RAZA PAINTING EXHIBITION IN LONDON OPENS THIS WEEKEND

This Friday, London, will be experiencing a little of Tanzania.

It won’t be your usual conferences by respected executives, diplomats and political heavyweights. It won’t be a representation of athletes, cricket players, and football teams. Not a fashion show with entertainment via singers Lady Di, Ray C or Taarab music. Nothing of the sort. Not even contemporary Bongo Flava of Mr. Two, TID Zeze, Mr Nice, Diamond and traditional music from late Hukwe Zawose, Wananjenje, Twanga Pepeta or the late Remmy Ongala’s Bongo Beat. These are the sort of things we are used to. When such acts visit London Tanzanians normally flock in dozens to cheer and dust off homesick blues.

But painters? A painting exhibition?

I beg your pardon. This is news.

Raza Mohamed was born in August, 1946. He started sketching with charcoal in 1952.
<--more--!>

WHAT CAN BE LEARNT FROM GONGO LA MBOTO VICTIMS DONATION APPEAL IN LONDON

Speaking on behalf of Tanzanians and Africans living in London early this week, blogger, presenter and Tanzanian fashion model, Jestina George touched on many aspects of the recent Gongo la Mboto incident.

Miss George who presents for Africans in London TV (www.ailtv.com) helped us focus on four major aspects of Gongo la Mboto funds appeal. Although the unfortunate incident will not be resolved by charity but by our politicians addressing other deeper issues, we can still ask questions and learn a few lessons.

First was the scepticism and cynicism.

We have always heard of humanitarian aid being held in red tape queue, delayed even re sold or completely taken away from its destination. 
<--!more-->

OMBA OMBA NA WALEVI WA KIKE MITAANI LONDON...

Niko dukani nimepanga foleni. Hakuna kitu kinathaminiwa nchi hii ya Waingereza kama foleni. Mara nyingi huwaona wageni waliofika jijini London toka nchi zisizozoea kujipanga. Utamkuta mtu wa aina hiyo akivuka mstari, kabla hata hajaingiza mkono kutoa pesa alipie wenyeji watampigia kelele.
“There is a queue!” (Ipo foleni).
Basi nimo.
Mbele yangu kuna mama mmoja kibonge, tinginya, umbo la gunia. Kibonge nakwambia; mweusi, mchangamfu, sauti kubwa; ana lafidhi ya Kiingereza cha Kijamaika kinachoitwa Patois (tamka Patwaa).
Mwanamke huyu mcheshi ananikumbusha kina mama wanaouza bidhaa sokoni mjini Mbeya. Wakubwa wakubwa, waliojaa bidii, wachapa kazi.
Kabeba vyakula mbalimbali na vinywaji kama wiski na bia ya tangawizi wanayopenda Wakaribian. Wakaribian ni watu weusi toka visiwa kama Jamaika, Trinidad, Grenada, Haiti, Cuba, Montserrat, Barbados, nk. Wamejazana Uingereza. Zamu yake sasa; anapayuka:
“Duu! Nimesahau pesa nyumbani.”
Mwenye duka ni Mhindi toka Sri Lanka.
“ Paundi 25!”
(Kama shilingi elfu sitini).
Mama Gunia, gubeli, bado anafukua pochi.
Anasonya. “ Ah, hizi hapa! “
Anatoa pesa akicheka.
“Nna pesa ! Nna pesa! Unadhani sikuwa na pesa bwa’ mdogo? He! He! he!”
Shere nyingi; analipa, hatimaye. Wapo wanaotabasamu; wapo wanaoudhiwa na vigimbi vyake. Jiji hili huwa na kila aina ya mijeledi. Ni saa tano asubuhi walakin mama keshauchapa. Kinyume na walevi wengine kabeba viazi vikuu, magimbi, ndizi mbivu za manjano kubwa ambazo baadaye atazikaanga (Wakaribian huziita “Plantain”). Sasa n’naongozana naye maana anakaa mtaa mmoja nami. Kachangamka, bado anabonga, utadhani redio.
“Nimeshakaa nchi hii miaka 50! Nilikuja hapa mwaka 1960! Wakati huo weusi tulifananishwa na majibwa. Kuna sehemu ukipita Wazungu wanakupiga kama mwizi. Ilikuwa nisome miaka miwili kisha nirudi kwetu; nikasomea uuguzi, nilipomaliza sikurudi tena.”
Kwanini?
“Ah, nlikutana na brazameni ulimi wa sukari akaniloanisha mapenzi.(Anacheka kwa nguvu) Baadaye wakazaliwa watoto. Sasa wote washakuwa watu wazima, wamezaa, miye nakula maisha tu.”
Tunakumbana na yule dada niliyewaeleza juma lililopita; mnamkumbuka, Vivian? Bado yuko pale pale tulipomwacha; bado anaomba hela, nje ya benki ya Barclays.
Kavalia ile ile suruali yake ya Jeans iliyoshapauka yenye matundu na mabaka mabaka meusi kama masizi. Bado kavalia viatu vyake vile vile vya raba ya Tennis nyekundu vilivyofungwa kwa kamba chafu nyeusi; awali zilikuwa nyeupe sasa hazieleweki. Tena bado anajikuna kuna mapele makubwa mekundu usoni. Ananyoosha mikono yenye kucha ndefu chafu akimpungia Mama Kibonge.
“Queeeen Mary!”
Kibonge anamchekea.
“Yes, Vivian.”
Wanatazamana. Omba omba kakaa pale chini kajikunyata, akipigwa baridi ya Ulaya, Queen Mary (Malkia Maria) anapekua begi lake. Anatoa mkebe mmoja wa bia; anamkabidhi Vivian.
Utadhani Vivian kajengewa nyumba mpya maana tabasamu anayoitoa anapokiona kile kikopo cha bia, maalum! Ajabu pamoja na kuvuta fegi, kulala nje na kuogelea katika ulevi bado meno yake masafi meupe. Ama kweli! Mungu hupambana na shetani; hachafui vyote.
Tunaendelea na safari.
Malkia Maria bado analonga na kutoa mastori, kila baada ya hatua haachi kumsalimia mtu, kumpungia yule kule, akicheka kwa nguvu; juu yake ongezea ile tabia yake ya uchangamfu na nishai ya adhuhuri; basi nadhani wasomaji mnamwona.
“Ungegombea ubunge, Queen Mary,” namkoga.
Anabanja ghafla.
“Bwa’ mdogo. Wakiniona wanadhani mi mlevi; jimama jizee linene, kwisha kazi. Hawan’jui. Siku hizi watu humu mijini hawaangalii watu wakoje; wanaangalia tu walivyovaa wanavyotembea, wakawasema wako hivi na hivi. Ukitaka kujua kitabu kizuri usiridhike na jalada. Kifungue ukisome.”
Anacheka na kubanja tena.
“Nishapitia kila kibaya na kizuri. Nilipohama kwetu nilisemwa, mtoto wa kike nakimbiliaje Ulaya? Nikawaambia wazee msijali, n’najua ninachokifanya. Nilipofika hapa sikuwasahau nyumbani. Baada ya kuhitimu masomo ya unesi nikawa natuma pesa nyumbani. Ilikuwa nirudi lakini bahati mbaya nikakutana na yule mshikaji tuliyependana. Tuliishi pamoja miaka kumi; nikamzalia watoto watatu. Watu wazima sasa hivi. Nina wajukuu saba na kitukuu kimoja.”
Namuuliza kama baba watoto yuko hai.
“Mungu keshamchukua. Alikuwa freshi sana. Ila alifanya kosa moja. Hali kabla ya kunywa; na akinywa hafanyi kazi. Mi bado nachapa kazi za kujitolea hospitali za wazee ingawa nimeshastahafu. Mwezi ujao natimiza miaka 70. “
Anacheka.
Kwanini hakurudi kwao visiwani, Jamaika?
“Mi si Mjamaika. Unaona mlivyo mabwege? Mkimwona mtu mweusi mnasema anatoka Nigeria au Jamaika. Kwetu ni Montserrat. Unapajua?”
Ni kule mlima ulipotoa volcano mwaka 1997?
“Huko huko. Nilitaka nirudi Montserrat lakini kwa kuwa mambo ya volcano yameanza tena; nitafia hapa hapa Uingereza.”
Anacheka.
Tumefika kwake.
Namuuliza vipi akakatiwa jina la Malkia Maria?
“Yule binti ananjua...Namfahamu toka akizaliwa. Wazee wake matajiri lakini babake alikuwa fisi. Alikuwa akiwapiga wote, mama na watoto. Watoto wote wa yule mzee wameharibika. Yeye mwenyewe kahamia Hispania. Aliwaachia nyumba na utajiri lakini kutokana na hali ngumu aliyowafanya wakiwa wadogo akili zao hazikuwa nzuri; wakapoteza hela katika dawa za kulevya.”
Kesho yake ninapompitia Vivian namwangalia kwa macho mengine.
Nchi hii tajiri lakini ina kila aina ya mambo.
Kwetu Afrika umaskini hutokana na wachache kuwa na mali na kutowapa wengi. Hutokana na viongozi wasiojali watu wao na kujilimbikizia mali kama ilivyokuwa Misri. Mbabe yule katawala toka mwaka 1981 bila kukubali uchaguzi; akiwafunga waliodai haki yao, akiwapendelea wenzake na ndugu zake; akijaza mabilioni ya pesa nje ya Misri aliyodai anaipenda. Hicho ndicho kinachotudidimiza Afrika; kujenga umaskini ndani ya bara hili tajiri kushinda yote duniani.
Sasa linganisha na ufukura ulioko nchi zilizoendelea.
Omba omba na maskini wapo.
Mna hohehahe lakini si wote wanatoka familia maskini za matabaka ya chini. Ufukara, huzuni au ukiwa wao husababishwa na mambo ya kila aina.
Vivian alizaliwa mwaka 1986. Babake alikuwa mfanya biashara mkubwa. Kutokana na hali yake ile alipenda sana kazi kuliko watoto. Kwa kuwa akiwa nao watoto anakuwa amechoka huonyesha mapenzi yake kwa kuwapa zawadi na pesa. Na siku moja moja mkewe akimkorofisha anamnyuka. Watoto wakilia anawatandika vile vile. Hatimaye mkewe akatoroka na mwanaume mwingine. Akamwachia watoto wale; wawili wa kike, mmoja mwanaume. Baba mtu alivyokuwa punguani akawa anawaharibu, analala nao. Ndivyo alikoanzia hadi leo binti kageuka omba omba, kaharibikiwa.

-London, Jumatatu, 14 Februari, 2011
-Ilitoka Mwananchi, 20 Feb, 2010

SHORT FUSE LONDON AND MODERN CITY STRESS

I am driving up a small side street towards a major road somewhere in north London. It is Saturday afternoon; a few minutes ago the rain stopped so I can still see tiny pools, puddles and trickles of water on paths, pavements and roof tops of Victorian houses in this ancient, interesting city. Nothing unusual except that a car has suddenly opened doors, two young guys are getting out blocking the road. I have to break quickly.
As any driver in any large town knows it is normal to encounter mindless, reckless, unpredictable motorists, pedestrians crossing without bothering to look, in a hurry to catch a bus that might leave any second, elderly people struggling up busy routes; cyclists battling against vehicles and the constant yelling and finger pointing amongst various road users.
These are the constant, continuous hazards of driving in urban areas. In developing cities like Mexico City, New Delhi, Lagos, Nairobi, Rio de Janeiro, Bangkok or our own Dar es Salaam you could add the loud noises and sounds of animals (pigs, cows and chicken), kids and touts selling goods, bawling their lungs out. Oh yes, city life is hectic and rowdy.
Trinidad born writer, V.S. Naipaul, the 2001 Nobel Prize winner for Literature, describes this feel in his book “India: A million Mutinies Now” (1990).
“The visitor coming to Bombay from the airport, might see only small dark men in an undifferentiated crowd, and dust and fumes; might see, between the concrete blocks, a mess of makeshift huts and the parasitic shelters those huts spawned, one kind of dependence leading down into another; might see what looked like the unending smallness of men.”
So as I halt abruptly, I wish it was for a different circumstance. The usual modus operandi would be a mother trying to bring out a baby from her car; therefore, forgetting her door is blocking the path. That one is understandable since mothers and their babies are like a disaster waiting to happen. You expect them from every corner; out of school yards (dropping other kids) into super markets and shops. You have to be cautious; and as a driver it is second nature; be careless at your own peril.
This, however, is not a mother and baby but two young arrogant fellows charged with machismo and testosterone lunacy. Their age could be early twenties, the mannerisms scream as much as their selfish attitude.
Luckily, I was not speeding so my breaking to avoid their car’s door is effortless. Nonetheless, despite being cautious and dodging knocking them; they both give me bad looks (that say go to hell) waving arms in the air in that wronged image similar to Jesus Christ being crucified.
Aha.
London displaying a good example of short fuse reaction; a reaction you get from the smallest, mundane, trivial situations. People on edge; over reacting.
A friend was telling a story about an angry chap eager to fight at a crowded market the other day.
“I am watching this guy walking then accidentally bumping into two other guys talking to each other. They are deep into their conversation and he is obviously not looking. So who is wrong? Yet, he turns around and starts calling them names. Very short fuse.”
Stress, right?
“Absolutely!” he says, “ money, desperation, tension and selfishness.”
In “Body Language” published in 1970, American psychologist, Julius Fast argues that as children we are free with both our bodies and emotions but learn to hide true feelings as we grow up. Mr. Fast compares this acquired defence mechanism to being crippled. “And so we smile our way through the day, though in fact we may feel angry and annoyed beneath the smile.”
To many across the universe urban life means employment, prosperity, education and opportunities. But it all makes us jumpy and egoistic.
Back in the 1970’s Tanzania writers and musicians assisted the ruling party’s campaign to stop rural citizens running to towns and cities. Even a major Kiswahili movie called “Fimbo Ya Mnyonge” highlighted this policy. The whole campaign was like a crime does not pay philosophy.
Ujamaa policies argued that countryside was paradise.
Whereas rural life in Africa today is akin to poverty, in rich countries only the wealthy can afford the relative comfort of rural paradise. A paradise considered better in terms of fresh air, natural warmth, relaxed atmosphere and less stress; without the uptight short fuse of city dwellers.

-London, Monday, 14th February, 2011.

Published in Citizen Tanzania

http://www.google.co.uk/search?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=&q=mazahn+berlin&btnG=Google+Search&aq=o&oq=

RECALLING A BALD HEADED FIGURE FROM THE PAST...

I was at a Malawian party at the Commonwealth club in Pall Mall, South West London last weekend. Malawians are the mellowest people and throughout my life I have been around them. For several decades they have become part of our Tanzanian communities. I even co-founded a band called Sayari with a Dar es Salaam based Malawian musician thirty years ago. Unlike other Africans who tend to have an accent when they speak Swahili, Malawians blended easily.
History has messed us, culturally. Before the division of the continent in 1884 we were close knit tribes. Separation of Maasais in Kenya or Tanganyika; Lwoos in Kenya or Uganda; Makonde in Mozambique or south Tanzania was imposed. What separated people in Mbeya and Nyasaland (which came to be called Malawi) were the lake and a divisionary mandate during the scramble for Africa.
<--!more-->
Mind you these territorial splits are world wide. They have been causing uncomfortable tensions between South and North Koreans or amongst East and West Germans until the Berlin wall was smashed in 1990. I wish more walls would be broken down. The world would be a better place. It is this particular division of communities and nations that has caused so much conflict and estrangement in our lives. At the height of animosity there was even a possibility of war between us and Malawi because of Lake Nyasa.
As I child I would hear the derogatory remark:
“Wee Mnyasa nini?” (Stop behaving like a Mnyasa, meaning a Malawian refugee).
Globally, it is widely spread. Against the Irish, Jews, Pakistanis (Pakis), Arabs in France or Nigerians and Jamaicans in London. Prejudice the word, discrimination the result.
“Mnyasa” was such a distinct form of abuse in Tanzania forty years ago that it would be levelled against opposition leaders of the government like the late Oscar Kambona, the biggest and direct critic to CCM and President Nyerere.
It’s true that Malawians were fleeing the iron rule of the late strongman Dr. Hastings Kamuzu Banda; the man with a bald head.
Young Citizen readers born after 1980 might not know Kamuzu Banda. Like most leaders who led Africa after the surge of independence from 1957 to 1965 having freed themselves from colonial rule, Dr. Banda was well educated. We had Dr. Nyerere, Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, Dr. Jomo Kenyatta, even Sir Seretse Khama; doctors of philosophies, master of their own destinies. But how many of these “doctors” really delivered the fruits of independence?
Dr. Kamuzu Banda managed Malawi from 1964 until 1994. He was hailed as a hero by some of his people and a tyrant by others. In 1971 he declared himself President for Life. Is that unusual in Africa? How many leaders have stepped down willingly through free and fair elections?
Anyway, I am at this Malawian party in London; I see a guy in a suit who reminds me of the late Dr. Kamuzu Banda.
“Mulibwanji?”
“Tulibwinu.”
After stumbling through my scanty Kinyanja vocabulary the bald headed gentleman also shows off his equally limited Kiswahili knowledge.
“Habari bwana!”
Ice broken, laughter bubbling, it is time for me to drop the bomb. I cannot help it and my big mouth let slip the rubbish sentence.
“You remind me of Dr...”
I see the man in a suit recoiling as if I have said I fancy his wife.
“Don’t start!”
What the hell is he thinking?
“I know what you are you going to say,” he whispers.
His face drops, the smile fades away, he turns sombre as if we are in the middle of a serious cabinet conference in Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi.
“You know what? You are the third man to have said that. It is starting to worry me.”
I pretend to be naive.
“Is it a bad thing?”
He shakes his head. “A bad thing? That was not a good man at all.”
I watch the jovial fellow in a suit shrinking like trousers that have just been washed and still soaking wet; he is suddenly looking sad, forlorn and unhappy. I am not sure why he has reminded me of Crazy Baldhead a reggae tune written (ironically at the height of Dr. Kamuzu Banda’s rule in 1974) by Bob Marley, the legendary Jamaican musician.

-London, Tuesday, 1st February, 2011.
Published in Citizen Tanzania:
http://www.thecitizen.co.tz/editorial-analysis/-/7912-recalling-a-bald-headed-figure-from-the-past

THAT'S THE WAY THINGS GO- SO SANG MUSICIAN BOB DYLAN

I was having dinner with a family of a child I have been teaching piano for a couple of years. Let us call the ten year old, Philip. Philip lives with his single mother and the father who is separated from them helps paying for the gifted boy to become a world famous pianist one day. The business of investing in children with talent is every parent’s concern. Children stars in the music industry have become the norm. Forty years ago American singers Michael Jackson or Donny Osmond, both of whom were huge celebrities in the 1970’s was a rarity. I remember listening to Michael Jackson and the Jackson Five while still in secondary school and feeling envious. His song Maria gave us goose bumps and made hair behind my neck stand like I was being glared by a hungry lion.

MECHI YA ARSENAL UWANJA WA EMIRATES LONDON...

Niko uwanja wa Emirates, kaskazini ya London.

Ili kuingia hapa yabidi tukae foleni ndefu iliyoanzia milango mikubwa inayolindwa na askari doria juu ya farasi. Ingawa baridi ya leo kali wale askari wamesimama macho makali wakituangalia kama siafu tayari kung’ata. Si Arusha, si London; askari ni askari.

Emirates iko kitongoji cha Islington. Miaka yote niliyoishi mjini London huzijua mechi za Arsenal  maana si mbali  na ninapoishi; jirani na Tottenham Spurs maadui mwitu wa Arsenal. <!--more-->

Huu ni msimu wa barafu linalodondoka kama mvua ya manyunyu. Kila mmoja wetu kavalia makoti mazito, fulana mikono mirefu, kofia zilizofunika vichwa, masikio  na leso nzito za kukinga shingo na vifua. Mikono imefunikwa kwa maglavu ya sufu na baadhi ya ajuza waliokuja mpirani wamebeba mikongojo wasiteleze. Kila tunapokanyaga  kelele za Kocho! Kocho! Kocho! juu ya kokoto la barafu zinasikika maana tumevalia mabuti makubwa ya msimu huu wa kutisha Ulaya.

Mara nakumbushwa zamani nikikulia mgombani Moshi na Arusha  miezi ya masika. Mbali na matope na utelezi, zilipita nyungunyungu na konokono. Mvua za nyanda za juu Afrika hutaabisha magari na wakazi wake; ila maisha hayasimami. Ndivyo pia Uzunguni; ingawa barafu ni ukiwa mtupu, binadamu hawaachi kwenda kazini wala stareheni.

Si ajabu basi hapa Emirates, wapo pia watoto, mama na baba zao ; hata mababu wakipambana na ubaridi mkali unaojaribu kila njia kupenyeza mavazi tuliyojigubika.

Ingawa foleni ni ndefu, utaratibu wa Kizungu ni kupeleka mambo haraka. Huwezi kuja hapa bila tiketi, kwa hiyo mpango uliopo ni kuonyesha tu nakala uliyoshanunua mtandaoni ikakatwa nusu, kisha ukaelekezwa kwa askari wanaokagua. Nje haparuhusiwi kabisa wauza tiketi za magendo au wamachinga; macho ya askari na kamera za video zinachunguza kila kitu...

Ukishapita foleni huruhusiwi kuingia na chupa, kinywaji au kisu. Ukishapekuliwa unapita na kujikuta ndani ya vyumba vikubwa vya kuingilia uwanjani. Vyumba hivi vina mabaa na mijigahawa inayouza vitafunio, vinywaji, bendera na skafu za rangi nyekundu na nyeupe; rangi rasmi za timu ya Arsenal. Ukitaka kuingia na bia unalazimishwa uimimine ndani ya bilauri za plastiki. Hii ni kwa usalama; zamani watazamaji walikuwa na tabia ya kuwatupia wachezaji vyupa.

Ewalla.

 Ninapoingia vyoo vya Emirates nakumbuka mwaka 1988 nilipotazama mechi ya Brazil na Argentina uwanja wa Maracana mjini Rio De Janeiro. Alicheza pia mwanasoka maarufu, Diego Maradona. Kwa kuwa Brazil na Argentina ni kama paka na mbwa; ilikuwa vigumu kwangu na wenzangu  kumshangilia Maradona. Kila alipogusa mpira, Wabrazili walimzomea. Sisi wachache tulimshangilia  alivyosakata chenga za kipekee. Wakati wa mapumziko tuko chooni; likaja kundi la Wabrazili.

“Nyinyi mnashangilia Argentina?” Akauliza mmoja, kwa Kireno.

“Hapana, tunamshangilia Maradona,” Mmoja wetu akajibu.

Mwingine akaongeza. “Anacheza kama Pele!”

“Mtusamehe hatujawahi kumwona mchezaji mahiri hivi,” Nikafafanua kiangalifu.

Pale msalani pakawa kama pamedondoka bonge la joka.

“Sikilizeni! Mkitaka kutoka hapa salama leo basi muache upumbavu wa kuwasifia hawa washenzi !”

Kilikuwa kitisho bab kubwa. Hadi leo nikiwa vyoo vya viwanja vya mpira nakikumbuka.  Ila hapa Emirates mambo tofauti; washabiki wa Arsenal wako vyoo vya upande mmoja na wa upinzani mwingine; hakuna maadui kukutana.

Tumo, tumo...

Emirates iliyofunguliwa rasmi mwaka 2006, ina nafasi ya watazamaji 60, 355 ambapo Old Tafford wa Manchester United ni 75,957.

Timu ya Arsenal ilianzishwa mwaka 1886 kitongoji cha Woolwich Arsenal ambapo siku hizi pamebakia tu jela maarufu ya Belmarsh. Mwaka 1913 ilihamishiwa kaskazini baada ya wafanyabiashara kugundua sehemu hiyo haikuvutia wateja. Arsenal ni timu pekee iliyowahi kucheza misimu miwili mfulululizo bila kufungwa na klabu yeyote, mwaka 2003 na 2004. Kitendo hicho kilichowakatia jina la “Invicibles” kimewahi kuonyeshwa na timu moja tu katika historia ya ligi ya Uingereza; yaani Preston mwaka 1888 - 1889.

Uwanja unanguruma.

Nipo karibu na walipokaa ustaadh Arsene Wenger na makocha wapinzani wa Wigan.

Jambo muhimu unalogundua ukikutana na watu mashuhuri ni jinsi walivyo tofauti na vile tunavyowadhania. Nilipokuwa Bongo nilijiuliza kwanini wachezaji wetu wa kitaifa wadogo vile kiumbo?

Lakini ninapokaa hapa nikiwaangalia Samir Nasri, Theo Walcott,  Cesc Fabregas na hata kocha mwenyewe, Wenger, nashangaa walivyokuwa pia wadogo wa umbo.

Mpira umeanza.

Watazamaji wanaimba:

“Red Army! Red Army!” (Jeshi Jekundu); huku Wigan ikijaribu kila njia kuzuia kipigo. Natetemeka kwa baridi; uwanjani barafu linaanguka. Namwangalia golikipa wa Arsenal (mwenye jina gumu), Wojciech Sczcesny, akiruka ruka ajipe joto. Hana kazi kubwa leo maana washambuliaji wa Wigan hawajapata mwanya. Ghafla Eboue kachomoka; kampa pasi Fabregas; Fabregas katoa ukanda kwa Theo Walcott anayekimbia kijogoo. Mpira wa kupendeza; lakini Walcott kategewa kaanguka.

Uwanja mzima : Aaaaaah!

 Baada ya dakika kumi na tano bila bao lolote kufungwa watazamaji wanaanza kuimba kwa nguvu:

“You dirty northern northerners!” (Nyinyi wapumbavu toka kaskazini), maana Wigan kwao kaskazini ya Uingereza.  Mpira unaendelea hadi mapumziko bila bao lolote. Wakati wachezaji wakienda kupumzika, wimbo maarufu dhidi ya maadui wa jadi unarindima:

“Stand Up If You Hate Tottenham!” (Simama kama unaichukia Tottenham)! Kila mtu anasimama.

Ila kinalonishangaza ni namna starehe ya mpira ilivyobadilika. Miaka ishirini iliyopita niliwahi kutazama mechi ya Liverpool. Nakumbuka namna wanaume walivyolewa wakitafuta ugomvi.

Leo Emirates wamejazana wanawake, watoto, wazee; kifupi, familia. Wapo vigoli waliokuja peke yao kama Joanna, Mmarekani anayepiga picha.

“Vipi ? Unafurahia mechi?” Namuuliza.

“Sana. Mi lakini mshabiki wa timu ya wanawake wa Arsenal. Nampenda sana Kelly Smith.”

Timu ya wanawake ya Arsenal ni klabu bingwa kushinda zote Uingereza. Iliundwa mwaka 1987 na imeshatwaa vikombe 33 vikiwemo ligi za kitaifa za wanawake na Ulaya (UEFA). Kutokana na ufundi wake Kelly Smith ambaye (mshambuliaji) ni mchezaji wa timu ya taifa ya wanawake Uingereza, kaitwa Zinedine Zedane wa kike.

Mapumziko yamekwisha.

Mechi inaendelea na  mwisho Arsenal wanashinda kwa mabao mawili. Wakati tukipambana na “tope” lile la barafu watazamaji waliohamasika wanaimba wimbo :

“Who are you? Who are you?” (Nani wewe)

Natetemeka baridi nikikimbia na wenzangu. Najiuliza vipi wale wachezaji walimudu kucheza dakika tisini ndani ya barafu? Ama kweli kila mtu na ajira yake.

 -London, Jumanne, 11 Januari,  2011

Ilitoka Mwananchi, Jumapili 16 Januari, 2011.

http://www.mwananchi.co.tz/mwananchi-jumapili/38-johari/8405-nipo-ndani-emirates-wa-arsenal