As any political analyst will tell, you moving a motion of no confidence in someone, be it the PM or the president, is not a joke. There is nothing democratically delightful about it either. It is just a blatant decree to punish some bigwig for some serious screw-up somewhere, either by him or his subordinates, period.
If you look at it from a simple family point of view, it is akin to a conspiracy by family members to remove the father from his position.
Of course, if the plot finally succeeds, he might end up being just a normal member of the family without the respect and benefits that come with the title ‘father’. He might even no longer get shikamoo from his youngest children.
Honestly speaking, I have no idea how it feels. I can only imagine because I have never had the ignominy of having to drink from the vote-of-no-confidence cup. But if you want to know from someone at the receiving end of the cup, I can easily find the mobile number of the Big Minister for you.
You can then call him yourself and ask for a detailed account of how exactly it feels for a subordinate entity from some God-forsaken corner of the country having the temerity to even contemplate removing him from office. Or, on the flip side, inquire from the young family member bent on dethroning the dingi from the family hierarchy.
However, I wouldn’t advise you to dare ask him face to face when you accidentally bump into the poor guy while doing window shopping at the Mlimani Mall or at Kariakoo Shimoni while bargaining for some quality cassava for Mama Big Minister.
My sixth sense tells me you might end up with a dent or two in your dental formula, hence resulting in bad portraits for your passport. This guy looks like he has some serious case of kungfu and kick-boxing in his DNA.
Be as it may, the guy is still alive and kicking in his position as Huge Minister, for the time being at least. Naturally, the Big Minister might not be enjoying dreamy sleep at night for now; not like what he experienced during the first quarter of his Huge Ministership after he had been confirmed in his position by the very same young Turks in the august House who are now baying for his skin.
These are quite different times and they carry a different type of sleep and, of course, different kinds of dreams. His first days in the House were marinated with some of the sweetest sleep of his life, dreaming about only about sweet things. Like the Bongo Bus Rapid Transit project is already commissioned, making Bongo’s population a happy lot. Or Tanesco is generating over 2500 MW of electricity on the worst days, thus consigning power-rationing schedules to the heap of history.
And that Tanzania is already a strong and stable gas and oil producing economy, exporting only 60 percent of this and seriously injecting the remaining portion into its economy, making life better for every Tanzanian. Everything has been improved and performs well - industries, large-scale agricultural projects, service industries, etc, etc, etc. And in all this he sees his legacy.
That the railway network in the country is just magnificent and trains carry passengers and cargo fast and safely. In his dream he would get to Mpanda by a bullet train in just six hours from Dar. And in all this he sees his legacy.
The dreams used to be really marvellous. That Taifa Stars reached the AFCOPN semi-finals held in Somalia, but that we unfortunately later got eliminated heroically in the last eight in the World Cup, and that he was among the lucky ones to go to blow the vuvuzela for our boys.
Sadly, though, those sleepy days are now gone. The sweet sleep and dreams are all gone. These are new days, with serious cases of waking up sweating and screaming on top of his voice in the middle of the night. Sometimes calling the names of some MPs, beseeching them not to drop him in the endless pit like Alice in Wonderland. Nowadays the sleep is really nightmarish and the dreams are even worse.
He dreams that he got kicked from his favourite chair and vantage position in Mjengo, and now he sits not very far from Tundu and Kabwe and Mrema, with the latter constantly disturbing him every so often singing in heavy tribal accent, ‘Dushelele, dushelele, dushele waegooo...” while the Lady Speaker is conducting the serious business of making and passing laws.
When he’s had enough and screams to complain to the Lady Speaker, he wakes up on his bed, finding a lukewarm towel oin his forehead and Mama Premier soothing him, saying it’s just a dream. The nightmares are aplenty!
He then dreams that all the doctors in the country, wielding huge syringes full of quinine, are chasing him in the Serengeti Plains while screaming, “Let’s get him.” He runs towards Maasai Mara with the wildebeest and tries to outsmart the doctors by climbing to the top of trees, but wakes up to find himself on top of a fridge. Or he mounts a wildebeest to flee from the angry doctors but wakes up to find himself on top of his mkulima bicycle.
Although he and Mama Premier end up laughing it off during the rest of the night, deep down his heart he wishes this kiddo Zitto would get a memory lapse of some sort and forget all about the no-confidence motion by the time the Budget sessions kicks off next month.
At times he dreams that he is on the pitch playing for Barcelona alongside Lionel Messi against Zitto and his team, and he tortures Zitto with his Messi-like ball-juggling skills until the poor boy goes on all fours on the grass. Then, out of the blue, Zitto gets a rope from the referee and, like a Texas cowboy, catches him by the neck.
The crowd boos him and the ref laughs until he falls down on the grass. Angrily, he screams to the referee, calling him all sorts of bad names, but the ref continues laughing.
When he wakes up he finds his bodyguard one hell of a good time with laughter!
This is a work of humour and satire meant and should be taken as individual opinion