THE MAN OF COINS AND THE QUESTION OF TRUST IN OUR SECURITY FORCES

 

 

Adeladius Makwega – MBAGALA

 

“Conductor, haven’t you done any business since morning? Give me my change; I am getting off! If I don’t have a hundred shillings, am I going to board your bus? I am not joking—please give me my change.”

 

That day, I boarded a small passenger bus from the city, heading out of town. Fortunately, I found a seat. As we began our journey, the conductor unfortunately received money from passengers but did not have enough change. This soon led to numerous complaints, and such words became part of the soundtrack of our journey.

 

The conductor was a very calm and gentle man, and he did not respond to the complaints. When he reached me, I gave him 2,000 Tanzanian shillings in various denominations, including several 100- and 200-shilling coins.

He said, “Thank you very much, elder.”

After counting the money, he said I was still short by 300 shillings. I gave him a 500-shilling coin, and he returned 200 shillings to me.

The money helped him greatly. He went back toward the front of the bus and continued giving change to the passengers who had been waiting. Later, he returned to my side and asked:

 

“Elder, do you have two 500-shilling coins?”

 

I reached into the upper pocket of my bag and gave them to him, and he gave me a 1,000-shilling note in return.

 

We continued for another 10 or 15 minutes before reaching a stop. Students boarded the bus, together with two neatly dressed women. Their hair was beautifully styled, and they were wearing smart dresses. After entering the vehicle, they wiped the dust from themselves with handkerchiefs and took their seats.

 

Later, a young officer from the Tanzania Police Force boarded the bus wearing his police uniform and a police jacket over it.

 

All these passengers found seats. The two female teachers sat on Mwanakwetu’s left. The students sat on the rear six-person seat, while the police officer sat in front of Mwanakwetu, with one seat between them.

 

The conductor began collecting fares. When he reached the seat where the police officer was sitting, one of the women gave him her fare. Behind the police officer’s seat was another seat occupied by a woman who had facial hair. The next seat was occupied by Mwanakwetu, while at the very back were the secondary-school students, who appeared to be in Form Two or Form Three.

 

The students watched the conductor collecting fares while speaking quietly in Kigogo:

 

“Why hasn’t the conductor collected the police officer’s fare?”

They continued whispering in Kigogo:

“They are all Wakonongo; they don’t understand Kigogo. Our police officer is very stingy.”

 

The young people spoke freely, laughing as they talked. One of them added:

“The conductor collected from that woman sitting next to the police officer. He collected from the woman with the beard. He collected from this elder—Mwanakwetu. Why hasn’t he asked the police officer for his fare? When he comes, I will ask him.”

 

At that moment, the conductor came toward where the students and I were sitting. He collected the fares from the teachers sitting next to me. Since he had already taken some money, he once again asked for 500 shillings in change.

 

I put my hand into my bag and found four coins. I counted them and told him:

“I have 450 shillings.”

He replied:

“Give me those.”

I handed them over, and he gave me 500 shillings.

The conductor laughed and said:

“Elder, from today I will call you Mzee wa Chenji—the Master of Change. You have trained your hand like Diego Maradona. Salute to you, elder!”

 

My reader, take note of this: I normally keep all the coins I receive in my bag. This helps me greatly when I need to pay for transport, because I often have plenty of coins with me.

 

The conductor then reached the six-person seat, which was full of students. He collected their fares, and the mischievous student asked him in Kigogo:

 

“Why haven’t you collected the police officer’s fare?”

The conductor laughed and replied in Kigogo:

“When I come back to the front, I will collect it.”

The conductor quietly returned, sat near the door, and continued with the journey.

After some time, one of the two women—the teachers—said:

“Conductor, conductor! I am getting off at the Sheli ya Total station.”

The conductor stopped the bus, and the woman got off.

Mwanakwetu smiled to himself at the way the Total petrol station had been referred to as “Sheli ya Total.”

I thought to myself:

“Our teacher seems unable to distinguish between these two oil companies. Shell is a petroleum company, just like Total.”

We continued a little farther, and the police officer and another woman got off.

The journey continued. Mwanakwetu began reflecting on why police officers and members of the Tanzania People’s Defence Force had come to be treated as people who did not have to pay bus fares.

The main thought was this:

Remember that in the years following Tanganyika’s independence, the government undertook major nation-building initiatives, including the policy of Ujamaa villages. During that period, tensions also arose between Uganda and Tanzania, eventually leading to the Kagera War. That war ended with the removal of Idi Amin Dada from power.

 

After the war ended, the soldiers and police officers who had participated were regarded by Tanzanians as heroes. Those who lost their lives were believed to have died heroically, while those who returned were welcomed as heroes.

 

Those who lived in Dar es Salaam say the matter was not simply about not paying bus fares. Adults would even give up their seats on public buses such as UDA and KAMATA to allow our soldiers to sit, regardless of the soldier’s age.

Mwanakwetu was still inside the bus. It continued for a while, and then the students got off, teasing the conductor.

 

The bus continued to another stop, where Mwanakwetu also got off. The conductor teased him:

“Ah, Mzee wa Sarafu, you’ve arrived? Thank you very much, elder.”

When Mwanakwetu got off, some young motorcycle taxi riders offered to take him home. He told them:

“No, thank you. I walk.”

He continued walking home, reflecting on the journey:

“Those secondary-school students were eager to see the police officer pay his fare. The bravery of our soldiers during the Kagera War belongs to our history, and there are people who witnessed and remember it. But today, that history seems unable to defend that police officer in the minds of these secondary-school students.”

 

Mwanakwetu continued thinking:

“Today, even if that police officer had no seat, I doubt anyone would offer him theirs. He would probably have stood until he reached his destination.”

 

Mwanakwetu arrived home, sat down and reflected on everything that had happened. Eventually, he decided to write this article exactly as he had experienced it.

 

Conclusion

The decline in public trust in some members of the security forces does not arise from the history of these institutions. Rather, it may be influenced by everyday conduct that appears to conflict with the principles of discipline, integrity and equality. When an officer wears a uniform, he/she does not carry only his personal dignity; he/she also carries the image of the institution he/she represents. That is why even seemingly small things—such as a young police officer entering a vehicle without greeting elders, or passing elderly people without acknowledging them—can affect public perceptions. Wearing a police uniform does not make a 20- or 30-year-old officer an elder simply because of the uniform. Young police officers should understand this clearly: for example, if you come from Morogoro but work in Arusha, while another police officer from Arusha works in Morogoro, whatever you do as a guest in another community may eventually be reflected back upon your own family and community. As the principle of Newton’s Third Law reminds us, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If you mistreat or humiliate someone away from home, someone else may one day mistreat your own relative at home. Everyone standing before you should be regarded as someone’s brother, sister, parent or child. We are all born and raised in a society with its own weaknesses and challenges.

 

Such small incidents, together with past incidents involving the misuse of firearms—which are painful and should never be repeated—can be interpreted by citizens, particularly young people, as signs of declining integrity, accountability and fairness. The respect that these institutions built over many years must be protected in both major and minor matters. The solution is not to force citizens to respect officers simply because they wear uniforms or hold ranks. Rather, officers themselves must earn and rebuild that respect through their conduct. Every officer should be an example of discipline, integrity, humility, patriotism, and respect for the laws and procedures they are entrusted to protect. Citizens need to see officers who respect justice, accept responsibility and understand that they are servants of the nation—not servants only to senior officials and leaders simply because they salute them. After all, it is these ordinary citizens who pay the taxes from which their salaries and allowances are ultimately funded.

 

Trust is built through actions, and the honour of a uniform begins with the character of the person wearing it.

 

Mwanakwetu, are you there? Remember.

“THE MAN OF COINS AND THE QUESTION OF TRUST IN OUR SECURITY FORCES”

I wish you a good day.

makwadeladius@gmail.com
0717649257

NB: This article is specially dedicated to my younger brother, A FANDE Juma Francis Fidelis Makwega.