MR.PRESIDENT

The limo made its stop near the university road. As I alighted, all eyes on the streets were on me. I had to make my way through the crowd very fast before someone posted a picture of me on social media. Such a photo would insinuate that I've been bought by the government.

Events in the limo had left me really vexed and jumbled. The team was already in my room by the time I arrived. They had waited for over an hour.

The mood in the room was freezing. Like statues, all of them sat in a distressed manner. "It's good you are here Mpinduzi, they're firing bullets at us from all sides, and it's a bloody firing squad; a blood bath man," came Zaanga in a shaking manner cutting loose from his statue trance. His ordinary heavy voice was now falsetto. "Calm down Zaanga, this is not the time to be shaken," I said in light boldness not really sure of what had happened.

Catherine came up to me, pressed herself on my chest and whispered the words that had shaken zaanga. The hug was unusual; one heavier than the ordinary. It carried fear. "They are on to us, they will destroy all our efforts," said Catherine; her eyes almost wet.

"They have used our winning strategy against us so that they can be seen as heroes," continued Zaanga. "They have maximized on the nationalism idea and have taken it as their own. Every county has billboards talking about national unity and low quality caps, t-shirts, and lesos for the women with the message on national unity. This move has made us infamous among the people," he uttered with his eyes boiling in pain.

The elections were in four months and our party, Voice of the People born only two years back had taken ground in the country like a wild fire. We had invested in showcasing the people our strength and exposing the government malpractices on TV, radio and social media with the last being our main informational dispensation system.

VOP was a young party, both in existence and its members. More than 80% of the members being current university students came from across the country. The rest were university alumni and other youths who wanted to be catalysts of change; those not siding with the government at least.
The country had been hell the past decade or so. The people were divided politically in their ethnic lines. The post-election violence a decade ago had left them hateful, vindictive and suspicious of one another. There was fear of dominance and political parties were ethnic cocoons where one ethnic community dedicated all its resources to be represented in the kleptomaniac government.

Poverty spread her wings across the country with a majority of the families living with less than a dollar a day. A collapsed economy and development was something alien; only heard to exist overseas. The roads were poorly built and tarmac made its way in the capital and its environs. The rest of the places were murram roads and the only time they were leveled was when politicians wanted votes during the country's general elections.

All government offices were corrupt and citizens needed to pay 'something small' to get the tiniest of services. It is even said that a resident along Nyongwa Street whose plot bordered the police station was being robbed at night and when the police came, the thieves bribed them to pretend they hadn't seen anything.

Government officials embezzled taxpayers' money and lived in porsche estates in the capital and took their families to vacations abroad somewhere in Netherlands and Dubai on working days.

The presidency was held by a puppet, his Excellency Wisdom Jinga. A man who was once vocal about change during the first government immediately after colonization. He was now a tyrant after long years of detention, more detention and endless fighting for independence and freedom for the people. Our parents supported him; they believed he was the messiah who will go to Calvary to save his nation from the pestilence of poverty, exploitation, illegal executions, illiteracy and corruption.
Although he was the president, other forces held the string and made our puppet implement certain bills that favoured the rich elite in the country and continued shackling the poor in the muddy inescapable life of despair.
But that's what they wanted. An ignorant nation that will never bring fight back. They gave the citizen just enough to keep them alive but didn't exploit them to the extent that would lead to a revolution. Was it not said among our people that sharpen a knife just enough to cut a piece of 'ugali' but not human flesh?

Revolution people's party (RVP) was the opposition. They had failed this country just like the ruling party. The same set of monkeys in a different forest. They were just a people tired of eating the small piece of the government cake and were eager to take the bigger piece from the government. That was not us. We, Voice of the people (VOP) wanted the cake as well; but wanted to share it with the people of this potential deprived country.

"What do we do Mkombozi?" asked Bomba with his mien full of despair. He was a political science student and our lead political strategist. Intelligent champ from a very humble beginning in the village of Migingo.

"What do we do? There is nothing we can do," shouted Zaanga a he sprang from his seat hysterically. Paucity of saliva formed themselves on the sides of his mouth. He cooled down. Took two deep breathes, looked at me and continued. "They have fired my father as the lead water engineer in our county. They intercepted his papers and nullified all his documents saying he has fake academic documents. A case is filed in court claiming he is a fraud. They set him up Mkombozi, they set him up," he cried helplessly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is not the time to be shaken but to come together and shake this country. They are killing us from inside.

Intimidation is their arsenal and we'll use the same kind of sword to slit their throat. Roosevelt said that if you've got them by the balls, their minds and hearts will follow," I uttered with oomph just like that of a preacher urging his congregation to repent and detest sin.

I took my time traveled through each person's eyes. A strong look from me gave them hope; perhaps even faith that we were going to win this war. We have all suffered in the hands of these brutes. Look at what they did to Catherine father. The man was a journalist; the first to ever expose the government's corrupt ways. The man was fired and got 7years in jail after writing a headline which forced the government to close down the entire media house for over one and a half months. The headline read Government sucks breast-milk of a starving baby. Was it not true that many government officials were involved in pilfering over 70% of donations from the citizens and the United Nations worth millions of dollars intended to feed the starving in the northern semi-arid parts of the country? All of us remember what had happened. Don't we? I said raising my tone ata rhetoric question.
Most of them nodded their heads in an approving manner with their eyes motioning me to continue. Catherine's father was not only fired and locked up but all channels of getting a job in the country were blocked. Like many freedom fighting elites, he became an exile in his own country.

What about my father? Was he not in the civil society and fought hard for freedom of expression and the press. What did all his efforts reap? Two years detainment and endless torture. By the time he was released, he wasn't the heroes I knew. He had gone mad. And till his death all he did was stand attention like our lousy armed forces commandos and called me Mr. President. Mr. President, that's what he said as he smiled weakly and sipped in his last breathe," I said painfully and balked the tears stinging my eyes.

As I looked around the room, I saw strength in the men and women before me. The love and bond between us was born by the hate we had for this oppressing government. Like the Disciples of Christ, we had to stand as martyrs. Even if it means sacrificing our lives for change then we had already placed our heads on the blade.