The last of the Tanganyikans are dying. Long live Tanga za Nyika.
It’s
a terrible joke but I’ll tell it anyways: A delegation of Tanzanian
worthies were visiting Nairobi on some political mission or other. The
master of ceremony at the event they were attending introduced them
thus: “Here we have King’ung’e Ng’ombale Mwiru accompanied by his fellow
Ving’ung’e.”
Apparently the Kenyan MC had mistaken
the comrade’s first name for a title and proceeded to grant it in its
plural form to the rest of the Tanzanian guests. Can you blame him? The
name certainly sounds like an appellation of nobility.
King’ung’e Ngombale Mwiru passed away last Sunday, may he rest in peace.
As
he was one of the last self-avowed Marxists, I like to think that the
late Ngombale Mwiru would have been quite annoyed at the idea of being
called nobility. In that sense he was the embodiment of a certain era of
Tanzanian self-realisation. One marked by hard work and sacrifice,
sure, but also a vision that was very particular.
There was some good.
There was some bad. It is with some trepidation that some of us
mark the passing of an original nationalist and consider what the
present is presenting, and what the future holds.
As
an advocate for youth and change and the embrace of modernity — in its
progressive forms — I was thoroughly disturbed to realise that this
space to be vocally and adamantly critical of the old guard has actually
been a gift of the circumstances they created.
Just
as one cannot stand up if you don’t have a skeletal structure, muscles,
and gravity to push up against your feet, a commentator cannot stand
against that which is not firm. Like, say, the shoulders of giants
masquerading as regular folks who tell you to “just call me comrade.”
Our
generation, Independence is not going to be with us forever. I don’t
think I can explain how deeply spoilt we younger Tanzanians have been by
the continuous flow of our post-colonial history, bumps and all.
Folks
like Ngombale Mwiru gave us the luxury of taking them and the systems
they created for granted. His passing was a shock because he has always
been there, and it is easy to assume that nationalists are just going to
stick around forever, patiently enduring whatever gets thrown at them.
While
keeping the Green and Gold together, mostly. And being the repositories
of histories that we don’t take the time to ask them about because they
are immortal, right? And providing calm ports during stormy political
weather. And, and, and... the last of the Tanganyikans are dying. Long
live Tanganyika.
And then they grow old. As time licks
her fingers to turn the pages of history from one era to the next, and
the old guard passes on the baton to we youth whether we are ready for
it or not, a question has been rearing its head: What are we going to
do? The old man passed on and somehow it feels like he left us all a
personal challenge to step up to.
- Be stubborn about what’s worth fighting for.
- Marxism is neither stupid nor dead.
- Should you get an opportunity to serve your nation, swear to do so to the best of your ability on the Constitution of the United Republic, like he did.
- Uphold respect for people’s faith — swear on your holy book, sure. But swear on the Constitution also, so you mean it to all of us, not just yourself and your faith.
- Tanzania first, not in an obnoxious way, but because people are worth loving and one should practice that at home.
As
we wish him to rest in peace, and as someone who has had his protection
all her life I say thank you. For many things but mainly for opening a
door to be challenged as the next generation: Who is going to Ving’ung’e
us next? I suspect he would say we should do it ourselves. Eh, baba.
Elsie Eyakuze is an independent consultant and blogger for The Mikocheni Report. E-mail: elsieeyakuze@gmail.com
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