The Lion's Cub

Gifts

     Three men came bearing gifts for a baby.  Later, there was a miracle.

     No, this is not that story -- a few key differences.  First of all, there was no guiding star.   Even though this child would forever change Malawi, the constellations did not seem to care.  Secondly, the baby’s father was neither God Almighty nor a humble shepherd.  General Ebeso, the Malawian dictator, was the father.  For nine months, he had been awaiting the birth of his heir.  After the child let out its first caterwaul a banquet had been thrown: seventy crates of beer had been opened, nineteen cows had been slaughtered, songs had been sung.   Two days later, three men had received invitations to come and be introduced to the ‘Lion’s Cub’. 

    They came bearing gifts:  a gold watch, a picture book, and a puppet with floppy black cotton ringlets for hair.  Later, there was a miracle.

Gold Watch

     "Are you sure?" the jeweller had asked, his eyes sparkling like the trinkets he sold.  "A gold watch for a baby?"

     "Just make it," Jokoza had snapped back.

      A week later, Jokoza Malinda stood outside Ebeso's palace.  He was very pleased.  After years of kissing up to less deserving men it was finally his turn, his moment.  This was his last day as a Minister’s Personal Assistant.  As he walked towards the front door he saw a battered Corolla enter the driveway.  A wiry man in a rumpled grey suit got out and approached.  His bony face looked familiar but Jokoza couldn't place him. 

     The man held out his hand in greeting.  "Kondwani Kalyati.  I interviewed you two years ago.  Are you also here to see Ebeso’s son?"

     Jokoza struggled to conceal his surprise.  He had assumed it was going to be a private audience.  He definitely had not expected someone like Mr. Kalyati to be invited.  He looked from the man’s uncombed hair to his dry skin and stained shirt.   Not the sort of man he wanted to share his audience with Ebeso. 

     At the door, a beautiful woman with thick braids welcomed them and led them to a waiting room.  A large man in a military uniform was already waiting.  After ten minutes, all three of them were led to General Ebeso's office.  Rifles, spears, and animal heads decorated the walls of the circular room.  Ebeso sat behind a sturdy desk.  His fleshy body was encased by a military uniform gilded with an array of medals.  There was a tiny pram beside him.  Ebeso smiled widely at his guests and rose.  He reached two big hands into the pram and picked up his son.  The tiny infant let out a delighted gurgle.  "This is Dedza."

     "He looks very strong," said the Lieutenant.

     "He is a child worthy of his great father," put in Jokoza, a little angry that he had been beaten to the compliment. 

     Mr. Kalyati stepped forward and presented a package.  "Congratulations.  This is for your son.”

     Ebeso placed his baby back in the pram and accepted the gift.  He ripped open the brown paper wrapping and Jokoza observed with interest.  It was a children’s book.  Jokoza noticed it wasn't even new.  What kind of fool gave the general a second hand gift?  "Thank you," said Ebeso.   He pointed at the plastic bag in Lieutenant Ambali’s hands. 

    "Your excellency, I don't have a lot of money and..."

     Ebeso waved away the apology and accepted a small cloth puppet.  He placed it in the pram beside Dedza. 

     Eagerly, Jokoza held out his gift.  Ebeso accepted the black lacquered jewellery box  and opened it.  He looked down at the watch but didn't say anything.  He just put it on his desk and began speaking.  "My son Dedza is the future.  I have invited you here because I want you to play an important part in his life.  Lieutenant, all of your superiors agree that you are the most reliable soldier in the army.  My son will one day lead Malawi and, because of that, he already has enemies.  You will be his bodyguard.  You are never to let him out of your sight and if he so much as breaks a limb, you shall pay for it with your life."

     "It shall be an honour."

    "As for you Mr. Kalyati, you must be wondering why I summoned you here.  Just last week you wrote an editorial criticising me.  Don't be afraid my friend.  I am rewarding you.  There are too many different papers right now all written by useless cowards.  The people are receiving too many conflicting messages.  From now on, your newspaper will be the only paper.  I will add to your staff a political consultant so that there is a clear line of dialogue between me and the people.”  Mr. Kalyati's mouth opened as though he was about to say something.

     “Tomorrow...” Ebeso added, placing his palms against the handlebar of the pram, “You will introduce the people to my son.  Every week after that you will include a column updating the people about their future leader.”  Finally, he turned to Jokoza.  “As for you, you are clearly a brave and stupid man.”  Ebeso reached for the gold watch on the desk.  “To give me an expensive gift bought with money you stole from me?”

     The blood pumping through Jokoza’s veins congealed.  “I... ”

     “Lieutenant Ambali, Mr. Kalyati, both of you will be in positions of some influence where, if you wished, you could cause a lot of trouble for me.  Know this, I do not tolerate betrayal.  This man stole several hundred thousand Kwacha from the Transport budget.”

      “I didn’t,” Jokoza sputtered.  “There’s been a mistake.”

     “Guards,” Ebeso called out.  Three men walked in through the double doors.  “Take him to the detention centre.  Schedule him to be executed tomorrow morning.”

     “Please,” Jokoza begged when Ebeso released his throat.  “I needed the money because...”

     Two of the guards grabbed him and started dragging him out.

     At that exact moment, Dedza let out a hearty yowl.

     “Wait,” ordered Ebeso, rushing to the pram like a doctor to a dying patient’s side.  He reached in and pulled out the bawling infant.  He began rocking the baby who continued crying.  The look on Ebeso’s face was a total contrast from the ruthless mask it had been moments before.  He viewed his son with clear desperation.  “Wait, don’t him in prison.  Just throw him out.  Let it be a warning.”  Dedza’s cries quelled and Ebeso relaxed.

      Still trembling, Jokoza was escorted out of the palace.  As for the gold watch, it found its way into the wastepaper basket beneath Ebeso’s desk.        

Picture Book

     His mother had  placed the glossy book in front of Kondwani and flipped it open.   "Once there was a Question who was lonely…" the book began.  Beside the text there was a drawing of a question mark with big droopy eyes and a sad face.

     After his mother’s death Kondwani Kalyati had opened Question looks for an Answer every night.  He had read each line, imagining his mother’s voice reading along with him.  Years later, when deciding what gift to give the dictator’s son, Kondwani had rummaged through a chest in his basement until he found the picture book.

     In Ebeso’s office, keeping silent had been difficult.  When Ebeso had said ‘my son will one day lead Malawi’ , Kondwani had wanted to remind him that Malawi was not a monarchy.  Later, when Ebeso said The Guardian would now be the only newspaper, common sense helped him bite back a retort.  Only later did he speak.  “They’re going to hate me,” he told one of his junior editors.  “They’re going to think I made a deal with Ebeso.”

     He was right.  Whenever he ran into any of his previously rival journalists, he saw the disdain in their stares.  It hurt more that they never verbalised it.   Were they afraid he’d report them?  Their hate however, he could deal with.  The truly unbearable thing was the new political consultant.  Down to the smallest phrase, he rewrote everything in the paper which painted Ebeso in a bad light.        

     As a further insult, Kondwani had to see Ebeso every week when he went to research Dedza’s progress.  This was what his life had come to, writing about the eating habits and jibbers of a baby.  “Dedza’s nurses say he slept peacefully today after enjoying a bowl of groundnut porridge.”  This he was allowed to write about but not a word about the arrests or the execution of dissidents.

     Lieutenant Ambali was always in whatever room Dedza played or slept in.  He stood vigil over Dedza’s cradle like a statue, saying nothing.  Kondwani occasionally asked him a questions which the answers were always monosyllabic.  “Yes.”  “No.”  “Fine.”

     One morning, Kondwani came to the palace and found a surprisingly joyous atmosphere.  He found out that Dedza had taken his first steps.  Everybody working in the palace had got a raise.  Kondwani met Ebeso in the corridor and the general was bubbling.  “He walked today my friend.  You should have been here.  I was holding him up like this, and then hoooo!  He started ja ja ja ja.”   Whenever Ebeso was happy he used more sound effects than words.  “I just found out that children usually do not walk until there are a year old.  Seven months for Dedza.  Yaah man.  Just like his father.  You put that in the newspaper.  Seven months and then ja ja ja ja.”  Ebeso began to waddle in an imitation of his son’s first steps.

      Kondwani smiled and was immediately angry for the momentary affection he had felt for the dictator.

      Ebeso continued down the corridor and threw his arms around one of the maids.  “He walked Mavis.  He walked!  Ja ja ja ja.”  

      Dedza was alone in his nursery.  Well, not alone.  Lieutenant Ambali was there but he was as much a part of the furniture as the mahogany cradle.

     “You saw him walk, eh?” 

      Lieutenant Ambali was silent.

     “You know you’re allowed to talk.  All the time I find you like a ghost.  Do you stand here all day without moving your mouth?  It’s not healthy.  Come on.”

     “It was not his first time,” said the Lieutenant.  “He walked a bit before when the General wasn’t here.”

     “Well I think we’ll keep that between ourselves,” Kondwani replied, hoping to crack a smile from Lieutenant Ambali’s stony face.  He didn’t get the smile he wanted, but he saw something else there.  “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.  It’s just...”

      Years of investigative journalism had taught Kondwani not to prod or push.  If you just listen, people will usually tell you more than they expect  to.

     “Y... you must understand,” Lieutenant Ambali stammered.  “Ebeso is a hero.  It is my greatest honour to serve him and...”  He paused, clearly battling with himself.  “I shouldn’t tell... but... I don’t know but... but I think Ebeso has become mad.”

Puppet

     In a way, Lieutenant Harold Ambali had thought, it’s like me.  He was watching the man in the market make the small puppet dance by manipulating its strings.  It’s just like me.  It follows orders.  It never asks questions.

      A few days into his new position it happened for the first time.  Harold was standing in the corner while Ebeso was playing with his son.  It was a beautiful thing to watch such a strong man being so gentle.  Harold’s respect for Ebeso tripled.  So many men would have hidden this side of themselves.

    And then it happened.  A maid entered and said the Minister of Foreign Affairs was downstairs.  Ebeso nodded and told her he’d be downstairs soon.  When she left, he looked at Dedza and said,  “He’s here about the bloody Zambian refugees.  They have a country of they’re own, why are they bothering us? What do you think?  Should we send them back?”  The baby looked at him vacantly.  “I didn’t think so.  Those United Nations bastards would whine forever.  We can’t just let them in can we?”  Again, nothing from Dedza.  “Then what about if we let them in for the world to see and then send in our military to make them to leave Malawi voluntarily.”  To this Dedza chortled and Ebeso smiled.

     Harold wasn’t sure if he had actually seen what he thought he had.  .  
     The next day, it happened again.   “This judge is becoming too big headed.  I will have him demoted.  We’ll see what he thinks of being a nothing lawyer again.”  Dedza started crying.  “ I’m sorry, I’m sorry” pleaded the dictator, crouching.  “I’ll leave him alone...  How about if I have him killed?  Or I could just imprison one of his relatives?”  Dedza started quieting down and Ebeso nodded.     

     It was the most absurd thing Harold had ever seen.  He would have laughed if it had not been disturbing.  It was so ludicrous that he suspected that Ebeso was having fun at his expense.  It’s a big joke.  That’s what it must be.

     The third time it happened, Harold could not explain it away.  Yet this was Ebeso.  His hero.  Being asked to be Dedza’s bodyguard had been the best day of Harold’s life.  But now...  Ebeso had lost his mind.  That was the only possible explanation.  Harold began to pick up further evidence of the madness everywhere.  Ebeso ate the same things his son: pureed baby food, porridge and soup.  He also spent most of his time with Dedza, attending to affairs of state with a pram nearby.  Every time he was at a cross-roads, be it about trade, tourism, or social services, Dedza was his consultant.

     I have to pretend I didn’t see it, Harold decided.  To speak of it would be treason.

     Harold was good at forgetting things he didn’t want to think about so he might have succeeded had the reminders been less frequent.  Daily, Ebeso consulted Dedza on two or three matters minimum.  On some days the baby divined the responses to at least eight or nine national crises. 

     Once Harold actually considered telling someone, he had a new problem.  Who could he tell?  Who would believe him?  Who could do something about it anyway?  But being silent was not an option.  In the army, he had been ordered to do things that he didn’t agree with many times.  Once a Colonel had ordered him and two other soldiers to shoot a group of rebels.  The rebels were just skinny men and women whose only weapons were machetes and rocks.  Some of the other soldiers had hesitated; Harold had pulled the trigger without flinching.  It was his duty and he trusted that somewhere high up, someone wiser than him had a good reason for giving the order. 

     But now...

     For months the knowledge ate away at him.  Helplessly he watched, hoping it would end, that one day he would wake up and Ebeso would be sane.  It never happened.  The routine continued.

     When Kondwani Kalyati asked Harold what was wrong, he decided to tell him because he was a reporter and he could print it in the paper before it was too late. 

Picture Book

     The final words of the book were, “In that valley between wake and sleep, the Question gave up his quest for an Answer.  Instead of finding an Answer he had found more Questions.  They welcomed him into their tribe and he was never lonely again.”

     He couldn’t write about it.  Of course he couldn’t.  Kondwani sat in front of his computer late into the night.  Ebeso was mad.  How could he not write about it?  What would be the use though?  The Guardian’s political consultant would yank the article in a second.  Of course, there were ways to publish the article anyway.  The political consultant read the articles in the evening.  If Kondwani snuck into the office afterwards...  The next day though, he would be arrested, maybe killed.  Kondwani was idealistic but he was no fool.  No cause was worth dying for.  Still, how could he not write about it? 

     That night Kondwani did not write the article that night but the next night he did.  He stayed in the office long after everyone had left and began typing.  When he had finished he considered deleting it but he thought about Ebeso’s continuing popularity with most people, especially the military.  He could stay in power forever.  Kondwani saved the file and turned off the computer.

     At home, he couldn’t sleep.  Running was one option; he could pack up a bag and try to leave the country.  Flying wouldn’t work because by the time he bought a ticket it would be too late.  He could just get in his car and drive to the border?  He had no money saved and if Ebeso came after him, they’d expect him at the border. Still... 

    He lay in bed running through options until he dozed off.  In the morning he cursed himself.  Now, short of rushing to the paper and stopping the presses, he could do nothing. He’d just have to see what happened.  He didn’t go to work.  He couldn’t.  The fear made his limbs heavy and he thought every car he heard outside was a military vehicle which had come for him.  His secretary called and he explained that he wasn’t coming in.  Instead, he waited. 

     Stupid, stupid, stupid, his inner voice chanted.  Why didn’t you run?  It’s not too late.  If they haven’t noticed.  You could just run. Why not?  Run!

     The day passed and still he was waiting.    Nothing happened.

     A new issue of The Guardian came out the next day and Kondwani was confused.  Nothing at all?  He hadn’t been arrested and at the office, the political consultant didn’t even mention the article.   Had no-one noticed it?  In the streets, in grocery stores, everywhere, Jokoza didn't hear a single discussion about Ebeso’s madness.  People pretty much went about their lives as usual. How was this possible?

     It was with this question in his mind that Kondwani came across a face from the past.  He was stepping out of the Guardian office when he saw Jokoza Malinda.  He greeted him and they ended up in a local bar called The Watering Hole sharing a pitcher.  Jokoza had become a teacher.  “Not by choice,” he explained.  “I’m not one of those cliché people who are forever changed when their life flashes before them.  I’m not teaching because I want to give back to society or anything like that.  Ebeso made sure every political avenue was shut to me.  Teaching was the only thing left.  That day in Ebeso’s palace was my last day of happiness..."

     Kondwani interrupted, “Did you read The Guardian yesterday?”

     “No.  Why?”

      Kondwani told Jokoza everything: the way he had been censored for the last seven months, what he had found out from Lieutenant Ambali, and the article.  When he’d finished explaining he asked, “Do you think it’s because the newspaper has been printing Ebeso’s propaganda so long that no-one takes it seriously any more.  Or is it just that no-one believe it.  How could I convince convince them?”

      Jokoza burst out laughing but the sound was hollow and humourless.  “Did you expect a revolution?  Do you honestly think you told people anything they don’t know?  Of course Ebeso is mad.  If anything, asking a baby for advice is his least damaging madness.  Even before Dedza was born he had killed thousands.  You’ve been whining about how you’re censored and you can’t tell the people about Ebeso’s atrocities.  People know.  Everyone can think of a friend or family member who has been arrested or executed.  People are aware of everything that is going on and they either don’t care or they’re too frightened to do anything.  When you oppose Ebeso, you lose everything.”

      “We can’t just give up,” Kondwani objected.  He barely believed his own declaration. 

      “There is nothing that can be done, except maybe this," Jokoza Malinda took a long deep swig of beer.  "The killing won't stop unless a miracle happens."

     Kondwani looked down.  Was quiet acceptance the only way?  Was everyone too afraid?  Was Jokoza right?  Did Malawi need a miracle?   If so, where would it come from?  If Kondwani believed in God, he would have prayed but he didn’t, so he just picked up the glass of beer in front of him and drank.

Miracle

     Three men came bearing gifts for a baby.  Later, there was a miracle.   

     In the year following Kondwani and Jokoza’s conversation the killings and arrests decreased to a trickle.  No-one knew why Ebeso had suddenly become merciful.  They just hoped that this new gift would not disappear.  Kondwani noticed the change and he couldn’t help but wonder.  How was this possible?  His confusion was abated one evening when he was at the palace and he heard Ebeso ask the baby, “Do you think I should have these farmers arrested?”  The baby was silent.  “Should I let them go?”  Dedza giggled and Ebeso grumbled his assent.

     What Kondwani might not have noticed if he was looking from another angle was that at the precise moment Ebeso had asked ‘Should I let them go?’ Lieutenant Harold Ambali, standing directly behind the general, had started gesturing wildly at the child and twisting his lips and cheeks to make funny faces.