Independence Day of dependence

I know. Many danganyikans spent Dec., 9 eating chickens and drinking for their peril under the so-called Uhuru or Independence Day. For boozers, it was totally different. What’d they celebrate if at all everything is the same, and sometimes worse than it was before this dependence others like to call independence? How can a dependent person or hunk be independent? If you depend on donors to run your show or budget then you’d nothing to commemorate or revel.

To avoid being cynic and psychic inept, boozers tried to make sense of this mantra of freedom without freedom. Is he free really? Are you free? Are we free especially at this moment our hunk is renowned for its begging-endemic behaviour? Are those who rape our hunk free? My foot! We’re all aren't surely. Are those who butchered Ujamaa and Kujitegemea by instilling Uhujumaa and Kujimegea really free? Hell no. They need to be freed so that they can see the light and become self-aware instead of priding themselves for begging. Better for me whose freedom is always enhanced by kanywaji, and bangi that makes me holler nonstop, and intimidatingly.

When I see Indian crows and the way they enjoy this hunk, I wish I were one of them. Birds are freer than boozers. Fisadis, drug barons, pilfers and other criminals in this hunk are freer than boozers. Now it is upon you who are reading this epistle to think deeply and widely and know why you’re not free even after over a half century of the meme.

 When others were disingenuously fooling themselves celebrating their demise, I pondered on many questions without answers but. How can boozers be free while they’re tortured by abject poverty, corruption, thuggery, insecurity, lack of social services and what not? Are pupils full-packed like sardines, sitting on the floor in ignorance-factories aka classes free? What of sick people especially expecting women who end up delivering on floor or on hospital and dispensary gates?

Are our animals free?  On the Uhuru Day I remembered heroic giraffes, gazelles, elands and wildebeests that were smuggled out of the hunk to Qatar on Nov., 20, 2010. I fondly remembered Loliondo that was vended during ruksa regime especially Stan Katabaro who was felled for exposing this sabotage. Who remembers him apart from me? No prize or anything like it is given him.

I went further querying if the victims of cop’s oft-extrajudicial killings were free. Are their families free really? Such questions and many more others made me cry like an orphan before my memsahib chipped in threatening to make me kiss the floor. Again, when I told her why I was crying she ironically join me.

Don’t take me wrong thinking that I’m writing this because of bangi ro kanywaji. Seriously, I saddened by the turn of events especially after Mzee Mchonga abdicated saying that the seat of power has become a den of thieves. On the very material day I did nothing but cry. I wept for my hunk, and for boozers. I cried for drug addicts multiplying and suffering in our streets while the barons are protected and mentioned with pomp and appreciation. If anything, such criminals and their masters are the ones celebrate this so-called independence.

I wept as I remembered how boozers suffer as they evidence the unfolding of orgs like EPA, Richmonduli, escrow, Meremeta, Kagoda and many more criminality. I wept for heroic tax payers who end up nourishing all sorts of vampire and bêtes noirs. Such earthlings had nothing to celebrate except weep for their demise. Again, those enjoying hunk’s cake such as the high and the mighty that rob and corrupt almost everything had all reason to celebrate this freedom that enabled them to freely commit crimes without being brought to book.

I wept for sick people especially those suffering from various types of cancers who can’t afford to be checked or treated abroad despite the fact that their taxes are spent on treating their biggies who caused all these miseries to them.

I wept for NBC, Kiwila Coal Mine, Tanesco and other public utilities that were offered to thieves in the name of investment that turned out to be divestment. I wept a lot when I saw cops with their guns at the parade. They remided me of Arusha massacre of Jan., 5, 2011 in Arusha. I remembered David Mwangosi and other victims of cop’s brutality. Seeing and remembering all these forced me to wear sacks and smear myself with ash to nicely weep for my mother Danganyika. Indeed, I did as you are supposed to do especially if you are on the side that doesn't eat the hunk’s cake. If you’re being eaten like me, then you need to join me so that we can ponder on what to do to do away with all these miseries committed under the pretext of uhuru aka udhuru.

Given that the so-called independence didn't get our hunk rid of dependence, and didn't make any sense for me, I still need freedom. Let’s fight for our true freedom. Think twice.

The Guardian.