As I had earlier on told you, sooner rather than later, there may be no villager anymore!
Some people have decided to take it upon themselves to banish me and relegate me into the dustbin of history.
That means, the future generation will only know of me through their history classes; how else would they know me anyway?
The village that was once called after me (or is it me who was called after the village?), has now lost that nostalgic name.
I am not quite sure but I suppose, the local politicians are so ‘tribalistic’ they want to banish any name that does not ascribe to their ‘tribal’ appetites.
I do not want to dwell on the tribal context but the fact remains that, Mfashumwana (the Village), now known as Kyererezi (meaning light) never had a name until I was born. When I left the village, the guys I left behind are playing a Mobutu on me.
Dictator of Zaire, Field Marshall Joseph Mobutu Sese Seko Ngembendu wa Zambanga (R.I.P) once said that, “I created Zaire, before me, there was no Zaire, when I am gone, there will be no Zaire”.
True to his words, when he left the country Known as Zaire, the next day it was baptised another name.
Now, as I look at what remains of my village, I am filled with lots of sweet and sad memories. Sweet memories like what we used to do when we were kids and sad memories because what was once a peaceful village has now turned into a sort of town.
We used to live for each other, that is, every villager was the seer of his brother. Not any more.
It is now “everybody for himself and God for us all” (if I may borrow a sentence from Lord Castlereigh ’s statement made during a Vienna Congress of 1815, held to discuss the Italian question in the nineteenth century).
Now that, there is no more Mfashumwana Villager, is there anything worth writing home about?
I suppose not so; let me simply keep my tears to myself, maybe some future generation will undo this injustice and usher in the past glory.
The coming in of “Amajyambere” (progress) has greatly impacted the lives of once peaceful villagers to the extent that, the social fabric that held us together as a people has given way to mere greed.
While talking to my old man, I was able to learn that Mfashumwana, sorry, I mean Kyererezi, might be sitting on a landmine in the guise of petroleum discovery.
If that is true, I will have to evacuate all those that are dear to me; I would not like to get caught up in a similar quagmire like that in the Niger Delta where armed militants take hostages for huge sums of ransom.
I am struggling to make ends meet and as soon as they are about to meet, I would not want any crazy son of a bitch demanding a ransom over the life of a guy that is deemed to be living on borrowed time.
As the Ganda say, “vigilance is not a sign of cowardice”; I better be ready for any unknown eventualities.