Lake Vujira

President Wanga 1 of The Republic of Mwacha was called The Lake Monster. The Lake Monster coveted Lake Vujira, the biggest lake in The Republic which was named after his aunt. She lived with him at the Presidential palace. Auntie Vujira appeared next to him at state functions more times than the first lady. She bore smooth skin topped with regular botox treatment and when she offered a smile to the cameras, her eyebrows remained stationary. The first lady looked older than Auntie Vujira but she had a kinder and more normal looking face. She looked normal enough for the wife of the richest man in The Republic of Mwacha, for a lady living in a twenty seven-bedroomed palace with servants to do whatever she asked. We heard that sometimes the servants did not always do as she asked. They usually did what the President’s auntie asked, like taking her to the lake which was named after her.

Lake Vujira was hundreds of feet deep and very wide. It stretched so far that even the President’s wealth could not fill the lake. When Wanga 1 was declared President, he gathered many journalists to the lake and invited the neighbouring heads of state to the official renaming of the lake to Vujira. He praised his aunt for being there for him after his mother died and many of the citizens thought that his aunt was his elderly wife at first because he never mentioned his wife at all except when he referred to his two sons.

President Wanga 1 decreed that day that no one was to use the lake for any purpose without written permission from the Ministry of Fisheries. Auntie Vujira was appointed the Minister of Fisheries the day after the renaming. Many of the fishermen and villagers from around the lake stayed on for a while hoping that the restriction would be removed. It never was. Instead, the people sought written permission almost on weekly bases. The reasons had to be clear, for example, to fish for food, for domestic purposes, to collect fish for income and so on. Auntie Vujira and her ministry officials started soliciting bribes from permission seekers and it was no wonder that many of the lake dwellers left for the city and other areas of the Republic. Bushes grew in the homesteads; strong winds blew down huts and left them in disrepair. The very old who decided to stay died and were buried there by their children and grandchildren. The only time when citizens viewed the lake was on the annual Vujira Day when it was officially named. On that day, news channels broadcast Wanga 1 standing with the view of the lake behind him and his dear aunt and Minister by his side. His stomach always appeared a little bigger and people said it was because he ate all the fish by himself.

Children born in that regime heard many stories about Lake Vujira. It aroused their curiosity. They heard tales of how the fish tasted like a chocolate doughnut and that once you ate it, your stomach would grow big like the President’s. Others heard that at night the fish came out and started walking on the shore and talking to the people who had died there long ago. The children grew curious. They wanted to visit the lake and talk to the fish. As years passed, a number of the young citizens formed a group called The Vujira Mission. Their mission was to visit the lake and afterwards make an official plea to The President to remove the restriction. They felt that it was their right to eat the fish, to swim and to ride on boats. Most of them did not even know how to swim but they just wanted to be near the great Lake Vujira. The Vujira Mission carried out their plan and on a day like any other day, dressed in white and black, their colour of choice, met in the city center and drove two hours to the lake-side. Causing quite a stir amongst on-lookers and by-standers, the news eventually reached the Press and of course the President.

“Mr. President, there are a group of young men and women who want to overthrow your Government. They have hidden weapons by the lake side and they are planning their attack tonight.” That is what his Chief of Security told Wanga 1.

The Vujira Mission, not aware of this, arrived at the lake breathless from running the thirty minute stretch of sand from the main road. Hardly containing themselves, they flung to the ground and rolled in the sand. Throwing fistfuls of sand in the air and watching it separate into tiny diamonds, the girls and boys agreed that this was indeed a treasure. Folding up their trouser cuffs, they then proceeded to the lake. Terrified at first, they walked with caution until a huge tidal wave swept floating vegetation their way. The boys scrambled in. Allowing their feet to sink into the sand, the cold water drenched them. The more daring ones even undressed completely and sat at the bottom, floating in and out of the waves. Anyone who could hear the manly squeals and see their widened eyes in approbation would want to join them. One boy swallowed some of the water and promised to collect his urine afterwards as keepsake. The second leader of the group, a female, piled some of the heavy wet sand on her head and squirmed as it slid down over her protruding eyelashes and nose. She shook it off and then made balls of the wet sand to throw at her friends. It became a game of girls against boys, which was unfair since the girls were outnumbered.

It was difficult to determine when the shooting started. The squeals accelerated into calls for Help! There were so many arms in the air and bodies disappearing under the lake’s shallow waters. The young women and men of The Vujira Mission spluttered and coughed, some dragging their friends to the further end of the shore away from the shooting. Bullets hit the water like sharp pebbles. Amidst the cacophony, you could make out, They are killing us! Two dead bodies lay on the lake. One faced upwards towards the sky, with a cocky smile as if sharing a secret that only he knew. The other’s face was submerged into the coveted lake.

There were varying news reports on radio.

“The leaders of a rebel group that was allegedly trying to overthrow Wanga 1 has been killed after an all-night shoot out at Lake Vujira,” one report said.

Another radio announced that several young men believed to be spies were caught recruiting boys before transporting them on Lake Vujira to one of the neighbouring states.

The team from the Ministry of Defence remained in their patrol car, one of them lead the journalists to the scene, explaining the titanic task before The Government in protecting its citizens. When different journalists asked why there were only two dead bodies, the Defence team promptly replied that some of the bodies had floated away and that the fish had eaten up the others. His men would keep watch overnight to see if any bodies would float back to the shore.

The journalists scratched their pens on their pads, taking photos from their Blackberries and Nokia phones. A few managed to capture the arrival of some of the parents and relatives. The spokesperson for the Ministry of Defence then ordered the journalists to leave, promising a detailed report as soon as possible. A large part of the crowd also walked away. Many of them asked themselves how the rebel group could be so fearless and go against the President’s orders. Most of them were grateful that young women and men had stood their ground in defiance and prayed for the souls of the dead.

The parents did not notice any of this as they came in search of their children. Their wails reached to the indifferent heavens.

Why?

Why?

Where is my son?

Where is he?

What have you done to my daughter?

“Some of the bodies floated away and others were…” the soldiers attempted to explain.

“You stupid Government. You have killed our children! It is you!”

The soldier fired in the air.

The parents did not move. Their grief was stronger than their fear. Two more soldiers walked towards the parents who had covered the two dead bodies of their sons. There were at least sixteen parents and only two bodies.

“Why?”

“Why?”

More soldiers came towards the group aiming their guns at them.

The leader repeated his earlier narration, in a softer voice than before, “They were part of a rebel group. They wanted to …”

Before he was able to finish, he dropped dead facedown. The other two soldiers followed him, dropping their guns in the process. They hit the sand hard and each muttered a final grunt. The women screamed. The men moved away slightly.

“Please don’t kill us,” one of the parents pleaded to the group that came towards them. “We are just mourning our losses.”

The one who appeared to be the leader spoke.

“It is us. The soldiers tried to kill us. Two of our friends died and some are injured but the rest of us managed to…”

Before he could complete the sentence, he was surrounded by a volley of questions.

“Where are the rest?”

“Are they here?”

“You mean they are still alive, oh God thank you. God of this lake, thank you.”

“There. I see them,” one parent shouts, pointing in the direction of the patrol car.

And sure enough, there were about seven young women and men walking behind a small group of Government soldiers who had been stripped to their shorts.

Another woman recognized her daughter amongst the Vujira Mission.

“You are alive. You are alive. God has brought you back to me. He has brought you back to me. Come and I take you home, my son. Come home where there is no death, just love.”

“Mama.”

The tied up soldiers looked at their captors with wide pleading eyes. They were naked, bruised and only wore shorts.

“We will not kill them. Instead, we will leave them by the lake that they have been protecting. Maybe the lake will also protect them.”

The families left with their children who buried the guns in the sand. The soldiers shivered in the cold night alone. Nobody came for them. The President after all, had received a call from his head of Defence that all was well and that he would receive a report the following morning. The night air carried the soldiers to the shore of the lake. Their bodies gently rolled into the water, joining the algae and the fish.

Lake Vujira.