Moses Isegawa - Snakepit

LITTLE HAD CHANGED; the government was still on its rubbery legs. It was as if Babit and he had not been away. There was no urgent mail waiting, calling him back to his old job or offering a new one. No government ministry had missed him. Rumours were rife in the city: Amin had been shot at; one hundred bulls had been castrated at the State House and their genitals thrown all over Entebbe; there had been another bloody rebellion in the army; the Vice President had had a car crash, broken his back, and had been flown to Libya; the Saudis had taken control of twenty islands in Lake Victoria; there was a shortage of petrol, a new curfew. .

The Professor seemed very surprised to see them back; he had assumed that they would stay away longer or not come back at all.

Bat told his friends about his impending wedding.

“Welcome to the fastest-growing club in the country after astrology. What kind of birds are you going to free on the day?” the Professor said acidly, still unable to reconcile himself to his friend’s return.

“I remember my wedding to this woman,” Kalanda said playfully. “Everything went wrong that day, but it was the happiest day of my life.”

“It obviously would have been, wouldn’t it, for somebody who couldn’t cook and was tired of pulling his wire,” the Professor teased, leading to laughter all round.

“At least I made a good choice,” Kalanda said, winking at his wife. “How about you, Professor? Do you still have sex with your wife?”

The Professor took it well. “No, I don’t. I do it with my wife’s black-and-white pussycat.”

“Boys, please,” Mrs. Kalanda called, amused.

“There is nothing wrong with pussy, dear wife,” Kalanda, who still enjoyed challenging his wife’s prudishness, bellowed. “We should hear more about pussies coming from your mouth.”

“Boys, boys, I thought we were talking about Bat’s wedding.”

“I will pay for the wrestlers,” the Professor volunteered.

“I will pay for the professional eaters,” Kalanda laughed.

“No, no, no wrestlers and eaters, please,” Bat protested.

IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED, Bat applied for a job in the Ministries of Education, Planning, and Finance. The Ministry of Finance took him up as Bureaucrat Two. He was part of a team charged with the Herculean task of propping up a dying economy. The statistics were depressing: Foreign debt had soared to $3.8 billion, the trade deficit was $400 million, the shrink rate at which the economy contracted was a whopping 500 percent. Inflation was at 986 percent. Ninety percent of the citizens did not pay tax because of rampant black-marketeering, reversion to barter trade, and worthless earnings. The answer to every money shortage was to print more money, with the latest bills boasting pictures of the Marshal smiling benevolently, kissing babies, eating a lollipop, and shitting on the heads of Imperialists and Zionists.

The money Saudi Arabia sent in exchange for the islands was spent on defence. Amin’s disrespect for economists was just getting worse. He liked to ad-lib on fiscal policy and not remain constrained by the stale ideas coming from imperialist countries. Even that wizard Colonel Robert Ashes seemed to have despaired on the economic front. Even God, Dr. Ali, had let Amin do what he wanted in that area. Both men had opposed the construction of an artificial lake in the city suburbs, which meant razing neighbourhoods to the ground, moving people around. But the Marshal saw the project as a future boost to the Department of Fisheries on the principle that two lakes yielded more than one. It would also ease the garbage disposal problem, he had added.

Bat did what he could, an effort that was like trying to dam a river with a few planks. His office was again on Parliament Avenue. In his free time he would think about the Parliament and its secrets. It would now and then give him the shivers, but he knew that his day would come to get back at the regime. Somebody was bound to turn up and show him a way.

The answer came during his wedding preparations. Amidst the bustle, with his people and Babit’s mixed in an effort to make it a memorable occasion, his brother asked him for a word. The timing could have been better, what with all the expenditure for the wedding, but Tayari had a dream and could wait no longer. They went to the lake and sat on a rock facing the water.

“We need help,” he said, turning to his brother.

“You and your woman?”

“Me and my friends.”

“I don’t seem to know any friends of yours.”

“I am a member of a fighting group.”

“Boxing, wrestling, kung fu. .”

“A dissident group, brother.”

“Don’t you know that it is not good for your health and our well-being?” Bat asked, to hide his shock and excitement.

“Everything is a risk. You were not a dissident, but they took half a year out of you.”

“What has that got to do with your group?”

“We are looking for sponsors.”

“Who isn’t? What are your plans? What have you achieved to merit my attention?”

“We spread Amin-Go-Away leaflets in the city. We now need money to buy radio equipment in order to spread the word nationwide.”

“The word is already out, if you don’t know.”

“We are going to preach it even harder.”

“Have you thought of the consequences? You are going to be on your toes all the time. Hunted. Do you like that prospect? Do you trust your instincts that much?”

“On the day the soldiers got powers of arrest, detention, torture, looting, the odds became clear. And as always it is the innocent who get hurt.”

“I agree, but I still see no way you are going to have an impact.”

“We are the civil wing. The military wing is in Tanzania. We need to pave the way for them. Like prophets announcing the coming of the Lamb,” he said, grinning.

“A blood-soaked lamb. Let me remind you, brother. I don’t want to be cited when confession time comes, you hear? Things are bad enough as they are. I don’t want to go back to prison. I have Babit to look after.”

“Calm down, big brother,” the young man said. “The moment we get the money, we disappear. My time as pyrotechnician is over. If I take up my fireworks again, it will be for another sort of celebration. Yours will be the last wedding I will do. I will of course keep on looking out for your best interests, but for the biggest part I will be out of your life.”

“Is this really what you want to do?”

“It is my vocation.”

Bat felt as though he were standing on a threshold, about to launch his brother into the world of dangers he courted. He was also aware that he had not been told the whole truth, but he felt in no position to stop the wheels turning. Let the young man face the world the way destiny cut for him. Maybe he would become a captain, a colonel or general, in the end. He seemed to have the dedication. All his life Tayari seemed to have been gathering himself to seize this moment. Bat felt a moment of intense excitement and closeness to his brother, his avenger. It felt as if he had plucked Tayari’s secret and added it to his own little pile.

“It is a deal,” he said, giving his brother a hand.

“I knew you would not let me down.”

“I trust that you know what you are doing. I don’t want Sister or anybody else blaming me later on.”

“I don’t like Victoria,” his brother declared, as if he had not heard what Bat had said. “Did you know that she works for the Bureau?”

“What?”

“She is a member.”

“How did you find out?” Bat said in an unsteady voice.

“Her story did not fit. I did a little homework afterwards.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“It was too late. You already had had a child with her by then.”