Adeladius Makwega – Mbagala
Mwanakwetu, when he was a student at Mnazi Mmoja Primary School, used to arrive very early at school because he lived far away, and transport between Mbagala and Mnazi Mmoja was difficult. So he woke up very early, often accompanied by his mother, Doroth Mlemeta, who was a teacher at that school.
By around 5:45 a.m., they had already reached Uhuru Girls’ School, then walked on foot to Uhuru Road, passed through Kongo, and entered through the Shimoni entrance in Kariakoo. At that time, they would often find long lines of trucks loaded with vegetables, bananas, coconuts, beans, soybeans, groundnuts, wheat, rice, and maize entering the market. The long queues were swarmed by flies and filled with the strong smell of food that would eventually be eaten to give people strength for their daily work.
Often, Mwanakwetu noticed that some of the trucks at the front, in order to avoid wasting time in the queue, would start unloading their cargo while still in line—regardless of their distance from the front or from the storage area. The driver, conductor, and porters would first discuss, then agree to begin unloading.
Once they agreed, they would quickly clear a path where they would carry the sacks—whether filled with coconuts, beans, maize, rice, onions, or other goods.
After clearing the path, they would remove their clothes, including shoes, and change into work shorts. Their bodies were sweaty and dusty, resembling a large monkey in the Serengeti, and then they would begin unloading until the job was done. Afterward, the owner would pay the porters, and the truck would leave the queue and head back out to look for return cargo—whether to Lushoto, Njombe, Songea, Iringa, Makambako, Mahenge, Shinyanga, Tabora, or Mwanza.
At that time, Mwanakwetu was still a child and usually stayed close to his mother because Dar es Salaam had a lot of crime.
He recalls:
“Back then, my eyes witnessed many different scenes of activity in Kariakoo Market. Sometimes porters carried sacks on their shoulders into the market; sometimes they were being paid; sometimes they divided money, saying ‘I don’t have change, I’ll give you later’; sometimes they worked on credit until the goods were sold; sometimes I saw them clearing paths; sometimes trucks entered while porters jumped on top. You would hear phrases like: ‘This belongs to Shinyanga,’ ‘These are Mbeya beans—quick, firewood and water!’ ‘This is new rice…’”
As he walked, his mother would scold him:
“Stop staring around! What are you amazed at? Go be amazed at the ferry—where a ship floats but money sinks. Watch out for those planks, nails, and sharp objects thrown aside by the porters when clearing their path! You’ll get hurt by them. Walk faster so we can get to school.”
He would then walk faster and avoid distractions, arriving at school on time.
Dear reader, this was in 1987 in Dar es Salaam, when Mwanakwetu was still a child.
Why has he remembered this story today?
He compares present-day Tanzania to the cargo in those trucks at Kariakoo. The porters, in his analogy, represent President Samia Suluhu Hassan, whose responsibility is to ensure that the truck unloads its cargo safely so it reaches the people—us all—so we can survive. In his view, she is indeed beside the truck, working hard—but the problem lies in how the work is being done.
Those who own the truck trusted her with the cargo, but she is unloading it while wearing high-heeled shoes, on a path that hasn’t been cleared—full of nails and sharp objects. If walking alone is already difficult, how can she safely carry heavy loads without stumbling?
The burden is already heavy, especially inherited from the time of President John Magufuli. His death left unresolved issues—unfinished cargo that should have been dealt with first before taking on new responsibilities.
The writer gives an example:
In Tanzania’s Coastal Region, many families complain that their relatives disappeared and their whereabouts remain unknown. Some women even completed mourning periods and remarried without knowing what happened to their husbands. These cases date back to Magufuli’s time, and no answers have been provided.
People from the Coast and Zanzibar share deep historical ties. They had hoped that President Samia, being from Zanzibar, would address these issues—bringing justice to victims, investigating disappearances and killings, and ensuring accountability. But, according to the writer, this has not been done.
If she had addressed these issues, she would have cleared the path and earned public trust and blessings.
Instead, new burdens have emerged, including events of October 29, 2025, which are attributed to her leadership. How can she carry this load when the path is still uncleared?
The writer emphasizes that leadership is not just about introducing a new constitution. Even those advocating for it face accusations related to past disappearances. If someone failed to protect lives before, how can they be trusted to shape the nation’s guiding document?
He concludes with a metaphor:
“If people don’t want a cook, and you force that same cook on them—even if the food is perfectly prepared—they will go to the table but won’t be able to swallow it.”
Thus, leadership that increases public grievances instead of resolving them creates deeper problems.
He ends with the central question:
“In such conditions, can you really unload a basket of ripe tomatoes?”
Meaning: can delicate, important tasks succeed in a flawed and unsafe environment?
Have a good day.
0717649257
.gif)
Post a Comment