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The price of insolence
2007-09-19 08:53:05
By Deo Mfugale
I sometimes feel that there are instances when history is revisited; things that used to happen decades ago and which later faded away, are now resurfacing.
It could be something to do with traditions and culture or it could be an incident related to superstitions.
Whatever it is, history finds time to remind us what people used to do or not to do in the old days and the price they paid for their deeds or misdeeds.
And this is not about what is happening only in the rural areas.
There are things that happen in urban areas like Dar es Salaam just as similar things happening in the remote areas of Masagati, for example.
My friend got into trouble last week. No, he didn`t really, but witnesses some trouble which made him recall the kind of upbringing that was standard in many families and communities. that kind of parenting is now a rare phenomenon.
Never argue with your superiors even if you have point and their argument lacks basic common sense.
This used to be one of the basics of upbringing children in many families.
This was the rule that was never written in any book , but was observed by all and sundry, all the same.
I thought the whole system was sort of bullish; the thinking that all elders are wise and would never go wrong on anything sounds, even today, quite absurd.
It was obvious that there were some babu na bibi who were very stupid and the communities knew about it.
These, their shortcomings, were sometimes reflected in their given names which over the years became so common that they turned into their actual surnames.
Names like Lingamba ( potato) or Didiva (darkness) had surely something to do with the characters of the people.
No right thinking person would choose potato or darkness, for that matter, for a surname.
But the system had some good in its own right. It inculcated discipline into some otherwise rowdy youths who had little respect for elders who were not very wise or could not make their mark in the community.
Thus at the end of the day, all the elders, stupid and wise alike, were respected by the youth in the community.
Now let us go back to the incident which happened last week. This friend of mine decide to take a bus ride from Mwenge to Buguruni for reasons he wouldn`t tell me.
He has a good car and given the relatively thin traffic on Saturday afternoons, I didn`t and I still don`t understand why he decided to take a daladala instead of driving.
May be he wanted to cut the cost of fuel and spend the money on something else.
This sounds more likely, but again jamaa siyo mtu mweneye njaa, the company he works for pays for his fuel.
With me it is different; I might wish to take a bus ride so that I may capture some gossip and get something to write about.
My friend is not a journalist and has little interest in gossip.
But on second thoughts, it is good that he took the ride and witnessed what had transpired in the bus. Otherwise I wouldn`t be telling you all this.
`At Bakwata, an open air bus stop just after Land Mark Hotel, only one passenger boarded the bus,` my friend told me. The new arrival was a beautiful young girl.
She was skimpily dressed. So pretty was the girl that all men turned their eyes towards her.
What complicated matters was the fact that she occupied the seat just behind the driver which is usually reserved for pupils.
She had to bunch her legs at the knees and made little effort to conceal that part of her body which should otherwise not have been left for the consumption of men`s eyes.
Her underwear was exposed and she seemed not to care about the situation.
`Some passengers, mostly men, started to speak in undertones throwing furtive glances at the girl in due course. The women passengers fixed their gazes at the ceiling. Others simply looked outside the bus just to divert their attention from the girl,` my friend narrated.
An elderly lady who sat close to the girl felt she could not just sit there and let the womenfolk be humiliated.
Like in the old days, she decided to take the leadership role and teach the young girl one or two things about decency much as she did not know her.
`Look my daughter, you are only making yourself an object of attention for these men and a laughing stock for yourself. Try to sit properly and hide your underpants,` the old lady advised.
She thought she was only doing her duty to protect the dignity of women but little did she know how the youth, particularly those in cities and towns, are insolent and have little respect for their elders.
`That is not my problem, they can look at me if they want to and, besides, it is not my fault that I am beautiful. You may ask God about that,` the young lady retorted.
No one could believe what they heard. It was as if they were dreaming. But it was true that the words had come from the girl sitting in front of them.
The old lady was bewildered. `Mtoto, is that what you are telling me? There was nothing wrong for me to advise you to behave like a grown up and save us from shame; why did you react like that?` the old lady said, obviously disappointed.
But the girl just sat there staring in front of her but seeing nothing.
She was not concerned with the old lady`s remarks. She wasn`t moved a bit.
Some passengers started talking among themselves about the girl`s behavour and her lack of respect to her seniors.
They said it was bad upbringing in the family.
Others said it had something to do with the urban way of life which doesn`t give parents enough time to be with their children and teach them good manners.
Everyone had something to say about the incident but no one addressed the young girl directly.
The old lady disembarked from the bus at Kwa Ali Hamza. She didn`t say a word as she left.
At that point the conductor started going around to collect the fare from every passenger.
She signaled to the girl to pay the fare. She didn’t react and so he went on to other passengers.
The bus moved on to his final destination, Rozana. The conductor approached the girl for the fare.
The little beauty just sat there hunched onto the bus body, refusing to give the conductor his dues.
The latter lost patience and grabbed the hand of the girl to demand the money.
The hand went limp and so did the girl. She had died.
None of the passengers could believe it but there sat the girl, completely dead.
Was it the woman who had killed her? Had she been suffering from a chronic disease that had decided to take her life while she was on the bus?
There were a lot more questions that, however, did not get answers.
`Look, `one of the passengers advised.` Let us take the body to the police station but we should tell them nothing about the old lady.` It was thus agreed. My friend was not there to see how the police had reacted to the conductor\'s story.
But it reminded me about a similar incident which happened back home.
I don`t know when it happened because the story has been retold from one generation to another.
An old woman visited a family and she was offered the only chair available which, however, was occupied by a small boy.
The boy would not vacate it for the old lady even after being told so by his father.
The latter was about to flog him when the woman told him to leave the child alone as she could sit on the ground, which she did.
After a short conversation the old woman bade the family goodbye and left.
No sooner had the visitor gone half a kilometre way the boy decide to leave the chair but failed. Some miracle had happened.
The chair had been glued to his buttocks and could not be removed.
The family tried all they could to remove the chair but they failed, unless they would have decided to slice off the boy`s buttocks.
Someone suggested they go for the old lady and beg for forgiveness because she was surely behind the incident.
Given her age, she wouldn’t have gone far. Yet she was nowhere to be seen and no one could remove the chair from the boy`s buttocks. He died the following day, with the chair still stuck to his buttocks.
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