A Minister in a Box Read online

  *

  Shortly after Biko’s arrival in London, he was called to a meeting with the head of Scotland Yard, at the aid of Attorney Byrot, during which he told his story and asked for political asylum on the grounds the new government of Jeronti might be hot on his tail. Biko also raised his concerns that criminal elements might be after his money. Attorney Byrot lent further credence to his client’s motion, noting the substantial contribution to the UK’s economy a man in Biko’s position can make. The chief of Scotland Yard agreed to look into Biko’s request for asylum, noting it still had to go by proper channels through the Ministry of Immigration. After consulting with the Home Office and the Foreign Office, it was decided to grant Biko a temporary immigration status, valid for a three-year period. Upon the official granting, Biko was made clear the UK was not to be held accountable for his personal safety - apart from its general responsibility to keep the peace. He was further advised that the police do not possess the financial resources to provide close security, so in case he was concerned for his safety, he had better hire a private security detail. That said, Scotland Yard’s intelligence branch did keep a file on him, including Biko on its list of persons featuring a high security risk.

  *

  Biko chose Kensington as his permanent lodgings. The house he found afforded him both the creature comforts and personal safety he felt he required. A two-story house, rather remote and detached from his neighbors’ houses. The first floor consisted of a spacious guestroom, a kitchen and bathroom, in addition to a separate wing that housed Biko’s study and an adjacent room for Edie, his secretary. The office had its own back exit. The second floor featured bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms.

  During the first three months of living there, and per the advice of the police, Biko did avail himself of a private security firm, whose car parked up front the entire time, complete with its men carrying out regular rounds and patrols. But then, Biko put a stop to this, for one thing due to his neighbors’ complaints of the disturbance all this constituted, as well as his sense of security and safety having been restored as the months went by. Once he dismissed his security details on short announcement, Biko did install panic buttons throughout the house.

  Each morning, Biko would await Edie’s arrival. Once she came in for work at their office, he would take his stroll up and down the quiet street. After his morning constitutional and morning coffee, he would go into his study, go over the mail, look into his finances and read the papers, paying careful attention to any news of his homeland. Biko kept abreast of all developments back in Jeronti, maintaining close contact with those among his friends who were still living there. He followed events closely in the hope of better days to come.

  Edie was a highly dominant figure in Biko’s life. She was his friend, confidant, and right arm in all matters. She genuinely liked him and appreciated him. Concerned for his safety and devoted to him, her care for him knew no end. Every morning, when he went out the door, she followed his receding figure until he turned behind the corner. She regained her composure only when he was back safely in the house. This was her regular custom each morning, until her worst fears came true.

  Chapter 3

  “Allahu Akbar!”

  The cry sent shivers of shock down the back of every member of the militia as they stood at attention, causing them to freeze, despite being strong in numbers, complete with hundreds of men and boys standing in tight formation. Even the monkeys at the treetops around the clearing went silent. Then, a boy leaped from one of the columns, a drawn sword in his arm, and was about to stab the militia commander, Mkume Imru, with it. A split second later, another boy drew the sword one of the militia officers was carrying and cut the would-be assassin’s throat.

  There was a great deal of commotion, as the commanders began shouting all sorts of orders no one could make out and boys dispersed, letting out cries of fear. Even the monkeys resumed their screaming.

  After things had calmed down a bit, Imru tuned to the boy and asked:

  - What’s your name?

  - Mkume Shibu, sir.

  - What tribe do you belong to?

  - Ibu, sir.

  - How did you get here?

  - The chieftain decreed that each family would put one child up for the militia, so my mother decided I would be the one to come over to you.

  ‘The Heroes Militia’ acquired a reputation of being tough and ruthless. Dominating large parts of Jeronti, it soon began collecting ‘protection tithes’ from the plantation owners: pineapple, coconuts and palms, as well as rice fields and corn plots. In addition, the area under its control was rich in oil, so any company interested in operating in those regions had to pay high protection fees. The militia recruited its soldiers from among the many volunteers who flocked to its ranks, be it on ideological grounds or in the hope of eking out a living. The militia filled its quotas of men by levying families, forcing them to recruit at least one boy per family, one of whom was Mkume Shibu.

  - I like the boy. I shall appoint him as my personal aid.

  And so it was that they came to meet one another, a fourteen year old Ibu boy named Shibu and Mkume Imru, the highly admired commander of ‘the Heroes Militia’.

  *

  Shibu was a clever youth, full of energy and creativity. He was also fiercely loyal to his commander. Over time, he gained Imru’s confidence to such an extent, he had become his confidant.

  One day, Shibu was summoned to Imru’s cabin, which consisted of mud bricks just like the other ones. From the outside, it was different from them only in terms of its size. It sported stylish mats, complete with fabulous cushions, presented to Imru by the various chieftains. In addition to the customary ceiling vent, the cabin also had several windows that let in more light, a welcome feature augmenting the traditional coconut-oil lit lamps. The center of Imru’s cabin lacked the typical pyre used for heating and cooking. Rather, it had a huge bowl filled with all sorts of fruit. Shibu had long since taken note of his commander’s penchant for fruit, so he made sure he was always kept in excess of fresh, fragrant produce. Imru had on his usual white robe with golden threads. He was always barefoot, too. Another constant feature was his red beret, which he swore he’d replace for the traditional headdress once secure at the presidential palace in Jeronti’s capital city. When Shibu entered Imru’s cabin, he saw him seated on one of his cushions. In a rare gesture, Imru began peeling a large mango, which he then proceeded to divide between the two of them. “I appoint you commander of the forces fighting the government’s army,” Imru told Shibu.

  The militia was growing stronger all the time, and its dominion over large areas began posing a threat to Jeronti’s central government, which did send its forces to subdue the rebels every now and then. Nevertheless, the opposition was highly motivated, to the point of dealing the regular army a series of blows culminating in their shameful retreat time and again.

  - Thank you, sir. I shall not let you down. To victory!

  One day, an officer from the rank and file of the militia’s field command walked into Imru’s cabin in the middle of a staff meetings.

  - We’ve caught the government army’s chief, a general. We are going to kill him.

  - Hang on. Bring him to me!

  The defeated chief was brought in before Imru, all bruised and beaten black and blue. His hands and feet were bound. He knew the score all too well.

  - Untie him!

  Imru then said, “Give him some water,” much to everyone’s surprise.

  - What’s your name?

  - Nburu Shimu, General.

  - Let me make you a once in a lifetime offer: I’ll cut you loose, your soldiers too, those who are still alive. You’ll all go back to Golasa and say you’ve won the battle and killed many of our people.

  Nburu, who had already reconciled himself to his fate, looked in disbelief at the militia commander, who was infamo
usly ruthless.

  - But… what is it that you want of me?

  - Nothing at all. Just bear in mind who it was who gave you your life back. Every so often, keep my men posted as to the developments at Golasa.

  Right before General Nburu left, Imru gave him a large sum of money and furnished his men with old arms and military equipment, “spoils of war”, as it were, to be used as ‘photo ops’ for their alleged victory over the militia upon returning to Golasa. This way, the militia established its own powerbase of collaborators within the government, in anticipation of the right time to launch a successful coup.

  *

  Shibu was summoned to Imru’s cabin once again. This was right after yet another victory in a succession of campaigns in the course of which the chieftains ‘donated’ further protection fees and witnessed the militia’s growing power.

  - What is it, chief?

  - We never got to talk about personal matters or about my own plans. I think it’s time.

  Imru’s face, which also imbued boldness, now struck Shibu with a look of deep thought.

  Imru took a sip of palm wine and spoke softly.

  - It’s time for me to take over the reins of government and bring order back to this country.

  - Yes, sir.

  - I never told you this, Shibu, but the day you saved my life and told me how you came to join our ranks, you reminded me of myself back when I was your age. I too, much like you, lived miserably in a mud hut, only to be sold off at the age of fourteen by my father, because he could not afford to feed us all. Nevertheless, both of us were saved by having been sold off: you were sent to us, whereas I was sent off to become a servant at one of the richest families in Golasa. They had enormous coconut plantations over at the delta region. Fortunately for me, they were kind and generous. They sent me to learn English. They made sure the help got an education. But I never forgot where I came from. I realized the famine and poverty I found at the capital were no different from where you and I had come from. Some people get to live like royalty, robbing our country blind, letting everyone else live on mere scraps, on one hundred naira a day, barely enough for a daily meal.

  Shibu was amazed to see how gloomy his commander’s face turned. Had he not learned first-hand of his ferocity, he could have sworn he saw a tear running down the corner of Imru’s eye.

  - When I was older, I told that generous family I was leaving them, that I wanted to go back to my family. I took a vow to vanquish evil, right wrongs, so I founded the militia. Everyone thinks the militia I created is cruel. Perhaps it is. But I know everything has been for the sake of a greater cause. Yesterday, I returned from a tour of the delta region, where I reached this village in the middle of large coconut plantations. I was taken aback by the sight of dozens of boys, all crippled and severely injured. Turns out that their sole source of livelihood is picking the coconuts. That is something only young boys can perform. More often than not, they fall to their deaths all the way from the treetops - or break their necks or limbs. These stingy plantation owners won’t even spare them a ladder. They have to climb up and risk their lives. I was approached by this boy, both whose legs were amputated, as well as his arm. He asked me for a handout. I gave him a hundred naira note. When I saw how his eyes lit up, it hit me that things could not go on like that anymore. We have got to change the way things are going.

  Imru proceeded to take another slice of fruit, gesturing the meeting was over.

  *

  One rainy morning, a special messenger sent by General Nburu appeared at Imru’s cabin, reporting about the utter paralysis back at Golasa. The soldiers had not been paid for several months, so they called a strike. Starving people were staging demonstrations everywhere, and looting, robbery and murder were becoming widespread. The general atmosphere at the capital was one of despair on the one hand, and nervous anticipation on the other.

  In response, Imru called Shibu and said, “It’s time!”

  It didn’t take the militia long to mount its assault. The order was given, and off the rebel forces went, heading for Golasa, attacking it from several flanks, meeting no serious opposition. They soon assumed control over the entire government, immediately after which Imru called a curfew and instructed his soldiers to shoot anyone on sight if they broke curfew. He also ordered the immediate arrest of all government members and officials, having dozens of them executed without trial. Imru’s men proceeded to seize control of the regular army. Any officers with prior ties to Imru were summarily promoted as generals in the revolutionary army, whereas those who opposed the militia were executed forthwith.

  Imru also seized control of Jeronti’s economy. Adamant on his vision of how the way the country should be run, he was steadfast about ousting most of the chief figures, leaving in place only a few key officials in order to maintain continuity and stability, so as not to undermine the country’s foreign trade and international relations.

  The very first evening of the militia’s takeover of Golasa and the other major cities, along with additional key positions, Imru convened a major meeting at the presidential palace.

  - We have won the day! I now proclaim the new Republic of Jeronti!

  Imru then gave a speech before the hundreds of his rejoicing men: “I hereby appoint myself as president of the republic. I pledge to serve the people honestly and faithfully. Jeronti will no longer be a corrupt country with crooked leaders. It shall have a government that will work for the good of its citizens!”

  He proceeded to make an impassioned gesture before hundreds of cheering officers, taking his red beret off and replacing it with a headdress of white and gold, symbolic of peace, as worn by the elders of the Ibu tribe.

  Imru’s next move came immediately after the mass meeting. He convened a small council of war, before which he announced the militia was hereby disbanded. He then laid out his plans for the near future and announced Shibu’s appointment as his chief of staff, complete with far reaching authorities and powers.

  Chapter 4

  - Do not play with them punks from Dora!

  - Don’t you worry, mom, I’m only going to the beach with some friends from the village.

  Then, he asked his friend as follows when they met up at the beach:

  - Say, Dudi, why does my mom refer to you guys as “those punks from Dora”?

  - Your mom is right. We have many punks down at the Dora Projects. Inner city, you know. No, you don’t know what’s it like: whenever we see someone running down the street, we know for sure he’s being pursued by someone with a knife.

  - Are you a criminal too? When I told my mom I would like you to come to my Bar Mitzvah, she said I mustn’t dare invite you, so as not to shame my grandparents.

  - No matter. Let’s go to the market and poach some oranges, then.

  *

  Dudi Dayan and Assaf Shlomi were bosom buddies. Their first encounter took place at the beach, where they had hung with their friends each and every day. Dudi, the leader of the gang from Dora, was olive skinned and had bright brown eyes. Assaf was an assertive blond guy from the nearby village. They both had much in common, though, from their height, through their handsome features to their dominant demeanors, which all propelled them to the position of unofficial leadership of their respective packs. They soon realized no girl would come between them and undermine their kinship. One day, Assaf heard a girl named Nili turning to Dudi and saying, “they say you are an expert in French kissing!” to which Dudi replied, “that’s not true, I am an expert in Moroccan kissing!”

  Everything clicked for Assaf there and then. He himself liked Miri, who was herself from Dora, with her brown skin and pearly white teeth, rather than the company of the girls from his own village, whom he had known since preschool.

  Assaf and Dudi would meet every day at the beach, either alone or as part of their larger groups, and flirt with the girls. Then, Dudi would r
un for fifteen miles along the shore, whereas Assaf preferred to brave the waves and surf.

  *

  - Where were you this past week? I was looking all over for you.

  - I did time.

  - What time?

  - I was in jail, you moron…

  - Oh. What did they put you in jail for?

  - They caught me driving a stolen car.

  - But why did you steal a car? Didn’t you tell me your family used to be rich back in Morocco, that your dad had a brand new Citroën?!

  - You just don’t get it. You never will. It’s got nothin’ to do with the car, it’s all about the thrill, the excitement, it’s about sticking it to the man, breaking the rules, doing whatever you g-dam* well please. When I’m doin’ time, I feel like a free man, knowing that it is those jailors who are actually behind bars. I walk into my cell with a smile, and when I come out, I smile even wider.

  Assaf brought it up once again a few days later.

  - You know, Dudi, I keep thinking about your arrests. What’s it like to be in a prison cell?

  - That depends on who or what you are, a man or a doormat. For me, an arrest is a kind of experience, an opportunity to meet other people, a new, higher perspective on the law, and test I put myself through.

  - And how do you pass the time?

  - Oh, time flies! I meet the most fascinating people, from company chiefs to the pettiest criminal, and realize that after all, they could not be more equal, and besides, they all need me, since I am strong and experienced. You can take my word for it, ‘doing time’ is a far greater experience than those trips you take to Sinai and sleep in shabby tents and the like.

  - I’m intrigued.

  - So. You’d like to give it a try? I have an idea for you. How about this: I have to report to a cell this Sunday, for five days. Go in my place, why don’t you.