THE AZANIA –TAMBAZA CONFLICT XXXV

 

 Adeladius Makwega – DODOMA

 Immediately after leaving the offices of the City of Dar es Salaam, I passed by the Ministry of Justice at that time, where I was directed to see a government lawyer known as Phidelis Mwidunda. This lawyer’s name is not Fidelis but Phidelis, my reader, although the pronunciation is the same.

 

I was received at the gate of that ministry, which was near the High Court building facing the Indian Ocean. I am certain that the government lawyers working in that office enjoyed the view of the Indian Ocean just like someone staying at the New African Hotel.

 

Mwanakwetu, I doubt that today’s government lawyers and attorneys still get to enjoy that sweet, beautiful, and refreshing breeze from the Indian Ocean now that all ministries have been moved to Mtumba in Dodoma.

 

Let them return from their “foreign film,” and we shall build an argument for constructing a large dam near the Ministry of Constitution and Legal Affairs and the Office of the Attorney General in the Government City of Dodoma—so that after dealing with cases, these lawyers can at least enjoy a pleasant environment like that of the Indian Ocean.

 

When I arrived there, I met several government lawyers who welcomed me warmly. I asked them, “Have I found Mr. Phidelis Mwidunda?” They replied, “We don’t have anyone here called Mr. Phidelis Mwidunda. There is, however, a government advocate named Phidelis Mwidunda.” I responded, “Yes, that’s exactly who I mean.”

 

These lawyers asked me, “So you come into our office asking for a senior person like Advocate Mwidunda, and we don’t even know you?”

I replied, “My apologies—let me introduce myself.”

“My name is Adeladius Francis Fidelis Makwega, I come from Mbagala!”

 

They told me, “Sit at this chair and table of government lawyers so that when you return to Mbagala you can tell them about it.” Deep down I said to myself, these lawyers are very mischievous—let me deal with them in the same way and show them I am a Tambaza student.

“So you are a male (M), yet your name is Adela—are you a man or a woman (F)?”

Remember, I was at the Ministry of Justice of the United Republic of Tanzania, in the office of Advocate Phidelis Mwidunda, surrounded by fellow government lawyers teasing and humiliating me.

 

There is wisdom in this: when someone humiliates you in public, do not show that it has hurt you. But in private, you may teach them a lesson without witnesses—this was something very common among Tambaza students. You may quarrel with someone today, but they may come to retaliate when you least expect it. A better approach is to outwit someone who humiliates you publicly.

 

One lawyer spoke to another while pressing his documents with a stapler. I replied, “I am male, and my name is not Adela but Adeladius.” They just laughed.

 

“Should we issue you another affidavit?”

At that time, I did not know what an affidavit meant, but I answered, “Fine.”

One of them stood up and said that Advocate Mwidunda was in court and told me to return on Monday, early in the morning. I agreed. I thought to myself—so troublemakers are not only at Tambaza, they’re also in workplaces?

 

After leaving, I passed by the Stesheni bus station. I had two options—should I go to Mbagala? I asked myself, then decided to go to Kariakoo to my aunt (in our culture, “aunt” can mean father’s sister), who worked at the Kariakoo market.

 

I went into her office—she was a clerk to a senior official at the market at that time. I explained everything to my aunt, Salome Fidelis Makwega (now deceased), and asked what I should do with the document. She told me that the lawyer lived near the Sabasaba exhibition grounds in Mtoni Azizi Ali, on the right-hand side, near the beginning of the Twalipo military camp. She said, “Leave it there; I will speak to Mr. Peter Pinda.”

 

My aunt took me to a hotel where I had a good meal—pilau and soda. I wondered whether to go immediately to Mtoni Azizi Ali. After eating, I decided to pass by the home of Arone Sifuni on Pemba Street, house number one—the young man who had been expelled together with Mohammed Said and me.

On my way, I passed near the Sheikh Idrisa Mosque and found many Muslims praying, completely blocking the road. It is customary in central Dar es Salaam on Friday prayers (Salat al-Jumu’ah) for roads to be closed due to the large number of worshippers, with many praying outside. I squeezed through shop entrances and continued until I reached Arone’s home.

 

There, I met Arone’s mother, greeted her, and she welcomed me into the sitting room. She asked me many questions about the appeal, and I explained that I had already submitted it to the City Education Officer of Dar es Salaam.

 

I asked about Arone. She said they had also submitted their appeal. I asked where he was. Remember, his home name was Katisi. She sent the house girls to look for him.

 

Arone’s mother was a tall, light-skinned woman who took great care of herself and lived well. Every time I saw her, her fingers were adorned with rings and her neck with gold chains.

 

That day she told me stories about her time at Jangwani Secondary School in the 1970s, and how she met Arone’s father and had him.

 

She was a true city woman—such women are often generous and full of stories. She told me she was born right there on Pemba Street in 1956.

 

We talked in her sitting room as a fan spun rapidly—it was November, a very hot month in Dar es Salaam. I became sleepy from exhaustion and ended up dozing off. I planned to leave early in the morning to see Mr. Peter, so her sofa became my temporary bed.

The last thing I remember her saying was, “Haven’t you found Arone yet?” Then I heard the call to prayer from Idrisa Mosque and woke up, realizing I had fallen asleep there.

Arone was never found that day. The house girls had grown used to me and would call out, “Ah, Arone’s friend!” and I would reply with a big Mbagala-style smile, “Ah, Arone’s sisters!”

 

I believe the mother had instructed them not to wake me, recognizing how exhausted I was.

I asked for water, and the house girls—who were from Kigoma (Manyema)—gave me some to quench my thirst. Then I left. I never got to see Arone.

On the bus, I opened the document and read it from beginning to end. It contained accounts of various events and the situation at Tambaza from 1991 to 1993, including the incident involving the assault on Fausta Nguzo.

 

I got off near the Sabasaba grounds and went to Advocate Mwidunda’s house. I got lost for a while but was later told he was renting a house belonging to a former Yanga player whose name I have now forgotten.

 

I arrived and met his wife, who appeared to be pregnant at the time. I handed over the document and returned to Mbagala.

 

What happens next?
Stay tuned for the next part.

Remember: this is part of the series “The Azania–Tambaza Conflict XXXV.”
Have a nice day.

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