I am sitting in a bus that leads the leader following my abrupt divorce with the ultimate leader on my way to the country where a certain wine guy was just beaten and not tortured, when my comrade suddenly – out of marijuana blues – asks, “would you do a public confession?”
Now, for those of you who might not know what this implies, the best analogy I could come up with for now, is that of genuine wealth declaration by our politicians – and not the political stunts and Pharisee-cleansing rituals we are witnessing today. Anyhow, what would a public confession really entail?
I suppose it would mean something like one Kageni going on radio and saying something like, “I invented witness coaching before the ICC.” Perhaps it would also mean Rajabu the truck driver confessing that his stopovers at Malaba, Lugazi and Kabale are mainly sleepovers at his tûirio twegas (good/delicious foods – if you know you know) whom he has been sharing his loot and illegal transportation kill with. Maybe it would be your local bishop or pastor telling you that the only reason why your church installed a praise and worship leader whose voice classifies outside the piano keys is because blood is thicker than solfa ladder, keys, pitch, beat, and musical notation.
Might a public confession perhaps involve the revelation that your favorite political figure is not just Abi’s babaa, but also Baba Husseini of Afmador, Baba Mutambura of Igoji, Baba Goshephehena of Egypt, Baba Shava of Shonaland and Baba Rakotosoarina of some African island? It may even reveal that your tano-terrror government is actually run on remote-control by some widow and not by the vifaranga-vya-kompyuta that made you roll on the ground after they were declared winners. You would know that your former MCA – the one you insulted and humiliated out of power actually refused a bribe to a deal that would have seen your entire clan’s wealth taken by some rogue “investor”. May be your wife would reveal to you that all the children you suspected were not yours are indeed yours although she fooled around just to meet your expectations of you about her being a cheat. Your husband – who is the Imam and morality benchmark at your local mosque – would perhaps confirm that he peeps at his best friend’s wife through the window curtains every evening pre- and post-her-showering-hour then compares notes.
Then again, a public confession might mean the mobile money transfer “inventor” giving rightful credit to the actual inventor and backdating his trillions of earnings. Who knows? You might end up finding out that the sunroofed Amazon V8 that you have been flossing with on IG is actually blood money. Maybe, just maybe, you would find out that your author’s work has been Kobied and that your to-die-for Alejandro is in real sense no better than Thingûri or Otonglo save for the one, scaly pack each has. You might discover that Camila has such great looks, but her mwanamke-ni-tabia traits are no better than those of our own AcCothe.
Perhaps our head tribesman would confess that he doesn’t really believe that our tribe is superior to the tribes upstream. Our toddlers might actually get apologies for when we told them that we are going to the shop to get them candy while we were actually divorcing our partners for good and leaving the toddlers behind. Perhaps J would let M know that she is only too desperate to get married to anyone – to anything, really – because of her age and not because she is in love with him. M would then confess that S is actually his only true love.
We might see a matatu conductor say how he hates refusing to give back change, but the small devil in the industry would let him not – an addiction it has now become. In the process, a matatu owner would know that this conductor would have bought himself a matatu and joined the owners’ league with the small monies he “plucks” from the rightful earnings of the owner. Your local school bus driver would tell you how much he loves your children because they remind him of the father he would have been had his own mother not refused the girl of his dreams. You would perhaps know that the traffic officer is actually depressed about corruption and only takes a bribe for the thrill of it or because his mawe-tatu senior demands that he does and the system is too rogue for his liking. You would know that this policewoman living in the congested police line is only bitter about life and the only way she can vent it out is to harass criminals to raise her self-esteem. She would perhaps tell you that she and her two teenage daughters have been sexually violated one too many times by her senior, male counterparts and reporting that to any IPOA means interdiction without hearing. Then you would perhaps begin to understand that that is why she is so ruthless with any alleged sexual offender – male or female.
You would know that the beggar sleeping right outside your million-bob lunch joint was a clande to the owner of that joint until she refused to abort. She would tell you that she was later forced to give away her child to an anonymous children’s home by the same joint owner for fear of being disjointed. She would confess that the only reason she begs for food outside that joint is so that she could see her son “waiting” for you after the joint owner later “rescued” him from the same hell-hole he had condemned him into while he was only 2 hours old. You see, that beggar had her uterus removed after her only baby was taken away and her entire clan castigated her for being such a thiî ûkîûmaga mutation.
A public confession would definitely do good for the confessor, but it might be more harmful to many other people associated with the confessor. Some may benefit and others may lose. Just like a volcanic eruption, a public confession would probably kill and also create. What do you think?