A slight lapse in sincerity

In a fit of pre-election inspiration, the government decided to brand this fiscal year with a catchy-yet-considerate theme: Kilimo Kwanza. Agriculture First is an excellent program to promote considering the statistics that are often bandied about- 42 million Tanzanians and 80% of those living in the rural areas with most of them farming for subsistence. By caring about agriculture, the government is purporting to care about the poor majority. However, those numbers also hint at the fundamental problem that arises from the Kilimo Kwanza program, that of a lack of commitment on the part of the government to make deep and lasting changes in the lives of the majority of Tanzanians.

Just a couple of years ago, the education sector was unfortunate enough to become the subject of a massive government initiative. Eschewing true investment in improving the quality of education, the establishment went for the easy kill- increasing access to education by throwing money at things that can be seen and counted. So innumerable primary school buildings have been built, and every ward was very strongly encouraged to build a secondary school so that every single student who successfully completed their primary education would be guaranteed a place. Where were the teachers going to come from, the teaching aids, et cetera? These were mere details that were not allowed to interfere with the government's top-down approach.

Fast forward to today, when the government has moved on from Education to its new mistress Agriculture. Ward Secondary schools are not doing very well. The students have realized that they are being shafted with crappy new recruit teachers who don't know the language of instruction let alone the subjects in any depth. Take a moment to imagine thousands of young Tanzanians simmering with the realization that their government has shafted them, and that they are not going to get the education they thought they would...and let that thought marinate for a couple of years. I hope Kikwete's successor has a plan for the youth vote because s/he's going to need it.

That education sector story is just a recent example of the many well-intentioned but hopelessly hollow initiatives out there. So I was a little skeptical about the Kilimo Kwanza gig when it appeared- there was that excess of official exuberance that is the hallmark of a dubious proposition. I have been lying in wait for months for the cracks to show. Patience does get rewarded in some small measure, as this story shows. It could be argued that in a developing country like this one, there are innumerable demands on public officials-how, oh how do they pick which sitting allowance to receive each day? But perhaps this is reason enough for the government to stop promising sweeping changes the likes of which it cannot effect. And perhaps this will be one more piece of evidence in the case for a strong, expert and indigenous civil society to bridge the development gap that the government cannot.

Exactly the same, except not.

Hi folks! I am happy to announce the launch of The Mikocheni Report. Just Another Day in Paradise, the original blog, was laid to rest quietly and with no ceremony earlier this morning. It was fun while it lasted, but a long period of silence coupled with an accumulation of intentions to improve the blog seemed to demand a radical change. So I did for the blog what any good friend would do for someone who needs a feel-good pick-me-up would do: I took it to the spa. It went in as Just Another Day in Paradise and emerged as...well, The Mikocheni Report.

There is still some work to be done, but in the meantime I hope you enjoy the new and improved version as much as I have enjoyed putting it together. The content remains more or less the same because politics, urban life and food are subjects that just keep giving. Let the good times roll.

Not quite dead yet...

Like King'ung'e Ng'ombale-Mwiru, this blog is not dead yet contrary to appearances. A lot of subterranean meditation has been happening (ahem) and the blog should be enjoying a revamping in the very, very, very near future! Said revamping will (hopefully) involve the upgrading of the style, streamlining of content, and inclusion of more visual stimulus. The upgrade will still be subject to Paradisan laws of internet connectivity- immutable laws- but even given these constraints there is bound to be improvement. In the meantime, please accept this short place-holder whose intention it is to say: hello.

Have a refreshing weekend.

Death of a Despot: Adieu Monsieur Bongo

So, Monsieur le President Omar Bongo du Gabon had the good grace to retire from life this week. Officially he died a day or two ago but a good webtrawl suggests otherwise. With every death in the old guard of African leaders, another piece of the golden independence era in African modern history gets lost. Despot or Political Saint, every one of them mattered in the way they shaped the political culture of their country...

...but what I really want to talk about is the loss of said golden independence era. Actually, the loss of style and consequence. When I was a kid, I spent a few years living across the river from Kinshasa. In Brazzaville, Francophilia was a way of life but there was also a very vibrant Afrocentric culture of style and opulence being driven by the courts of the local despots. Mobutu Sese Seko, Dennis Sassou Nguesso, Omar Bongo etc...these were men whose wives wore the very best Parisian shoes with the very best Kitenge couture, whose musical tastes made the careers of the greats like Franco and Madilu, whose personal foibles gave rise to very interesting fashions in some cases (leopard print accessories, anyone?). In a nutshell: awesome political culture/fashion history stuff.

Evidently that brief period of francophonie has had an interesting influence on my politics. Still, out of the manure of corruption, brutality and state failure grew these roses of modern African culture in music and fashion. The old guard didn't just pay lip service to Afrocentrism- they lived it. Back here in Paradise, we've had a slightly different trajectory which has delivered us now to a place where our Dear Leaders dress like bankers or bums depending on the crowd they are addressing.

If there is a hell, no doubt Mr. Bongo will have joined his dear wife and other cronies there. And Madilu and Franco, reunited at last, will serenade him down the red carpet.

No Documented Life Without Bribery?

Of course, it would be a close encounter of the state kind that would jolt me out of my recent blogging apathy. It is budget season, and time for my yearly appointment with the Tanzania Revenue Authority. Any seasoned Paradisan can read the signs of the oncoming tax season: an alarming increase in traffic policemen on the streets conducting spontaneous checks. What's the national budget got to do with traffic cops you ask?

Well. Our government is intensely lazy, uncreative and inefficient. It is also self-aware. Knowing that it cannot bother to raise internal revenue through the use of sophisticated, calibrated, far-reaching and sensible taxation schemes it settles for squeezing the bulk of it out of its captive taxable populations. This means amongst other things crazy high VAT, crazy heavy income tax for those of us in the formal sector, really crazy customs duties, and my favorite: insanely high fuel levies and road licence fees.

Canny Paradisans have been playing the Road Licence Renewal Game of Chance since the government decided that it was going to squeeze the stuffing out of motorists. It is played thus: beginning in June the Paradisan car owner must start to try and decipher which way the road licence fee wind will blow. Every year, the government either reduces or raises it, depending on its general mood, its need for easy cash, and its class politics. Last year the hike was huge, so everyone who had paid their licence Before Budget got to save money. But because we are all waiting to pay our licences sometime Before or After Budget, there is a window of time during which many of us are driving around with lapsed licenses...

...which in turn generates a feeding frenzy in the police force. Plain clothes and traffic cops alike spend pre-budget June catching all of us speculative fools who have let our insurance and road licences expire. They then fine the crap out of us and/or solicit bribes, exploiting yet another state-designed opportunity for corruption to flourish. To celebrate my first year as an independent car-owner, this year I decided to battle the red tape and get my faithful chariot registered in my name AND pay the road licence (mostly) voluntarily*.

I used every trick in the book: delegating to someone who is capable of dealing with government functionaries (not a skill to be sniffed at), semi-honest disclosure of my financial status (this is the TRA after all), and facilitation fees (also known as bakshish, bribery, petty corruption, etc). With the result that that I got a Taxpayer Identification Number and road licence within 24 hours. Hey, ya!

I should not be happy. Embracing the cynicism that is required to live effectively and efficiently in Paradise requires letting go of the idea that I can live 'clean' as a responsible citizen. But those are sweet and naive notions of civic life that have little place here. A government office is the one place where a Paradisan can go to be made to understand the basics of life: you don't matter, only your money and connections do. So, I admit, on any occasion when I manage to wrestle something from the sweaty grip of the state (a passport, a licence), it gives me a primal thrill, facilitation or no facilitation. Handbasket to hell? Why, yes, thank you.

* Okay. The truth is that I fear cops more than any other people in this land and will go to extraordinary lentghs not to give them cause to stop/arrest/incarcerate/bully/humiliate/abuse/perpetrate violence upon me.

Short Skirts Are Behind the HIV/AIDS Epidemic

Listening to the radio at an unnatural hour of the morning, I managed to catch one of those 'issue of the day' debates. Topic: Does sexy clothing encourage people to have unsafe sex?* Most of the people who were polled on the radio (men and women) were of the opinion that it did. I listened in fascinated horror as one guy explained how he assumes that sex with a woman in tight/short clothing is hardly worthwhile unless he ditches the condom...sadly, the interviewer didn't ask him if he used condoms with lovers who wore more conservative styles. I suppose he had already picked up on the fact that this guy was a few bricks short of a stack.

The real clincher came when a lady pontificated at length that it is against African culture to wear revealing clothing of any kind. My breakfast nearly strangled me as I listened to this. Where do people come up with these specious assertions anyways? It is one thing to say that our current environment is conservative and we don't generally appreciate seeing lots of flesh on display, but to claim that the supergroup labelled Africans have always been into neck-to-ankle coverage is just boneheaded.

Our family collection contains the most wonderfully incriminating picture from the 1960s of My Lady of the Saucy Smiles posing against someone's car (The Patriarch is suspected here) whilst wearing a dress which is more like a glorified belt with sleeves. And I know I am not the only person who can blackmail her own mother with such material. How quickly we forget...

Brief hemlines and cleavage valleys aside, the implications of the 'yes' argument are horrifying. The Adam&Eve female temptress vs. stupid male victim argument is a tired excuse. Why do we insist on expecting our men to behave in a bestial manner in this day and age? What is next, justified rape and stone-age tools? Surely we can come up with a better social contract than this.

Of course, people weren't saying that we suffer from some form of sexual dementia so much as exposing our laissez-faire attitude towards sexual safety and our tendency to infantilize men. I confess, I was disappointed that no one spoke about the flip side of the coin, in spite of the high incidence of casual male nudity in Paradise.

* The Kiswahili term for unsafe sex is ngono zembe. Literal translation yields 'negligent fornication.' Somehow it strikes me as a far more accurate description of the practice...

Bongo Flavor, Bongo Flavorless

A recent debate about the quality of Bongo Flava got me thinking about the 'then' and 'now' of this art form. Okay, I confess- I am actually listening to Magic FM's Flava 'hour' and they have been airing an excellent then-and-now playlist today. When Flava was hitting hard in the early naughties, there were some artists and songs that set the basic standards and sounds of Tanzanian Hip Hop: Mwanafalasafa, Professor Jay, Wagosi wa Kaya and even TID with 'Zeze.' In the early days, no one was talking about having money, fame or women because the art form was being practiced by young Bongolanders who had none of the above. They had to make themselves known by the tightness of their rhymes, their delivery, their subjects and lastly their music. Because the truth is that almost none of our Flava artists can play an instrument or produce a track to save their lives.

Still, things were good. Local producer Ludigo and Clouds FM did a lot to incubate the nascent Flava and give young talent a chance at the mike. Wagosi wa Kaya nailed the public service complaint as a form of rap with 'Wauguzi' and other similar tracks. Ndio Mzee continues to be the standard chant of political satire- no one has done better to date. Crazy GK's delivery gives life to the saying 'ulimi hauna mfupa.' Mikasi, Mirungi, Blanti is still one of the best urban anthems about drugs, sex and youth. Mangwea, Mr. Blue...the list goes on. People were hungry, creative and the field was wide open. But the very best of Bongo Flava in my humble opinion has always been the social commentary and political commentary tracks. Those are where Kiswahili shines as a language of praise and censure, of humor and rhyme, of subtlety and depth, of intelligent protest.

It is undeniable, and perhaps even inexcusable, that in recent times Bongo Flava has been dominated by lazy commercial tracks of the American Derivative variety. Yes, the kind that utterly unimaginative youth the world over keep spewing in copious amounts, complete with tiny muscles shown off in limp singlets and Daddy's borrowed car standing in for the blinging ride. Thanks to payola and a whole slew of other music industry problems it can be difficult for the quality to rise to the top where all the shit floats. Is Bongo Flava dying, or even worse, being overshadowed by Kenyan Pop? Not even close, in spite of the best efforts of these talentless hordes.

One piece of good news is that Nakaya Sumari of 'Mr. Politician' fame has signed a contract with Sony, I guess to record and distrubute her work. She'll put us on the map even if she's not necessarily the most Bongo Flavorful of artists. But I understand that she has the voice, the look**, the polish and the command of English that are necessary for a certain kind of international marketability (the kind where you don't end up in the World Music discount bin of Virgin Music Stores). Other songstresses who write their own material and produce locally-inspired sounds (Jay Dee, Ray C, Saida Karoli) don't sell too good outside of the region. Except in Japan. I want to go to Japan. There are so, so many reasons to love Japan...

Aside from Nakaya's windfall, Political Hardcore Bongo Flava continues to deliver as do some of the humor tracks. TMK Wanaume are keeping the form alive and local, and works from the other urbanities- especially Mwanza aka Rock City- remind us Zenj-inspired Bongolanders that there is something going on in Tanganyika. So yeah, like any urban grassroots artform Bongo Flava's golden era came in its early days- right after Hip Hop landed at Nyerere International Airport and bought a Swahili dictionary. Bongo Flava is the love child of that union, going through a rocky puberty.

Eh? What's that you are asking? Where are the female Flavans? Let me get back to you on that...

**So, I don't mind so much about the polish, command of english and such like criteria. But the look? Its like with the Mwishos, the Nakayas and Richards, Paradise is trying to promote a certain svelte caramel-colored hip-young international image for Bongo. It is subtle, but coupled with the protests over Richa Adhia's Miss Tanzaniahood, I sense our melanin politics are doing interesting things to our entertainment industry. So props to Tigo for tapping into our diversity in their ad campaign. Express yourself, indeed.

One Year Already?!

Wow. I am bad with birthdays but there is something particularly hopeless about forgetting your first blogirthday isn't there? I'm happy to report the blog has survived its first year, in spite of blog health tapering severely in the past six months or so. Big up to my silent readership (all three of you) who emerged out of the woodwork this past week to remind me that the posts are getting read. It is people like you who keep us feckless bloggers populating the interwebs with our unsolicited commentary. I'm grateful.

As of the 23rd of April which is the official blogiversary there were 112 posts up! Which, I have just realized, means that I also totally missed the 100th postiversary. Go figure. Coming up in year two: more of the same! Keep well and keep reading.