A dry festive season

When I was a little boy growing in that Utopian state of African Socialism and self-reliance things were never this bad.

This to say the least was the driest, hot Christmas I have ever had.

At least in that very weird state of Ujamaa Utopia in which we lived, actually we never became socialists or self-reliant as we dreamt.

It was something there in between or about.

My late grandfather used to say actual we became bats, mammals with wings but never the less, it used to rain during the Christmas season. I mean that was the norm.

And rain we were told was a sign of blessings and good fortunes to come.

Bumper harvest was to be expected and a lot of merry-making thereafter.

Of course, that joy of the rain at Christmas promised abundance of creamy local cereal beer; a happy and healthy community.

If one leader’s reign came to an end, a new one had taken over it was believed, rain to be a sign of great prosperity during his era.

No rain would mean the opposite is due to happen. Lord have mercy on us, I pray.

This creepy turn of nature on one hand was also being manifestated in many other odd ways.

The other day I was shocked to hear a journalist somewhere in the north of the country was thuggishly jailed by some might power in the district.

Guess what his crime was; the poor journalist forgot himself and apparently reported on water crisis facing the Boss’ chiefdom! His report was very annoying and in bad taste to say the least!!

The sagas and scandals did not end there.

In fact, so many others kept entertaining the entire place from Mtwara to Kagera.

There was that interesting story of the closing down of that Dangote cement factory.

Someone at the pub told me it was part of our new ‘industrialisation drive’; shut down what we cannot get shares from!

After all why should we care? There is a lot of mud in country why have another cement factory to pollute our beautiful land of Kilimanjaro.

Anyway, that “who is to blame braa braa” went about to and forth until the billionaire factory owner arrived in Dar and everybody shut up; that was the end of story. Whatever was discussed hata mimi sijui!!!

Then there was that exciting tale of now famous Rhino John.

I don’t know the real truth about all sorts of legends that are said about this mysterious creature who was once roaming the plains of Ngorongoro and Serengeti.

It all depends on who is narrating the story.

Some at Mama B’s say that John was such a rare kind of creature half rhino, half elephant.

He was notorious in many ways including the story of his polygamous nature that never allowed other males to conjugate.

That’s why of all the murdered elephants and rhinos in this country this one is the only one in history to have a commission of inquiry formed to investigate the where-about of his Holy grave.

Although the PM has the horn of the Holy beast somewhere he best knows, he is now up in arms he now wants the grave of John the rhino identified.

Some fools at the pub are even insinuating that hopefully when the place is finally found could be the turning point of our economy.

It will be spun into an International shrine for poachers from all over the world; a real tourist money spinner.

Kind of crazy but such is the nature of the idle talk during this festive season at the bar?

God bless us all in the New Year to come.

And all of you whether believers or not, should say Amen.