Letter to my ancestors

Dear Father,

Your sons have scattered after the Big Bang. Tiramang, your first son, became a Nko. Ndofen, your second son, became a Sino. Enyaw, your last son became an Ajamataw. Oh, Father, how thankful you must be to your gods. Your three sons have ruled empires of different generations. Tiramang has turned down offers to marry Jollof Jewels in favour of marrying the Mansa Musso of the Empire of Baadinbung. Ndofen reigned in Nyo-Mi. But, the best is often reserved for the last, and your prophesy is delivered through Enyaw. One of his sons, Appai, has mounted the Stallion. Appai’s prowess is legendary. He’s charismatic and benevolent. But he’s also a troubler. He’s in trouble and needs the forgiveness of you, Our Ancestors. For many reasons. The most abominable is that he fought and disrespected a respectable member from the House of the Julas. Appai has put bruises on ANM Jula’s head and denied him the Sun he did not own. He has transgressed our Book of Wise: thou shall not hurt a fly in the House of the Julas.

Oh Father, Appai may be my brother from another father, but this isn’t about Faading-yaa. The other day, my friend, Mr Jonks, came to me with a lot of junk complaints. Many moons have since crept into abyss. First, he confessed that he prefers Appai's era to Faafaa Jamano because Appai is more 'ambitious'. His loyalty to this conviction is genuine, for unlike the people who wear secondary colours underneath green shirts, he seeks neither food nor fame from Appai. This man - how hard to describe him - is our Great Village's conscience of the past. But he’s not even close to the letter P for Perfect. And, after twenty-one harvest seasons more with promissory notes, he still could neither forgive nor forget the petty crimes of Faafaa Jamano against farmers. He thus measures any misstep of Appai’s era against greater sins of Faafaa Jamano, rather than what Appai could have done better. But this isn’t a judgement on his judgement, for I, a man who sins against Man and God, does not have the wisdom and purity to do. In the songs of our Jalis of Yore, Mr Jonks traveled oceans. He guarded the sense of right and wrong in Gambia of yesterday, is living through today's Gambia with occasional lucidity that can surpasse Einstein's, and as a futurologist of Mazrui's standing, the Gambia of tomorrow is a drawing on his palms.

But, lo, there he stood, before me, in bloodshot eyes, fumbling and mumbling like a ratchet witchdoctor. He's not happy with Appai for giving journalists groundless award-winning news headline: Mass Axi Axed. Mass, his friend, he told me, is one out of many hardworking Gambians whose innocence have been bastardised on false grounds that Appai accepted from men who worship the two-faced god, of power and pay. "Kanilai has faith and faith is a very delicate thing," Mr Jonks told me. He wants me to hence advise that as the Dalasi with the drawing of Appai's head on one side has the drawing of different head on the other side, so shall every issue brought before the Castel. And, to borrow from Game of Thrones, a leader who victimises those devoted to him doesn’t inspire devotion. He rather falls victim to the game of deception and treachery he nurtures.  

Mr Jonks wants me to tell more. This isn't the first time sah. In the Year of the Lord in Christ Two Thousand and Eleven, he gave me a note to hand in to Appai. I failed him. Of all unexpendable mortals, why me. I wondered! Yes, I've deservedly graduated from being a join-the-list to join the list of proud but humble journalists whose pen is mightier than ten thousand bayonets and more beneficent than River Gambia. But even the Ink of Ballangar has lost many battles to the whispers of men with long tongues in small brains breathing evil into kind hearts of the Kings of Good Men. I fear only two things: fear itself and failure.  

But Mr Jonks is tenacious, knowing also that I am first a Jammeh, then Saikou, and a heir apparent to the throne if our Great Village ever goes Mohammedan. But how could I tell Mr Jonks that I've never even had a bite on the sumptuous Royal Pie. That will be un-royal-ly of me, and after all, it's both Appai's fault and my choice. And, as a student of Foroyaa Universty's Faculty of Disappearance Without Trace, I've come to learn that the wrath of Appai's era may be blind to blood. I thus abdicated my obligation as a watchdog and a brother, disappointed Mr Jonks and also my friend who's dearer to me than those nearer to my name. My this friend is young, barely twenty rains, and wasn't around when Appai didn't know how to smile with his guns.  To her/him, the time should always be right to say what is right. How could I tell him/her that in our land, where the Sun sometimes sets from the North, truth that threatens the peace of the Crown is a common enemy. So, I’d since decided to keep my short tongue in my short head shorter, accepting my destiny as a coward in whose house hypocrites and parasites would come to mourn the death of those brave souls, rather than demand justice.

Oh Father, Appai may put my head on the spike. His men may slander me to him for being un-royal-ly.  His guards may accuse me of betraying the oath of secrecy that keeps intact the peace of the Crown of our Great Village. But I’m just a Raven with the Word. For in the beginning was the Word, the Word was of God's and the Word was God. The Word is simply that the People are angry because they’re hungry for food and freedom. The gods are also angry because the voice of the people is the voice of the gods. Food is unaffordable and Appai wields an axe that cuts the head of anyone who steals. Freedom is far away on the Coast of Dreamland. More wealth surely follows Appai’s reign but there’s something qualitatively different about contemporary have-nots. Tell Appai therefore that Man needs freedom to enjoy His food, but He also needs food to enjoy his freedom. The choice of Right or Rice is no choice because the enjoyment of the Right to Rice is indivisible to the enjoyment of Rice as a Right.

When Appai opened open the gates of hell and flushed out those who sinned against him and the gods, I was there to carry the Word. I saw young girls bury their head into the hands of fathers they’d not known. Women who have found their long lost lovers shedding tears. I saw foreigners who were happy to return home. I saw mothers charged up with energy they thought they’d lost to old age. I even saw relief in the face of the guardian of hell. I saw many things. Appai then told the world he had opened a New Page. I badly wanted to see Sheriffo, then, more often, to whisper to him. Our cousin is now Appai’s friend, but he has shut me out. I then asked two of Appai’s Council Members what are the words written on this New Page. They told me not what the Kingdom did not already know. I however warned that putting old writings on a New Page gives the same drunken effect as drinking Old Wine from a New Bottle.

Appai didn’t listen to me, Father. He said Our People desire schools, so he built them. He said our People desire Hospitals, so he built them. But men of our land continue to cut and run, leaving behind the Schools and Hospitals and using the Roads that Appai built for them to stay. Our Ancestors have said that immigration of people is a great measure of habitability. Yet when some Men returned home with violence against the Crown, his men crushed them. The world stood by him, for those men posed a threat to peace. When ANM Jula and his people also demanded their piece of the peace in peace, Appai’s men crushed them, too. I was there. I saw women, young and elderly, beaten and buffeted by gun-trotting men, and I for long wondered who pays who. Or, whose fault is it if their pay is poor? I later saw Appai and his men celebrating victory for peace, and I further wondered whose PEACE!  Gambia is for all Gambians, at home or abroad. There are no dogs, but only humans.

Oh Father, the good thing is the gods of our lands and waters and skies are quite different from your vengeful gods. Our gods are educated and wise. They reveal to us the story of the King and Comedian in the Book of Wise. The King regularly visits the Chief Priest for solution to problems in his Kingdom. He, one day, was about to enter the Temple when he saw the comedian, happy and buoyant, coming out. The King had always been envious of the comedian’s popularity, and ordered his men to attack him. When they rob him off the Ark given to him by the Chief Priest, the King saw no need to get to the Chief Priest. The comedian went back, in tears. He was given another Ark. “Young Man,” the Chief Priest told the comedian, “You’re lucky, for the Ark is only two. But the code is the same and it is binding on you and your offsprings as it is on the king and his offsprings.”

   

So, when Mr Small Man kicked out white people, our gods brought in Mansa Kairaba to rule our lands and waters and skies. Mansa Kairaba is an animal scientist. Knowing that all human beings are animals, scientifically and politically, he tended to our food and water needs with the zeal of a shepherd and massaged our political egos and grievances with compassion and mercy. The Word then arrived from the gods for Mansa Kairaba to respect the code of the Ark. But, he refused, dancing to the songs of Eagle and sympathising crying crocodiles. The gods removed him in peace to protect the peace. The eagles and crocodiles that clapped when he defied the gods were the first to slap him. Appai was a member of Mansa Kairaba’s guard, and as Knight, the gods made him witness and live through the lessons of Mansa Kairaba’s fame and fall. With Appai, our land is covered with thick and tall walls of security to guard the goods and gods we need in our Great March to the Silicon Valley. Yes, the roads have never been clearer and safer, but neither Kairaba nor Appai shall get our Great Nation to Silicon Valley. This is the job of a man of Quantum Solutions. This is neither a dream nor prophesy; it’s a friendly reminder that our gods are not spiritual, they are very practical.

The other day I was eavesdropping on a conversation between Appai’s born-again friend, Gambia’s Pen, and the Bur of Saloum. When he boldly warned Burba Sall that he should do no more than two terms in the Castle, I wondered whether what is good for the Saloum Goose, is also not good for the Gambian Gander. Surely, if Appai didn’t hear what his good and rarely loyal people didn’t, couldn’t and may not tell him, he must be an Achebean stranger in his own Kingdom. The crowd behind him is a mass beast, manipulated by ‘politrikcians’ whose loyalty has a shallow breaking point. Tell Appai to slap anyone who tells him he’s the only One True King. Yes, that’s seditious, for it’s a confirmation that either Appai doesn’t have competent followers, or he has not been a competent leader. Competent followers follow competent leaders and competent leaders lead competent followers.

Father, also tell Appai that as a co-author of Kairaba’s history, he shall make not the same misstate of seeing a crowd where there’s none, love where there’s none, and loyalty where there’s none. I’m young but I know a lot. I know that BB Jula had jumped out of Kairaba’s sinking political ship in the middle of the waters of Atlantic Ocean. I also know that many more BBs who had vowed to die for Appai are now dying to see him dead. I even know there remain many more BBs with Appai vowing to remain the last man standing for him.  

But, oh Father, no descendant of yours leave behind him a Kingdom in ruins, and Appai of all shall not start it. Yes, I know he has one concern: where would he hide his head in peace. Truth is, I guaranteed not his peace. But his good deeds may and most Gambians are not as unforgiving as Mr Jonks. Trouble is, where would he hide his troubles? I’m afraid, Mansa Kairaba’s Central Bank remains the tallest building in the Gao. But the lights from the hell-hole of the land that Appai turned into the City of Lights may flood out the darkness of April. 

Saikou Jammeh