worthy forcing you whistle. In the M'bawa tree, under which I have now found my own solace, birds are chirruping, probably glorifying the creator for giving them the morning bread, a thing that only a handful of individuals do remember whenever they are in a new day.
As I am resting, I start to dose. One dose, second one then another… Nope, I don't want to sleep. What will people say to have a glimpse of a young man of twenty-two years in black suit, handsome, light in complexion, seemingly well to do, snoring under the tree like an aged pig? No to involuntary siesta, I say to myself. I have to stroll. At least I will have to hop on another stretch of kilometers.
Though the sky is blanketed well with dark clouds, I am sweating; profusely in fact.
I restart my journey. My legs are wobbling, my body shuddering and my stomach somersaulting. Pain follows in my tummy, but it is a short-lived one. I don't remember the last time I walked for almost 6 hours without resting.
From a far, a figure is struggling. At first I fail to identify it. Then later as a fissure of proximity between her and me narrows, I manage to identify the figure. It is an old woman, possibly the one who has seen World War 2; she is struggling with her stick. She is moving at a pace of a millipede. Putting one foot in front of another to her seems a very hard task; an up Sapitwa climbing one.
The path is snaked through the forest, a very thick forest. Few metres from where I join the granny I can capture the noise. I sigh. At least there are people.
She is almost in rags, her face contorted as she dances to the hurdles of walking. Old age is causing a severe bad back. I catch up with her. At least in this forest of darkness even when its day, I will have company. I smile.
At first I am disgusted upon having her look. She is very slow. Not my match. She is talkative. How I get irritated by talkative individuals.
"What is your name boy?"
She annoys me even further. At home am Uncle Pa, achimwene, Bambo a ang'ono, the list is long, she calls me boy?
"Padziko Sumbwe." I answer in the manner of cutting the conversation short.
Thereafter we walk in silence for fifteen minutes. I look at her, she looks at me. I avoid her eyes. Her eyes have a lot to tell. Sadness is conspicuous. I curse myself for disliking her.
In a way I cannot tell we find ourselves at a hospital. Unexpectedly I get befuddled.
"Follow me!" She commands.
"But I am going to…" I fail to finish, she has put her finger on my lips. They are very cold fingers.
The hospital is a very sorry sight. People who are at the hospital look to be in a pathetic state. This thing called Aids is a monster not worthy gleaning at. Coughs, cries, are constipating the skies. Tears are moistening my cheeks. I look up; it is only the ceiling that greets me.
"Let's walk on boy," it is another command.
We are now in the village. It seems, the way Christians do by visiting the sick; we are in for the same. People are very ill. Limbs, one, two, three with much easiness can be counted.
"Even if we go to the hospital, all we get are pain killers. It's better for us to stay at home. I don't know why we accepted these ideologies from the West. Then we could pray to Chisumphi, our ancestors and have our problems solved. Now its chaos. No medicine and our ancestral spirits are very angry," complains one old woman older than my commander, my companion.
I close my eyes, but my ears can capture the coughs, my nose catches the smell of the fury of the diseases. My skin is shivering.
"Open the radio!" she commands again, wondering what she can say if the owner says nay.
It's all politics. The boogie called politics is all over. People are castigating each other. They are busy trying to trap one another down. My eyes are still closed. But I can see the picture. I can see motion pictures of politics exchanging political blows in a political battle zone. The dust produced is causing ordinary people to cough vehemently. It's sad Mzala.
Instead of looking at the problem at hand that the "low of the lowest" in the society are facing, they have the whole lot of time in the world to exchange political blows for fun, buddy.
Three houses from where we are people are crying. Someone has died. He was mistakenly shot by the police.
"Give me that paper!" I am now tired of commands.
"And another one!"
The headlines are about frictions in churches. The once peaceful worshipping places are now the hosts of evil activities of all extremes. When you talk of womanizing, power struggles, corruption, greed, these places are now not spared.
"They have even allowed themselves to be used by the politicians. They are no longer concerned with how many people will enter the Holy Heaven, but how many to rally behind which party," She comments.
"My son, those days we used to sing 'Mwezi wawala tisewere, tiimbe' are no longer there. Now politicians have destroyed our oneness. They are there to divide," she recalls with contours all over herself as her mind struggles to plough through the past realities. "They don't have a human heart."
I don't understand what she does. But something happens. On a mirror glass pictures are seen. It shows a politician who when starting politics was a mere salt seller, now swimming in millions. Then a picture of lecturers at the University of Kwithu, who all along have been struggling with books from the first degree, some as far as getting a PhD, but still struggling.
I am angry. My heart is pacing very fast. This is a crime against humanity, I think. I don't know where I am going.
I pass by the hospital where people are very ill waiting for drugs to come from Boma. Near the Hospital I find a politician having a rally. He is full of himself; castigating others in the process. He boasts of having provided drugs to the hospitals and many amenities.
"What about the sick!" I shout my lungs out. As I try to go to the podium, a group of his supporters are on my neck. They do justice to me and throw on the road. I cannot easily see. The track from a far is coming. It is about to crash my head into smithereens.
"Padziko! Padziko! What do you think you are doing you? You have been talking to yourself. Wake up lets go to the church it's now 8: 30" Mum wakes me up.
It is roughly noon. I have been walking, if not crawling the whole morning. I don't know where I am carrying myself to, neither do I know where I am coming from.
It is not all that blistering. The sky is cloudy. With Chiperone breeze forcing trees in a conversion that is but a murmuring of leaves, the atmosphere is worthy forcing you whistle. In the M'bawa tree, under which I have now found my own solace, birds are chirruping, probably glorifying the creator for giving them the morning bread, a thing that only a handful of individuals do remember whenever they are in a new day.
As I am resting, I start to dose. One dose, second one then another… Nope, I don't want to sleep. What will people say to have a glimpse of a young man of twenty-two years in black suit, handsome, light in complexion, seemingly well to do, snoring under the tree like an aged pig? No to involuntary siesta, I say to myself. I have to stroll. At least I will have to hop on another stretch of kilometers.
Though the sky is blanketed well with dark clouds, I am sweating; profusely in fact.
I restart my journey. My legs are wobbling, my body shuddering and my stomach somersaulting. Pain follows in my tummy, but it is a short-lived one. I don't remember the last time I walked for almost 6 hours without resting.
From a far, a figure is struggling. At first I fail to identify it. Then later as a fissure of proximity between her and me narrows, I manage to identify the figure. It is an old woman, possibly the one who has seen World War 2; she is struggling with her stick. She is moving at a pace of a millipede. Putting one foot in front of another to her seems a very hard task; an up Sapitwa climbing one.
The path is snaked through the forest, a very thick forest. Few metres from where I join the granny I can capture the noise. I sigh. At least there are people.
She is almost in rags, her face contorted as she dances to the hurdles of walking. Old age is causing a severe bad back. I catch up with her. At least in this forest of darkness even when its day, I will have company. I smile.
At first I am disgusted upon having her look. She is very slow. Not my match. She is talkative. How I get irritated by talkative individuals.
"What is your name boy?"
She annoys me even further. At home am Uncle Pa, achimwene, Bambo a ang'ono, the list is long, she calls me boy?
"Padziko Sumbwe." I answer in the manner of cutting the conversation short.
Thereafter we walk in silence for fifteen minutes. I look at her, she looks at me. I avoid her eyes. Her eyes have a lot to tell. Sadness is conspicuous. I curse myself for disliking her.
In a way I cannot tell we find ourselves at a hospital. Unexpectedly I get befuddled.
"Follow me!" She commands.
"But I am going to…" I fail to finish, she has put her finger on my lips. They are very cold fingers.
The hospital is a very sorry sight. People who are at the hospital look to be in a pathetic state. This thing called Aids is a monster not worthy gleaning at. Coughs, cries, are constipating the skies. Tears are moistening my cheeks. I look up; it is only the ceiling that greets me.
"Let's walk on boy," it is another command.
We are now in the village. It seems, the way Christians do by visiting the sick; we are in for the same. People are very ill. Limbs, one, two, three with much easiness can be counted.
"Even if we go to the hospital, all we get are pain killers. It's better for us to stay at home. I don't know why we accepted these ideologies from the West. Then we could pray to Chisumphi, our ancestors and have our problems solved. Now its chaos. No medicine and our ancestral spirits are very angry," complains one old woman older than my commander, my companion.
I close my eyes, but my ears can capture the coughs, my nose catches the smell of the fury of the diseases. My skin is shivering.
"Open the radio!" she commands again, wondering what she can say if the owner says nay.
It's all politics. The boogie called politics is all over. People are castigating each other. They are busy trying to trap one another down. My eyes are still closed. But I can see the picture. I can see motion pictures of politics exchanging political blows in a political battle zone. The dust produced is causing ordinary people to cough vehemently. It's sad Mzala.
Instead of looking at the problem at hand that the "low of the lowest" in the society are facing, they have the whole lot of time in the world to exchange political blows for fun, buddy.
Three houses from where we are people are crying. Someone has died. He was mistakenly shot by the police.
"Give me that paper!" I am now tired of commands.
"And another one!"
The headlines are about frictions in churches. The once peaceful worshipping places are now the hosts of evil activities of all extremes. When you talk of womanizing, power struggles, corruption, greed, these places are now not spared.
"They have even allowed themselves to be used by the politicians. They are no longer concerned with how many people will enter the Holy Heaven, but how many to rally behind which party," She comments.
"My son, those days we used to sing 'Mwezi wawala tisewere, tiimbe' are no longer there. Now politicians have destroyed our oneness. They are there to divide," she recalls with contours all over herself as her mind struggles to plough through the past realities. "They don't have a human heart."
I don't understand what she does. But something happens. On a mirror glass pictures are seen. It shows a politician who when starting politics was a mere salt seller, now swimming in millions. Then a picture of lecturers at the University of Kwithu, who all along have been struggling with books from the first degree, some as far as getting a PhD, but still struggling.
I am angry. My heart is pacing very fast. This is a crime against humanity, I think. I don't know where I am going.
I pass by the hospital where people are very ill waiting for drugs to come from Boma. Near the Hospital I find a politician having a rally. He is full of himself; castigating others in the process. He boasts of having provided drugs to the hospitals and many amenities.
"What about the sick!" I shout my lungs out. As I try to go to the podium, a group of his supporters are on my neck. They do justice to me and throw on the road. I cannot easily see. The track from a far is coming. It is about to crash my head into smithereens.
"Padziko! Padziko! What do you think you are doing you? You have been talking to yourself. Wake up lets go to the church it's now 8: 30" Mum wakes me up.
SERVING OWN BUTTER
By Pacharo Felix Munthali
Echoes of euphoria that gripped the nation in 1994 are still fresh. They were heard as the answers to numerous chains of oppression that the country had experienced during the one party era. Everyone thought time was ripe, when freedom would surely illuminate people's way of life.
In the country where no constitution was of concern in one party era, the concept of constitutionalism instantly reared a new face. Everybody will abide by the rule of law. From Nsanje to Chitipa, Mchinji to Salima, Malawians were told that their voices would be heard. They voices would be an important ingredient in the running of the government.
About fourteen years down the road, more questions than answers that people had expected to be answered are still lingering in numerous people's minds. Are Malawians truly the captains of this democracy? Are their having the legal muscle that can help them run the nation?
As Gerald Chigona observes in his Pitfalls of Democracy, "the wholesale and uncritical acceptance of democracy as a conditio qua non for human advancement is proving to be a nightmare, probably, a mitigated political disaster," with each passing year this is becoming true.
Once Kamuzu Banda said that, "you can't have everybody deciding what to do," in the running of the country. Coming from a tradition where the leaders such as a chief and a group of few have much to say, nobody, when accepting democracy had an idea on how it was like. How will it be like? Up to date many still disagree on the definition of democracy. Others say it is a rule by the electorates, yet others are looking at it as the rule by the few over others.
Two of the basic tenets of democracy are the acceptance of the right of the people to rule and letting the rule of law prevail. But is Malawi practicing the same? Is the repealing of the recall provision, which is section 64 that gave the powers to the ordinary folks to remove their member of parliament if he is not performing or conducting himself the way he is supposed to be, justified as they did?
Like the majority of a colossal of African countries, the coming of political pluralism brought to light tribal and regional stratification. The politicians for their own gains used the divide and rule theory in encouraging tribalism and regionalism for their personal gains. It is only recently that some areas have been liberated, where they no longer choose the candidate based on where he or she is coming from.
Taking advantage of the illiterate masses, the politicians are using that as a point to achieve their ends. The masses are not well informed. There are many issues they need to be informed. This has a risk. The majorities who are not well informed are involved in decision-making. They are there to be manipulated. They are there to be used by politicians to serve their own wishes.
Dr Bakili Muluzi offers himself a very good individual who has rare gut that he can employ to perplex the ordinary folks, before stage-managing them to tag along his views. The mere look at one of his numerous arguments, where he says that during his rule sugar was less than K50 but now it is more than K100, it makes sense to a village folk – especially the one with no basic knowledge of economics. But do the village folk has knowledge of soaring prices of petroleum products, loss of strength of kwacha or dollar? To the village folk, all these jargons are nonsense. Dr Muluzi may know or otherwise, but being a crafty politician, he identifies the niche and uses it – perhaps to serve his ego.
Further, since democracy is a form of rule where the views of the majority government, irrespective of constitutionality, are followed, it is bound to rape the constitution inside out. The parliament as long as it gives a majority representation to the government, it is high likely that the parliament in such instances can rubberstamp anything emanating from the high office.
The UDF- led government before 2004 upon having the majority repealed the section 64 from the Constitution. This meant the MPs were not to be answerable to the electorates. From 2001 using the advantageous numeric presence in parliament, the ruling party then, thought of bringing up the open third bill which was brought to its kneels by a few votes. That is why democracy, says Aristotle, "is a corruption of constitution." Very recently some quarters on the DPP side were calling for wiping out of section 65; some of them say it is in conflict with freedom of association. Who should be believed? Whoever the winner, all these political embarrassments to the country's constitution are there to serve the interest of someone, not the people.
The DPP government has more than once made public its displeasure with section 65. It has spoken on the need to wipe out the provision from the constitution. But analysts believe DPP is just afraid that if the injunctions were lifted. If the speaker used the powers invested in him, DPP will be one of the biggest losers as it will remain with at least five MPs. With not much MPs, the DPP government had no option but use all it can to hook MPs from other parties as a way of achieving its agenda in parliament. The opposition, aiming also at achieving their own interests, with the majority presence, it is feared that if section 65 was applied the President could as well be shown the exit go. The opposition on numerous occasions has made it crystal clear that all they want is to remove Bingu.
Democracy seems to be there as a game of confusion. It is there to help handful individuals to achieve their goals. Frederick Engels says, "Democracy is as I take all forms of government to be, a contradiction itself, untruth, nothing but hypocrisy at the bottom." The very concept of bwana referring to the president whenever addressing him, lucidly implies a lot. The president is more powerful. The democracy that people got in 1994 is a non-starter – never will it be. The people with poverty are becoming more voiceless than 1994. They have been abridged to mere puppet of politicians, who are manipulating them for their own gains. Yet, democracy theoretically is said to be government of people to people for the people and by the people, which people? The few?
Democracy is said to frequently rest upon compromise. But are the country's politicians practicing that? More than once they are aiming political mudslinging and daggers at each other. As Professor Robert Dahl sees it "democracy theory is itself full of compromises – compromises of clashing and antagonistic principles." No compromise is traceable in Malawi. Since two or three years ago the DPP government has used all sorts of tactics to pass the bills in parliament at the expense of section 65. The battle-hardened opposition, out of frustrations for not having the section applied is doing all it can to frustrate the government. Who is the loser? All have their own interests.
As the echoes of political quagmire and fallacies of the grown ups still make jingles in the air and Malawian's minds, for the pain that democracy has brought with 2009 elections approaching soul-searching is everybody's responsibility. Has democracy brought what the country wanted or not? Who are the politicians serving? Is government justifying by launching scathing public outbursts aimed at the opposition, yet they expect them to collaborate in serving the public? Who is serving who?
Echoes of euphoria that gripped the nation in 1994 are still fresh. They were heard as the answers to numerous chains of oppression that the country had experienced during the one party era. Everyone thought time was ripe, when freedom would surely illuminate people's way of life.
In the country where no constitution was of concern in one party era, the concept of constitutionalism instantly reared a new face. Everybody will abide by the rule of law. From Nsanje to Chitipa, Mchinji to Salima, Malawians were told that their voices would be heard. They voices would be an important ingredient in the running of the government.
About fourteen years down the road, more questions than answers that people had expected to be answered are still lingering in numerous people's minds. Are Malawians truly the captains of this democracy? Are their having the legal muscle that can help them run the nation?
As Gerald Chigona observes in his Pitfalls of Democracy, "the wholesale and uncritical acceptance of democracy as a conditio qua non for human advancement is proving to be a nightmare, probably, a mitigated political disaster," with each passing year this is becoming true.
Once Kamuzu Banda said that, "you can't have everybody deciding what to do," in the running of the country. Coming from a tradition where the leaders such as a chief and a group of few have much to say, nobody, when accepting democracy had an idea on how it was like. How will it be like? Up to date many still disagree on the definition of democracy. Others say it is a rule by the electorates, yet others are looking at it as the rule by the few over others.
Two of the basic tenets of democracy are the acceptance of the right of the people to rule and letting the rule of law prevail. But is Malawi practicing the same? Is the repealing of the recall provision, which is section 64 that gave the powers to the ordinary folks to remove their member of parliament if he is not performing or conducting himself the way he is supposed to be, justified as they did?
Like the majority of a colossal of African countries, the coming of political pluralism brought to light tribal and regional stratification. The politicians for their own gains used the divide and rule theory in encouraging tribalism and regionalism for their personal gains. It is only recently that some areas have been liberated, where they no longer choose the candidate based on where he or she is coming from.
Taking advantage of the illiterate masses, the politicians are using that as a point to achieve their ends. The masses are not well informed. There are many issues they need to be informed. This has a risk. The majorities who are not well informed are involved in decision-making. They are there to be manipulated. They are there to be used by politicians to serve their own wishes.
Dr Bakili Muluzi offers himself a very good individual who has rare gut that he can employ to perplex the ordinary folks, before stage-managing them to tag along his views. The mere look at one of his numerous arguments, where he says that during his rule sugar was less than K50 but now it is more than K100, it makes sense to a village folk – especially the one with no basic knowledge of economics. But do the village folk has knowledge of soaring prices of petroleum products, loss of strength of kwacha or dollar? To the village folk, all these jargons are nonsense. Dr Muluzi may know or otherwise, but being a crafty politician, he identifies the niche and uses it – perhaps to serve his ego.
Further, since democracy is a form of rule where the views of the majority government, irrespective of constitutionality, are followed, it is bound to rape the constitution inside out. The parliament as long as it gives a majority representation to the government, it is high likely that the parliament in such instances can rubberstamp anything emanating from the high office.
The UDF- led government before 2004 upon having the majority repealed the section 64 from the Constitution. This meant the MPs were not to be answerable to the electorates. From 2001 using the advantageous numeric presence in parliament, the ruling party then, thought of bringing up the open third bill which was brought to its kneels by a few votes. That is why democracy, says Aristotle, "is a corruption of constitution." Very recently some quarters on the DPP side were calling for wiping out of section 65; some of them say it is in conflict with freedom of association. Who should be believed? Whoever the winner, all these political embarrassments to the country's constitution are there to serve the interest of someone, not the people.
The DPP government has more than once made public its displeasure with section 65. It has spoken on the need to wipe out the provision from the constitution. But analysts believe DPP is just afraid that if the injunctions were lifted. If the speaker used the powers invested in him, DPP will be one of the biggest losers as it will remain with at least five MPs. With not much MPs, the DPP government had no option but use all it can to hook MPs from other parties as a way of achieving its agenda in parliament. The opposition, aiming also at achieving their own interests, with the majority presence, it is feared that if section 65 was applied the President could as well be shown the exit go. The opposition on numerous occasions has made it crystal clear that all they want is to remove Bingu.
Democracy seems to be there as a game of confusion. It is there to help handful individuals to achieve their goals. Frederick Engels says, "Democracy is as I take all forms of government to be, a contradiction itself, untruth, nothing but hypocrisy at the bottom." The very concept of bwana referring to the president whenever addressing him, lucidly implies a lot. The president is more powerful. The democracy that people got in 1994 is a non-starter – never will it be. The people with poverty are becoming more voiceless than 1994. They have been abridged to mere puppet of politicians, who are manipulating them for their own gains. Yet, democracy theoretically is said to be government of people to people for the people and by the people, which people? The few?
Democracy is said to frequently rest upon compromise. But are the country's politicians practicing that? More than once they are aiming political mudslinging and daggers at each other. As Professor Robert Dahl sees it "democracy theory is itself full of compromises – compromises of clashing and antagonistic principles." No compromise is traceable in Malawi. Since two or three years ago the DPP government has used all sorts of tactics to pass the bills in parliament at the expense of section 65. The battle-hardened opposition, out of frustrations for not having the section applied is doing all it can to frustrate the government. Who is the loser? All have their own interests.
As the echoes of political quagmire and fallacies of the grown ups still make jingles in the air and Malawian's minds, for the pain that democracy has brought with 2009 elections approaching soul-searching is everybody's responsibility. Has democracy brought what the country wanted or not? Who are the politicians serving? Is government justifying by launching scathing public outbursts aimed at the opposition, yet they expect them to collaborate in serving the public? Who is serving who?
Monday, June 16, 2008
THE WTO-DEVELOPING COUNTRIES' DILEMMA
By Pacharo Felix Munthali
As the May 19 swiftly approaches, it is highly expected that the World Trade Organisation (WTO) secretariat will be hosting ministers aimed at finding a "breakthrough in the global trade talks," which the WTO Director General Pascal Lamy has described as talks seeking "an outline deal on Doha Round."
The negotiations aimed at striking a global trade deal started in 2001 in an attempt to bring about smooth flow of exports around the world, with greater emphasis on offering developing countries a conducive environment which can help them deal with grappling poverty culminating in the developing countries being easily integrated into the world economy.
Over the years of heated debates, the Doha Round which is intending at freeing global trade and extending the benefits of the globalization to developing countries, it seems is aloof from bringing about a win-win conclusion.
Marred by more break downs in talks than agreements leading to successes, the WTO has huge task hovering over its secretariat.
In 2003 in Cancun the talks intended at forging the agreements on the round's objectives collapsed after a strong North-South divide on agricultural issues, where the middle-income and poorer developing countries rejected the deal which they viewed as very unfavorable.
The latest being the talks in Geneva in 2006. This one failed to bring an agreement on reducing farm subsidies and lowering tariffs, a scenario that forced Pascal Lamy to formally suspend the Doha Round.
Amongst the most treasured issues by the developing countries are agricultural market access and agricultural subsidies.
Although agriculture constitutes 8% of the world trade, it represents the main source of income for approximately 2.5 billion people, the majority of whom are those in the developing countries. In the developing countries fifty out of every hundred individuals make their living from farming and agriculture. In some instances it goes to as far as eighty people out of every hundred, a scenario which Malawi becomes a good example.
To this end agriculture and levels of poverty have direct linkage. It is no wonder that three-fourth of 2.5 billion people who are trapped below a threshold of a dollar per day work and live in the rural areas, with agriculture being their main income earner..
Between 80 to 90% of Malawians live in the rural areas and depend on agriculture. According to Malawi Growth and Development Strategy 65% of the rural people live below the poverty line. Agriculture therefore plays a vital role in fight against poverty, which is also a central aspect in Millennium Development Goals.
With such revelations of taxing poverty and relatively lower production coupled by less capabilities to successfully compete on the world market, farmers from the poor countries are finding it an uphill to compete with excessively subsidized exports from the European countries, USA and even Japan.
They see it as suicidal to open up they markets which they view as likely to cripple even further their already incapacitated local industries, which mostly are agro-based.
Despite Doha Ministerial Declaration extensively reflecting the concerns of the developing countries that, "SDT for developing countries shall be an integral part of all elements of the negotiations so as to be operationally effective and enable developing countries to effectively take account of their needs, including food security and rural development," the past experience with the trade liberalization during the last decade ore so has shown that these have led to renouncing to policy tools that can foster development while not redressing imbalances that allow for massive subsidization and protection of agriculture in major developed countries.
This is further re-affirmed by the fact that developed countries face less pressure to open up their markets.
The WTO rules have not prevented developed countries from resorting to trade-distorting, domestic support and export subsidies, with the developing countries – who mostly rely on heavily on tariffs and border measures to protect and support their agriculture, have been pressured to open up their markets and reduce their trade barriers to the entry of agricultural products. Such a tendency is coming in because of ongoing round table discussions, as well as due to top down policy advice emanating from donors and international organizations.
Among a colossal of outstanding issues, there is "sensitive product" issue that developed and large developing countries would like to protect, with the group of six namely US, EU, Brazil, Canada and Australia having hot disagreements amongst themselves on joint proposal. The disagreements will surely have either a positive or negative impact on the plot of smaller countries like Malawi, which exports to Europe.
While "Tropical Products countries" like Cost Rica are pushing for faster liberalization of their products to the EU, the ACP countries are haggling for a lower libaralisation process, especially for the products which the ACP exports to the EU under preferential terms. With these conflicts between the rich and the poor, the rich between rich, and the poor between the poor, it re mains a conundrum that will need a bottom up solution, not the closed door meetings in the Green Rooms with hope that the developing countries will rubber stamp everything because they depend on the very rich countries for aid.
With the fragile and undiversified economy that Malawi has, which wholly depends on agriculture, as May 19 approaches for the conclusion of the talks as Pascal Lamy puts it, the landscape looks very bumpy than ever. The developed countries with their highly protected agricultural sector have bashed the submissions by the chair of the negotiating committee on agriculture Crawford Falconer, who suggests that a minimum requirement cut of tariff by the developed countries should be 54% against 36% for the developing countries, a move which was welcomed by the developing countries.
It seems to be the hardest period. With EPA negotiations hitting a gridlock, oil prices soaring records high, and now the WTO negotiations becoming unfavorable to the developing countries, this moment is possibly the most trying for the countries in the caliber of Malawi.
As May 19 is at the door stop, Malawi is facing a dilemma. The Western governments are the ones that fund a better part of its budget, its industries are fragile, the local farmers have little abilities to compete with their Western counterparts, yet anyhow rejection of the deal may bring another chaos. It remains to be seen how the outstanding issues will be resolved.
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