By Wilson Kaigarula
That scenario may seem fictitious, but it was a real-life nasty experience for many men in colonial Tanganyika, thanks to mandatory taxation. Paying taxes was a major challenge for heads of families who were alternately subsistence farmers and labourers who were hard-pressed to meet basic household demands. But the colonial administrators brooked no excuses for not fulfilling that obligation.

Tax defaulters were always on the look-out for the Ruga-Ruga—militia-like bands of ruthless Black Tanganyikans who were part of the law enforcement machinery of Her Majesty’s Service.

They were overzealous, apparently because of the mistaken assumption that, by instilling fear in fellow Tanganyikans and humiliating them by parading them along paths with bare chests and bare feet, they became a bit of white colonialists and thus distant rulers.

To avoid arrest, grilling, psychological embarrassment and fines, tax defaulters simply vanished.  Those who got wind of Ruga-Ruga presence early enough hid in the bushes.  Some took cover under their beds, having instructed other family members to fake their absence over some cooked-up pretext.

As a young boy in the dying months of colonialism in the 1960s, I bore witness to panic triggered by Ruga-Ruga.  As a young adult in the 1980s, I was both amused and enraged when an elderly waiter at a tourist hotel in Moshi put the White-Black dichotomy in somewhat comical perspective to a group of visiting journalists.

He said that during his boyhood, it was considered bad manners—and an offender risked reprimand—if a Black person walked past a white person with his shoes on, age differences notwithstanding.

He said something to this effect:  “If a grown-up man saw a white boy walking from the opposite direction, he had three options—to take his shoes off and put them on again after walking past the boy, to make a U-turn and go back where he had come from or cross the road and proceed to the original destination but hope he didn’t encounter another white person…”

Humiliation of that sort explains why Independence Day remains an eternally cherished event for nationals of the Land of Kilimanjaro. These are Tanzanians, the much older generation that was Tanganyikan until the eve of April 26, 1964, when the Mainland and Zanzibar coalesced into the United Republic of Tanzania.

The lowering of the British colonial flag and hoisting of the Tanganyikan one symbolised a transition from colonial subjugation to sovereignty. Inherent in the hard-earned Uhuru was the transfer of leadership from the last British governor, Sir Richard Turnbull, to Mwalimu  Julius Nyerere as leader of  independent Tanganyika, first as Chief Minister and subsequently as President.

The colonialists ceased to be both political bosses and creatures black people were indoctrinated into perceiving as special and superior. Slogans that sprung forth from ‘Uhuru’ included “All human beings are equal”. Decoded, part of the message it relayed was that skin colour did not make anyone superior or inferior; that, for instance, a white person was not greater than a black person.

Absurdities like a black adult taking off his shoes as a mark of respect for a white youngster were supposed to end.  Post-Uhuru tax collection was supposed to be distinctly different from the Ruga-Ruga thuggery. But sickening aspects of the white superiority complex persist.

Shedding certain misconceptions takes time and some truths emerge slowly, dramatically even. But, in some cases, it appears as though we are deliberately ‘fortifying’ the complex. There is ample and irrefutable evidence that Tanzania (as a component of the broader African continent) is teeming with students, scholars and researchers who outshine their white and brown counterparts and  sincere foreigners acknowledge that reality.

During a study tour of Sweden in the 1980s, a guide panicked as she dragged me across the streets of Stockholm like a toddler.  When it started drizzling, she bought an umbrella and gave me practical instructions on how to operate it.

By and large, though, certain aspects of the evil complex are inexcusable, and more so for the people of an independent country (right up to policy-making levels) whose nationhood at 50 matches that of a civil servant who has only 10 years service credit before retirement.

A judicious balance must be struck between de-emphasising English and promoting Kiswahili, given our membership of the so-called global family. In the East African cohesion drive for instance, promoting the English language is inevitable.

The madness represented by the English Medium School mania has to be cured because mastery of the so-called Queen’s language is being equated to acquisition of knowledge and education. Also worrying is the culture of suspect contracts with greedy foreigners who are certainly capitalising on residues of the superiority complex.

The repercussions include resources and capital being siphoned off. Domestic facilitators grow extremely rich and the environment is irreparably degraded. At major hotels and office complexes, it is incredible how security corps cast suspicious glances at decently-dressed black visitors but cow in the presence of shabby whites.

It’s all very well that trade liberalisation, one of the highlights of which is foreign investments, is being touted as good  economic news. But the goodness is shrunk by aspects like bossy bosses who more-or-less echo colonial-era oppression, including indigenous Tanzanians.

My blood chills whenever I hear frustrated people invoking   ukoloni and wakoloni (colonialism/colonialists) in reference to public servants who behave as though they are doing those they are enjoined to serve a favour.

And how about isolated yet psychologically very distressing  yearnings for the colonial civil service that senior citizens recall nostalgically for being methodically perfect and corruption-free?

Most worrisome, however, is that  the ‘All people are equal’ slogan  has been reduced to hollow  jazz, as openings for good education, jobs, healthcare and socio-economic advancement  are predicated not on  someone being   a citizen but part of the high income bracket and well-connected to the establishment.

It is not pleasant at all that men and women who are essentially people’s servants should fly off to high-profile hospitals abroad for treatment, while back home some people cannot access far-flung dispensaries.

At great risk,  others pursue the ‘heal thyself’ approach by buying medicine at  sub-standard chemist shops  on the basis  that they cured some acquaintances they knew in the past or in  compliance with free advice  by  primary school drop-outs.

The species of politicians who propelled the Uhuru struggle and  nursed Tanganyika during its post-Uhuru infancy were, on the whole, nationalistic and patriotic.

Now, save for a few exceptions, politics has virtually been commercialised. The drive is for personal and family enrichment rather than the elevation of the welfare of wananchi.

The successive post-independence governments deserve kudos  for the achievements registered so far, but we need to address the yawning gaps in policy formulation,  resource allocation  and other critical areas.

Uhuru Day commemorations should be more about achievements and less about blunders. More significantly, they should be about pushing  the pre-December 9, 1961, era farther into the past, save as a chapter in history lessons—for the record.

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