THE AZANIA–TAMBAZA CONFLICT XXXI

Adeladius Makwega – Dodoma

A week passed, and it was now November 12, 1993. I went to see my aunt at Kariakoo Market to ask for bus fare to Msasani. At that time, I was paying the adult fare on the bus, not the student fare of 5 shillings, and I think the adult fare was about 15 shillings.

 

I got the fare, and the next day I stopped by to see Arone Sifuni, who lived on Pemba Street, house number 1. I think many people—even those born and raised in Dar es Salaam—don’t really know where Pemba Street begins; they just recognize it near Kariakoo Market.

 

This street starts near the brewery and slopes down, crossing Msimbazi until it reaches the Kariakoo Market flag area near the main entrance.

Arone Sifuni was Pare on his father’s side and Manyema on his mother’s side. His parents did not live together. When I arrived at his home, I learned he also had a home name—Katisi. I think he was given that name because, between the 1960s and 1980s, there was an American musician named Katisi Brown.

 

Before we were expelled from school, Arone and I were not friends. But after being expelled together, we became close friends who supported each other through difficulties. 

 

 

Remember, hardship can make people feel like family. As for Mohamed Said, I never got the chance to know him well, and I haven’t seen him since October 1993.

Arone’s mother owned the house on Pemba Street. He was her only child. She liked me very much. Whenever I visited, she would say,

 

“Ah, Makwega, the boy from Mbagala—how are things there?” 

 

 

I would reply,

“They are fine, Mama!”

 

She is the one who really taught me to proudly mention Mbagala

.

“Arone isn’t here today—he’s out with his friends,”

 

she told me.

 

“That’s fine, Mama. When he returns, tell him Makwega passed by. I’m going to Msasani to follow up on my issue with the relative who is helping me.”

 

She replied,

 

“Alright. Even Arone’s father is following up on that matter.”

 

I later learned that Arone’s father, who lived in Chang’ombe, worked for the Ministry of Education and Vocational Training.

 

That day, I walked from Pemba Street to the bus station, boarded a bus at 3:00 p.m. to Msasani, and got off at Morogoro Stores. From there, I walked to see Peter.

 

While I was outside the residence, an elderly man arrived. From what I gathered, he had been a train driver who had encountered problems at work. He had also come to seek help from Peter, as they were from the same district.

 

He asked me,

“What about you?”

I replied,

 

“We are Tambaza students. We’re waiting for him to help us with our case.”

The old man said,

“Your issue is a small one—it will be resolved.”

 

He mentioned that he had been directed by Minister Segera Nswima to see Peter Pinda.

 

Peter returned from work driving a white Land Cruiser (hardtop). He stepped out with a black bag, and his assistants came to receive him.

As they greeted him, they knelt down. I was surprised, but the former train driver told me,

 

“That’s our tradition of showing respect.”

 

Peter stayed inside for about five minutes, then called the train driver, spoke with him briefly, and the man left.

 

Then Peter sent one of his assistants to call me:

 

“Bring in that Tambaza guy.”

The assistant came jokingly:

 

“So you’re the ‘Tambaza man’? You’re being called into the living room.”

 

 

I stayed there until about 5:30 p.m. Then a tall, dark-skinned woman arrived—her complexion was beautifully radiant. Her hair was neatly combed and clipped back. She wore a white blouse and a skirt the color of soil. I didn’t see the car that dropped her off because a Christmas tree blocked my view, but I heard its engine as it drove away.

 

I didn’t greet her respectfully; I thought she was around my age.

 

After about five minutes, Peter came into the living room holding several documents—about five sets.

 

“Take these documents home. Have your father sign here, here, and here in all five copies. Then take them to the city education officer—leave three copies there and bring two back to me.”

I took the documents. Then he instructed a short, light-skinned driver to take us in a white pickup truck—myself and the dark-skinned woman. I sat in the open back, while she and the driver sat in front.

 

The pickup drove to Chang’ombe near Kibasila Secondary School, where the woman got off. The driver then called me to sit in front and dropped me at Chang’ombe Police Station.

 

On the way, we praised that woman’s natural beauty.

 

Let me tell you something: ten years later, I discovered that the beautiful dark-skinned woman I saw in November 1993—the one I didn’t greet respectfully—was actually Mama Tunu Pinda.

I got off at Chang’ombe Police Station, walked to Temeke mwisho, then took a daladala (Chai Maharage) to Mbagala.

 

I arrived and went straight to my father so he could sign the documents. One of them had about 70 pages, and the signature was required on the last page. But when I got home, he refused to sign them.

 

I returned to my aunt in Kariakoo Market to explain. She told me,

 

“Go back to Peter early in the morning—he will resolve it.”

 

The next morning, I went to Peter. He told me not to leave. He first went to work with the documents, then came back for me and took me to the Dar es Salaam City offices, where we submitted them to the regional education officer.

 

At the city office near Sokoine Drive they told me,

 

“Young man, don’t keep troubling the elder. Just come here weekly to follow up on your appeal.”

 

Peter left three copies at the city office. He took two copies—kept one in his car and gave me the other to deliver to someone at the Ministry of Justice.

 

Who was this person I was supposed to deliver the copy to? What exactly was written in that document?

 

Stay tuned for the next part.

Remember, this is part of the Azania–Tambaza Conflict series XXXI.
Have a nice day.

Makwadeladius @g mail.com

0717649257