Ngũgĩ Thiong - Wizard of the Crow

“You have spoken.”

“What?” Elijah Njoya asked, a little irritated by the “you have spoken” business.

“I don’t know about all the queues, but I do know that one of the queues started outside my office the day Minister Machokali announced that I had been appointed the chairman of Marching to

Heaven. It was a short one, and the people dispersed after I had dealt with their needs, but even so I could see signs of bigger queues to come. You see, many businesspeople, on hearing about my elevation, started phoning me immediately; many came to my office to congratulate me and to introduce themselves. They so crowded in the reception area that my secretary had to ask them to form a queue to ensure more efficient service on a first come, first served basis.”

“A very good principle indeed. What did they want?”

“They’d heard that the Global Bank was about to release funds for Marching to Heaven. They wanted to make my acquaintance before the construction started so that later I would recall their faces when it came to awarding contracts for the completion of the project.”

“What about the workers, the job seekers, the wretched… whatever we may call them. What about them? Did they also hope to secure lucrative contracts?”

“I don’t know much about that because on the day when my appointment as chairman of Marching to Heaven was announced, they were nowhere in sight. But just before we called it a day, my secretary came up with the idea of engaging temporary staff to deal with the volume of calls and the number of businessmen visiting in person. All that-attending to the telephone, receiving distinguished visitors, keeping meticulous records-could not be handled by one person. I thought it a good idea. So I authorized her to plant a billboard inviting applications. The new signpost would replace the old one that said No Vacancy.”

“And who is your secretary?”

“Oh, please don’t remind me of her-she is evil,” Tajirika said furiously.

“What’s her name?”

“Nyawlra.”

“The terrorist?”

“The same.”

“Was she the one calling the shots in your firm? Or did she terrorize you until your head spun and you said yes to whatever she wanted?”

“No, in those days she appeared to be a good person and quite mature in her thoughts and in the way she carried out her tasks.”

“And physically? Was she also good-looking?”

“She was very beautiful, it is true.”

“Outstandingly beautiful?”

“Beauty itself.”

“The kind of beauty that makes all other beauties pale in comparison?”

“Oh, you should have seen her. Those cheeks. Those breasts. The way she walked. And those clothes that seemed as if the Creator Himself had outfitted her!”

“It seems that even today your mouth waters at the very thought of her.”

“My mouth is watering from bitterness, not love.”

“So there was a time it used to water with desire for her? Let me be direct, or shall I ask directly: was there something between you and her?”

“Our relationship never came to that,” Tajirika said, slightly agitated by the tone and tenor of Njoya’s line of questioning.

“You mean you never wanted to become acquainted with what was between her thighs? Why? Are you one of those Jesus is my personal savior’ employers?”

“Me?” Tajirika asked, reacting to what he saw as a challenge to his masculinity. He even laughed. “I have shown many a woman a thing or two. But Nyawlra was a little intimidating. Not that she spoke aggressively. How can I put it? It seemed as if her eyes could see straight into a person’s heart. Those eyes and the way she carried herself could make even the most lustful of males go limp. Perhaps if she had stayed longer I might… a real man never takes no for an answer, and when it comes to women my motto is Never Give Up.”

“So you lusted after her? Were you in love, perhaps?”

“That’s not exactly what I am trying to say, but…”

“I know, I know,” Njoya hastened to add. “As a man I know that once a man’s heart has become captive to a woman, there is nothing he would not do for her. I understand you completely, Mr. Tajirika.”

“But I have just told you. Nyawlra was like a firebrand without a handle.”

“So I understand you to be saying or trying to say that you longed for the firebrand but it had no handle.”

“No, no, it is not how you are putting it. But let me tell you, if today, this very day and hour, I were to hold that woman in these arms, I would wring her neck until she was dead. She is a traitor,” Tajirika declared with venom.

“Okay. Let’s set Nyawlra’s case aside. Let’s assume that she was only a secretary. You mean to tell me that your secretary comes to you, her employer, and tells you to hire more labor, and you agree and even okay her request to put up a billboard outside?”

“Yes,” Tajirika said, although he still did not like the way Njoya strung words together, making them sound so sinister.

“How many tempas were you hoping to employ?”

“Say about three,” Tajirika said. “Possibly five.”

“And for three people, possibly five, she persuaded you to put up a billboard to announce to all Eldares that there were jobs to be had?”

“How else would we have put it?” Tajirika asked. “There was more than one job available, so we had to put it in the plural.”

“You assented to her putting it in the plural, suggesting the availability of thousands of jobs?”

“I can’t recall the exact wording,” Tajirika said, feeling a little helpless before this professional twister of words and their meanings.

“You left it to her to arrange the words any way she wanted?”

“Look here, Mr. Officer. She was my secretary. A boss gives a good secretary a general notion of what he wants and it is up to her to respect the letter and spirit of his command.”

“And so it would be correct to say that Nyawlra was in general interpreting your wishes and carrying out your orders?”

“Yes, when she was on my premises. Beyond that I made no claims on her time.”

“Okay A good interpreter of your wishes while on your premises, and a free agent outside the official orbit, right?”

“Right. You can put it that way”

“So how did the queue of the workers begin?”

“You see, for some time after the day of my extraordinary elevation, I was not able to go to the office…”

“Why?” Njoya interrupted.

“I succumbed to an illness.”

“You were ill?”

Tajirika paused. How was he going to explain his strange illness to the inquisitor? An illness without a name?

“A heart problem.”

“A broken heart?”

“No, just heart trouble.”

“A heart condition? That is very serious for a man of your age and bulging flesh. I am so sorry to hear of this, Mr. Tajirika. How long were you in hospital?”

“I didn’t actually go to any hospital.”

“You saw a private doctor?”

“Yes… No…”

“Is it yes or is it no?”

“Both.”

“What do you mean?”

“I went to see a diviner. I am not sure we can quite call his kind doctors.”

“A witch doctor. So you are one of those! Afathali Mchawi type?”

“It is better to call him simply a diviner.”

“But Mr. Tajirika, what if you had needed a bypass or a transplant? Would your witch doctor have managed?”

“Mine was not an illness of the organ itself,” Tajirika tried to explain. “I meant the heart as mind. Something like that.”

“You mean you were mad? Crazy?”

“Nooo! Hapana! No, no!” Tajirika denied the suggestion in three languages for emphasis. “I meant heart as when we say so-and-so is heartless or so-and-so is full of heart.”