MALAWI AND NINJA WARRIORS

You tend to wonder who is fighting who - Joshua Mbele

I finally lay down as to rest after few moments of an upright rest. This after a hectic day of toils and shouts with no significant return to show off to the expectant and excited partner of mine of what seemed to be an endless trip around Kabula streets. In no moment, my engine room upstairs gave up as I moved into moments of yesteryear. Not on my own accord but maybe from powers of somebodys making ofcourse. Like in some colour visionary of some illusion, an abyss popped out just right in front of me much to my amazement. My eyes scanned round the beautiful vegetation down there and into the undulating valleys of a land once called Nyasaland. A land of honey and milk which our fathers gone by had once walked through. A land of John Chilembwe and the rest gone after him. From one corner of what seemed like maize silos or is it fuel reservoirs, I see what am sure are Ninja warriors. Dressed in several combinations of colours and I could not mistake them after years of staring at their colleagues through the tube. Some dressed in the dreaded regalia of red, come out into the open as if to announce they were ready to unmask their counterparts in black outfits who were by then having a siesta across the pasture. And in what seemed like some bit of an initiation ceremony, those in White seated quietly and looked upon their colleagues across them though at a distance. All in all, formed what could adequately be described as a rough unminted brass ring. In a flash like that of the infamous Napolo of Lichenya mountain, all the Ninjas sprung up to each others neck like a Toyota Hilux that has been winched out of some rough terrain of Livingstonia escarpments. As I wiped my eyes to have a closer and clear vision, the snow White Ninja warriors seemed to be fighting amongst themselves. But after a single inhaling of oxygen, my tenth sense advised that the White and Black Ninjas were up against the masters in Red. As I struggled to take out the overstayed

carbon from my tattered lungs, the White Ninjas seemed also to be extending kicks and blows towards the men in Black the Black Ninjas. And in the next breath, I realize the White are also fighting amongst them. So confusing and very confusing indeed. I start debating within myself as to which side to support. I propose to go for voting but end up failing to get the required two thirds majority within myself. I then decide through some impulse that I go for the winning Ninja team and in a moment, it seemed there would be a winner indeed. Not sure ofcourse whether by unanimous decision or knock out or if there will be any alliances amongst the warring Ninja factions. Through a spirit of strong supportership, I decide to engage an extra gear. As if to raise my hand on a point of order, I fail to go any further as I ended up getting stuck mid air. R Kelly is out, I seem to be hearing a distant but fade voice. R Kelly is out on belo, the voice continued though I was not sure whether the belo was sugar or clothes bale or some other bail. It only further confused the confused state I was in. Was I dreaming? I said to myself in almost some audible voice as I went back into memory lane. Besides, I was so angry with my vendormate Kitoni for waking me when I was about to witness a winner in my supposedly Ninja war. I wiped the volcanic like stuff coming out from my crater shaped mouth and asked to be left alone to regurgitate the strange but somehow obvious dream. I realized then that Malawi of today had such Ninja warriors as well. Some dressed in Red, Black and White as well just like in my unconcluded dream. Ninja warriors that were continuously on each others neck. Ready to outsmart each other with their over sized kufu kicks well beyond the original ones by the masters of Shenjuku or Nagoya. Go into MCP, DPP or UDF camps. You will find these Ninjas in abundant supply and fighting within their own camps. As for the civil society organizations, our Ninjas in White, you will also see them in abundant flawless supply and exchanging a few sidekicks as well. And check the red Ninjas as well raking havoc on anything in their path just like some uncontrollable massive 22 tyre monster. Chimbaula, a voice echoed down from Malangalanga road and I picked my cardboard display of plastic hair attachments and joined my friends turned athletes as we run into the unknown. Despite the saying that the Police are our relatives!!

Inspired from an analogy by Joshua Mbele Capital Radio Straight Talk, 21 February 2012