Cashgate: Where was God?

We are back in Balaka. Our diary indicates that we will have to be here until when we meet Mirela, that sweet songstress whose dreams were shattered by some selfish, clueless, agenda-less ultra-vocal gender activists.

We spent last Friday afternoon at Mbela, some call it Mbera, in Chief Kalembo’s area. Mbela is a beautiful set of villages located a few kilometres to the North East of Balaka Township. Mbelians are hard working. They use drip irrigation to produce vegetables, goat and chicken meat that Balakians consume. We know this because we met Mbelians carrying vegetables on bicycles, with live chicken dangling somersault-like from handle bars, to sell at Balaka. We know because they told us. They told us because we asked them.

However, Mbela is an area that needs nutrition-related civic education. Chief Kalembo, that affable, tolerant and soft spoken man, once advised his people that to stem child malnutrition in the area, people should consider eating their chicken, guinea fowl, goats and vegetables before thinking about selling some to Balakians.

We drove to his compound to pay a courtesy call. He was not there. So we drove back slowly. After driving for about three kilometers, Sheikh Jean-Philippe LePoisson suggested that we park somewhere under a shade.

“What for?” I asked as slowed the vehicle down to park under a mango tree.

“For a drink,” Sheikh Jean-Philippe answered.

“Drink? Where do we get drinks in a deserted place like this?”I asked, rather puzzled.

“We have drinks,” answered our commander-in-chief, Abiti Joyce Befu, also known as MG 66.

“Don’t be funny,” I said.

“Last night, I asked my good Sheikh here to surprise you. We bought amalaula, Liwonde Light Gin, a few bottles of fantakoko, ice blocks, Chivas Mikhito, and some disposable tumblers,” MG 66 said pompously.

“You have amalaula?” Native Authority Mandela asked, smiling.

“You like it?” Sheikh Jean-Philippe asked as he twisted the bottle cover open.

Sheikh Jean-Philippe poured some amalaula cream into a tumbler. MG 66 added ice blocks. Togethzer, they passed the drink to Native Authority Mandela.

“What are you two celebrating?” I asked.

“What’s your problem? What’s the issue? My Sheikh here and I are adults and we can decide what to do when, where and how. Is that clear, Mr driver?” MG 66 asked, me, in particular.

“No Miss Till Operator. The problem is that you don’t really know the man you call your Sheikh. Do you know how many women he has abandoned in Malawi alone? Do you?” I fought back.

“Jealous. Malawian men are jealousy-packed. They don’t want women to succeed. My Sheikh here says ‘behind every successful woman there is a man’. If it should take one man to make all women succeed, let it be,” MG 66 said, putting her elbow on Sheikh Jean-Philippe’s right shoulder.

“Ignore her ranting. She’s not very sober,” Sheikh Jean-Philippe said, blinking his right eye at me.

I poured myself enough Chivas Mikhito, mixed it with Liwonde Light Gin, and diluted the mixture with fantakoko and ice.

“What’s your problem? Did you participate in the Capital cash theft?” MG 66 asked.

“She is right. You can’t drink like you want to commit suicide. Yet you are our driver,” Sheikh Jean-Philippe pleaded.

Native Authority Mandela asked for another glass of amalaula on the rocks. MG 66 served him diligently. Mandela took his drink with majestic slowness.

“You know,” Native Authority Mandela started, “something really puzzles me about Malawi.”

“What is it?”

“This country is very religious and prayerful. All the presidents we have had have been overtly religious and prayerful. I remember Kamuzu Banda used to go and pray. He was even made a Presbyterian Church elder! Muluzi, too, used to religiously follow and attend Islamic prayer sessions. He even had a Nikah at State House. Bingu wa Mutharika claimed to be a devout Catholic Christian. He even carried the cross during Easter ceremonies. Joyce Banda mentions God at least five times in every speech…”

“Five times? Did you count?” MG 66 quizzed.

“My nephew at the Statistical Office in Zomba counted….”

“Can you let Mandela finish. Please,” Sheikh Jena-Philippe commanded.

“Almost all Malawians believe in a powerful, omniscient, and interventionist God, but it surprises me that such a religious nation can kill like the MCP did and steal like post-MCP governments have done. Where is God? Why does God, Allah, Jehovah, Jah, Chata, Chauta, Chiuta, Mulungu, Mphambe not intervene on behalf of the innocent? Where was God when civil servants, bankers and politicians plotted to loot the national treasury?”

“God’s time cannot be understood in human terms. He will intervene one day!” MG 66 said.

“My faith in God is shaken, vey shaken, my faith is extremely shaken!” Native Authority Mandela said and took a sip of amalaula.