The Hunt Down

[Appeared in the Malawi News of 25 August 2012]

The operation Asilo, together with four friends, had planned for months showed had klutzily gone wrong; it indisputably showed they had targeted a very wrong person. The operation clearly portrayed that businessman Awong’o, whose van they had ambushed, was some big fish, probably with connections in high places, and was about to have even him swallowed. The passion of the police in hunting him down vindicated it all. How would he not discern when now even accomplices in the police showed unmistakeably real zeal to have him captured? In the past the accomplices had executed hunts but for two reasons: wanting their palms to be greased, and to be seen that they were doing something about the chaotic security situation in the district. And Asilo and his gang did not disappoint in the palm greasing. Their constipated bank accounts always ‘talked’, sometimes even reaching the extent of their police accomplices providing guns to them to use in their robbery operations. They were bank accounts that had helped to fool the long arm of the law. And indeed the long arm of the law was on numerous occasions caught napping. They had wrong footed it when they had robbed businessman Vibula. Even when they had attacked a clearing agency van ferrying millions of kwachas to the bank, their money had talked. But not this day; by all indications the money would not do the usual ‘talking’.  

However, a prospect of a life sentence if caught made Asilo shudder. He was not yet ready to languish in jail. Asilo had just purchased a brand new car and a mansion. It was time to enjoy, not rotting in some murky place, so he was more than determined to give the policemen a good run for their salaries. In his flight he took every precautionary measure possible to avoid being maimed or killed by the police, as instructor Lino had tutored during drilling, ‘When pursued by the police,’ he had inculcated, ‘Never make the mistake of attacking them, but let them see you abandoning your weapon. Abandoning your weapon would also make you flee unhampered. Otherwise you might get killed.’ And getting killed were his friends who had joined armed guards in Awong’o’s van in shelling; guards who had bizarrely opened fire at the police patrol car that abruptly appeared at the robbery scene. Within minutes they were all dead.     

Warning shots and heavy footsteps rumbled behind him as he apprehensively continued to gallop blindly in Savannah thickets. After tearing down for minutes he slowed down for seconds to concentrate. He could not go blindly like that for ever; it was suicidal. He needed to think. He swiftly spied the vicinity. Chididi hill lay to his left. To his immediate right was Nchotseni residential area. And in front, were cultivated slopes of Mwanza River. He could hear its thunderous roar. In a split-second he thought of his escape options and immediately rejected two. The bare Mwanza River slopes, although might enhance his speed, provided no cover; a professional shooter would easily disable him or take him out. The other was the residential area. It could provide instant cover, but the risk of being caught by a mob was too high. He remained with Chididi hill. Although tough to climb, their thick evergreen foliage provided an ideal cover.

Asilo dashed into the forest and disappeared as he heard shouts he could not pick out their meanings. But moments later he heard a hasty shout announcing that he had not taken the riverbank way. That was a mistake; an amateurish move. The officer should have communicated through gestures. Relieved that he had not been spotted he stopped briefly and listened intently. There were shouts indicating his pursuers were taking the residential area, when suddenly a loose stone he had stepped on moved and started to roll down the slopes. It generated enough noise to attract his pursuers. There were frantic shouts as the policemen made desperate u-turns. Asilo instantly started to hurtle uphill, branches slapping his face and body. He felt pain all over. His escape was proving a struggle, and his pursuers were gaining ground than he imaged. Suddenly there was an explosion of gunfire as he was spotted. A bullet struck a tree nearby. Asilo lunged to his left, leaped over a dead log and somersaulted into a nearby bush. He quickly tried to think of his next move. But there was no time for that as heavy footsteps closed in. He was quick on his feet and started to run madly again. Gunfire exploded again. Bullets hit the ground and trees near his feet. He quickly spun to his left, trying to be out of the line of fire. But he felt stabbing and paralyzing pain on his left calf. He was hit! He let out a roar of pain and lost his footing. Seconds later he was surrounded by heavily armed policemen. Moments later he was whisked away to the hospital.

“Thanks for helping us to burst into a nefarious syndicate that gave us sleepless nights.” Asilo, now on a hospital bed, could not believe his ears as the district police officer-in-charge spoke. “That van you attacked carried cooler boxes full of human private parts. All we wanted was for you to tell us the owner.” Asilo did not know whether to laugh or cry. Had he known?

Dear God Almighty

[Appeared in the Malawi News of 1 September 2012]

Oh, dear God Almighty,

We seem to have celebrated too soon

Your opportune coming on the scene

When you booted out that simmering sin

That spat profanity like Herod of old

And ended up gobbled by livid worms

For the blasphemous sadism flames

Seem to be sadly slowly crawling back:

Disturbing, consuming, stabbing flames

Wounding our fabric, mind and heart

The gold you wanted, God, is at all not

As these songs and dances churn out.

It is a distorted picture, not the clean one

As you wanted it all to be in play when

You arbitrated in our case, for our course