Bingu is Malawi's new president. He has served his first five year term and was now into his second term, and sure as death and taxes, the corruption which he promised to eradicate was now beginning again and growing steadily. Bingu's picture is everywhere in Malawi - billboards, public service announcments, on shop walls, and today; the front page of the 'Malawi News'. Malawi is a now a deomcracy, but even in democracy the cheif wants people to know he is the chief.
As the bus filled up, the open seat next to me was finally taken. I was deep into my book and excited about the prospect of a few hours of reading. I have become oddly obsessed with reading about dictators and Aids, killing and corruption, democracy and famine.
A Malawian man sat down next to me holding a newspaper. We smiled and greeted as i helped him load his bag, then i turned back to my book. "Ah, this government, they are raising taxes again. You can make 100 000kw a year, get taxed almost half, then they still raise tax on food, schools, even this newspaper".
Mcdonald was an accountant on his way to Llongwe to sit the ASCA accounting exam to become a chartered accountent. He went through the main points of the budget on the front page and explained the ins and outs of the Malawian tax system. I liked Mcdonald straight away.
It was a hot day outside and even hotter inside. Despite our efforts of waking up at 6:30 to leave town early, it was already 10am when the bus finally left the station. You see; choosing a bus to ride is a complex decision of many factors. One bus will be quicker but less comfortable. Others will be slower to fill. Some have windows, some air-con, others no ventilation at all. New wheels, good music, a reliable driver. At the station, men swamp you to try get you on their bus. They promise you anything: more room, a shorter route. They compliment your dreadlocks and ask your name. To be your choice, they promise the world, whether they intend to, or even are able to live up the expectations. We chose a modernish looking bus, for a good price with the bikes, which was meant to fill up and leave within the hour.Others chose that bus for their own requirments.
The bus was finally full and the driver, dressed in green overalls and thick rimmed glasses stood n front of the passengers and led us in a prayer so that we could embark on a safe journey. The whole bus dipped their heads, closed their eyes and responded to the prayer with an 'Amen'. It was hot, sweaty and getting late but the bus still did not leave. There were no windows on this bus and people waited for the promised aircon to be switched on. But the air-con did not come.
I have always marveled by how people are so willing to take abuse from bus or taxi drivers. People sit silently as drivers waste time, overpack the isles, or breakdown due to their own reckless driving. Just yesterday we sat in silence and heat, alongside 60 others for two hours as the driver had to walk a woman wose foot he had ridden over to hospital.
But not today. Im not sure if it was the banter on board about the budget, or maybe the heat was too much, but today the bus was alive and unifed. People began shouting towards the front of the bus. Some threatened to leave and take their money back if the bus did not leave and air-con was not switched on. One or two of the most confident and outspoken stood up and voiced the public discontent sharply to the driver. Soon enough the conductor was sent through the isles to fiddle with the air-con, which clearly did not, and probably never did, work.
The bus was on the verge of revolution. The pregnant women were alight with anger and excitment, the live chickens chirped and flapped their wings, clearly upset from the heat and noise. The engine switched on and the bus slowly rolled forward, but only just in time to avoid rioting. However this did not appease the crowd who by this time were unified and alert. Despite the progress of the journey, the shouting and laughter continued. Yet by now people were sitting, and more than rebellion, there was discussion.
"What are they talking about?" I asked Mcdonald. "They are upset about the tax increases in the budget, and they are discussing Bingu's policy." He explained.
The discussion waged on with passion as people from all rows on the bus got their turn to speak. Within minutes the key players in the road revolution has been identified. When the guy with the sunglasses spoke the bus roared with laughter. When the man in the white shirt spoke, people hissed and commented to those around. When Mcdonald spoke, people listened and either nodded or argued back intensely. Some said nothing at all. One man declared himself president of the bus and began electing ministers. The conversation was half in English, half in Chichiwe, obviously to accommodate the whites on board.
They discussed election and new candidates. They argued over past decisions and new budgets. This group on the bus were dissattisfied with their political situation; and in a country with little internet and infrastructure, the public participation process was in session. On the buses, around the pool tables, in the hours spent waiting for the services to work, people spoke, people discussed and people organized.
Macdonald gave me the background on the issues and explained the peoples' points in more depth. The newspapers got handed around for others to read, and occasionally someone would read a passage aloud for the whole bus to hear. This was democracy alive.
Discontent is contagious and humour builds unity, and soon attention was focused back on the driver. He is driving too slow, he is too old, he is stopping too much. I suggested that we had outrun his 5 hour term and that we should hold an election to appoint a new bus driver for the last 200km. People laughed, chatted and the games continued. I have seen many things in my life, but i have never seen a bus load of strangers argue over politics and unify around bus driving before.
Yet the strong tides of revolution were soon to turn. The discussion had calmed down and the passion subsided intro the long afternoon bus ride across the country. The games were over, women had gotten back to feeding their babies, most resumed staring out the windows, and i returned to my book. But it takes only a few to break the peace.
By this time, 'the president' was now drunk and intoxicated with the fame and laughter that his important part in the road revolution had brought him. He continues to make loud, slurring annoucements to the whole bus. His ministers continues to laugh and ramble loudly, long after most people had stopped listening. And the civilians on the bus continued to take abuse from someone in power, now drunk and repulsive, embarrassing his silent girlfriend next to him. The bus democracy, once alive and exciting with discussion of politics and rights, was now the inconsiderate and incomprehensible ramblings of one man and his drunk cronies. The mood has changed completely.
What has happened to Africa? How did something so right turn so wrong? How did corruption, alcohol and arrogance tarnish such a beautiful lands and destroy indestructible dreams? Somewhere along the road Mandela turned into Malema. Banda and Bingu became indistinguishable. Even Nkrumah fell from grace. Discontent is contagious, but so is corruption, self-adoration and alcoholism. And like that, snap, the dream is gone.
An hour ago i sat almost with tears in my eyes reading the history of SA's transition to democracy and listening to the political discussions. Now my eyes were filled with flames and i was angry. Angry with Mobutu of Congo, angry with Bokassa of Central African Republic, angry with this drunk idiot shouting two rows behind me.
I am not claimed to be a hero or a revolutionary or any braver than the rest of the passengers on the bus. Maybe i was just less accustomed to drunken ramblings, but i could not take it anymore and was not going to. Jules quite correctly grabbed my shoulder as i turned around, obviously noticing my restlessness or maybe it was mimmicing his. But it was to late and i shrugged him off. "Hey, My President. You are now drunk and too loud and you must sit down in your seat and keep quiet". His sunglasses were by now upside down on this face and i started straight at his eyes, refusing to break my gaze.
Jules grabbed my shoulder again. "Just let it go man, its enough". And he was right; it was enough. Everyone had heard me, our president sat silent and embarrassed, trying to muster response. His girlfriend stared out the window, i turned back to the front, and the bus resumed its rightful silence of banging bottles and crying babies.
There is nothing wrong with Africa. The lands are beautiful, the people are strong and the culture is indestructible. Yet there is something wrong with the systems, the politics and the ability of power to corrupt. The politicians are selfish and ill-equip, making bad decisions which favour the few. Elitism devours the rich while alcoholism devours the poor. Yet they were fucked up in their turn by fools in old style hats and coats. Now it is their turn to steal state taxes, enjoy the power of politics and money and drink beer all day. I was wronged in the past, now it is my revolution and i will take vengeance by doing what i want.
When i got off the bus i said goodbye to Mcdonald and wished him well for his exam. We took down our bikes, packed up our bags and went off the find the hostel. For most it was just another bus ride, albeit quite long, hot and loud. However, the feeling that i was left with after that ride has stayed with me for a few days: Africa does not need a revolution, the same as Malawi does not need more tax increases. What Africa needs is politicians who dont steal public funds, bus drivers who deliver what they promise and citizens who dont spend their working week drinking in bars.
There is still hope, so as hard as it is, don't lose faith.
Great Post
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