Devil on the Cross

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  “So the field was now left open to us two. Money would do the work, show which of us had stolen the most. For my part, I gave instructions that all the taps should be turned on full, so that every beer drinker could drink as much as he wanted, knowing that his vote was cast for the son of Gatheeca. I tell you, there wasn’t a single trick I didn’t pull, including buying votes. I spent a total of 2,000,000 shillings on that campaign. My opponent was no push-over. He spent 1,500,000. But eventually the seat went to the hero you now see standing before you.

  “Even before I had properly taken my seat on the Council, I began to figure out how I could get back the millions I had spent on the campaign. But by now I had learned that enthusiasm for the modern dance is fueled with money. I tried this and that. For a week or two, I hardly slept, for my time was spent seeing this and that councilor. The second campaign cost me another 50,000 shillings. The result was that I was appointed (or perhaps I should say “elected”) chairman of the Iciciri County Council’s Housing Committee. The committee was responsible for the construction and distribution of council houses and also for the allocation of industrial and business plots to individuals or companies.

  “Now I knew that I, son of Gatheeca, had really arrived. My time had come. Public property fattens the wily.

  “It happened that now and then the Council would borrow money from the American-owned World Bank, or from European and Japanese banks, to finance the construction of cheap houses for the poor. That was a source of real fat. I can remember one time when the Council demolished some shanties at Rũũwa-inĩ. The plan was to erect a thousand houses there instead. The money was loaned to the Council by an Italian bank. The company that won the tender for building the houses was Italian. But, of course, it had first given me a small back-hander of about 2,000,000 shillings. I put the money in my account and knew that the campaign money had been repayed. Now I waited for the returns on my investment in the elections.

  “It was only after the houses had been built that I found what I had been looking for. Anybody who wanted a council house first had to buy me a cup of tea worth 2000 shillings. I made another 2,000,000 shillings that way, which I stacked away in the bank.

  “I hardly need to tell you that after two years, the millions that I’d invested in the election campaign had yielded quite a tidy sum. And, you will note, I hadn’t shed a drop of sweat. All my money came from the very people who had voted for me. How? Because it was their tax that would go to pay back the money borrowed from foreign banks.

  “What do you think of that? If you were me, would you have stopped nibbling at that fruit, which tasted more luscious than sweetness itself? I never stopped plucking it. I picked one fruit after another. The sweet juice would spill out of the corners of my mouth before I learned to eat more discreetly.

  “These days I don’t wait for the Council to build houses before I pocket tidbits. I have teamed up with some Italian foreigners and have formed a construction company: Rũũwa-inĩ Housing Development Company. It is my company that usually wins tenders from the Council. But the company also borrows money from banks to construct whole estates, and it’s able to sell the houses long before they are even completed. You people! Don’t underestimate people’s thirst for houses. The company builds houses to suit the different classes. Stone houses, for instance, are not all that profitable. Have you seen those barracks made of mud and wood? If you build shanties like those and then rent them out to workers and peasants, that, I assure you, is where the fat lies.

  “I started receiving invitations to become a director of branches of foreign companies. I would buy a share here, and there I would pocket a sitting allowance, a kind of bakshish for attending board meetings. From all those sources I was able to take home a few cents at the end of the month—a piece here and a piece there collect in the belly of Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca (despite his slimness) to make a whole number.

  “That’s why I’m very grateful to the masses of the Kenyan people. For their blindness, their ignorance, their inability to demand their rights are what enable us, the clan of man-eaters, to feed on their sweat without their asking us too many awkward questions.

  “But we shouldn’t be complacent or imagine that the masses will always be as foolish. It’s the possibility that things may change that has prompted some foreigners to appoint me a director of their companies—to protect them from the wrath of the masses of workers and peasants. I don’t mind the assignment. It’s fairly lucrative.

  “That’s why, these days, I never pass up an opportunity for making Haraambe donations. I might give 10,000 shillings here, 5,000 or 10,000 there and perhaps 20,000 elsewhere. It depends on my mood. But when I really mean to make an impression on people, I go first to various foreign-owned companies—you all know that they set aside money to bribe the public blind—and I ask them for a donation, 1,000 shillings, ten cents, five cents, anything, then I mount the platform to announce my generosity: ‘These hundreds of thousands which I have brought in sacks are from me and my friends.’ My Nyakĩnyua women’s choir immediately trills the five ululations for a male child, all in my honor. What did I say? The volume of today’s applause depends on the size of the recipients’ pockets. Money can flatten mountains. Today who sings in honor of the likes of Kĩmathi?

  “Long may the masses stay as they are, singing praises only to the size of a man’s pockets. This will give us more time to live off the fat of the land—and, as you know, that which is safely in the belly never betrays its presence to inquisitive eyes and ears. I personally believe in the principle of governing by holding a carrot in the left hand and a stick in the right. Haraambe donations are our carrot. But there are a few blackguards who have had the audacity to talk about removing the scales from the eyes of the masses. Those who want to awaken the masses should be shown the whip—detention or prison—just like the fellows you all know about. But I normally send my thugs round to those who are obstinate—after plying them, of course, with drugs and alcohol and money—and then they cart their bodies along to the hyenas on Ngong Hills or to the crocodiles in the Athi River to continue their work for the masses inside the belly of a hyena or a crocodile (like the fellows you all know about). I don’t believe in this democracy nonsense. In the morning the topic is democracy. In the evening the topic is democracy. Is democracy food and drink? If I could get hold of those kids at the university, together with their pygmy-sized teachers . . . Wangenijuta . . . I would load them on to an airplane and request them to take their communist nonsense to China or the Soviet Union.

  “Sorry, gentlemen! My raging anger with that lot temporarily distracted me from the business in hand. Let me resume my story. Oh, yes, I was talking about theft and robbery based on housing. As for me, I’ll never abandon theft and robbery that is based on housing. There’s nothing on this Earth that generates as much profit as people’s hunger and thirst for shelter. So I never want to see this appetite diminish, even by the slightest amount. In fact, I’ve often stayed awake figuring out ways and means of increasing the whole country’s hunger and thirst, because the degree to which there’s a property famine determines exactly the level to which the price of houses will rise and hence the level to which profits will climb like flames of fire reaching out for fatty meat. When such a famine becomes intense—of course, we don’t call it famine; we give it gentler names—we, the eaters of the fat of the land, can sit down to devise ways of sharing the fat among ourselves.

  “My idea is this. When the famine exceeds the limits of endurance, we need only build houses the size of a bird’s nest. The nests will be constructed in such a way that they can be folded, the way tents are folded. Anyone who is desperate for a place to lay his head will be forced to buy a nest from us, which he will be able to fold and carry on his shoulders or slip into his pocket. Whenever and wherever darkness catches up with him, he will simply set up the nest at the roadside and lay down his head. And imagine, the whole night long he will be say
ing his prayers, asking Heaven to bless the kindhearted providers who have built him a shelter for his eyes, his ears, his lips, his nose. . . .

  “Just imagine the money we could make building nests—one man, one nest! Ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha! Every peasant inside a nest . . . ha, ha, ha! Every worker with just his nose inside a nest! Peasants and workers will be competing with the birds for air space!

  “Good people, hand me the crown of victory. Hey! Wait a minute, those of you who may still be harboring doubts about my abilities: the grass and rope for building the nests will be imported from America, Europe and Japan, foreign countries, or we could simply import ready-made nests.

  “That’s all I have to say. Hand me the crown!”

  The Rebuttal

  Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca descended from the platform, utterly baffled about why nobody was applauding him. Before he had reached his seat, Kĩhaahu saw Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ heaving himself toward the platform. Gĩtutu was full of bitterness. His lips were trembling, and saliva dribbled out of the corners of his mouth.

  “Mr. Chairman, we didn’t come here to hurl insults at one another. We didn’t come here to cast contemptuous innuendos at one another. We didn’t come here to listen to filth and rubbish. We came to this cave to take part in a competition to find out which one of us is the most skillful in the art and science of modern theft and robbery. The lucky winner may find himself appointed the watchdog of foreign-owned finance houses and industries, so that while benefiting his foreign masters, he may also be able to line his own pockets. Whether one man wins or another is entirely dependent on a bird of good omen, and we should not anticipate the outcome by way of insults.

  “But if this competition is designed to find out who can hurl the filthiest insults and innuendos, we should all be told now. Some of us have been circumcised, and we learned a few lessons in abuse and insulting epithets during the initiation rites.

  “And if we have gathered to brag about our ability to use our youth wings to terrorize others, everybody here should know that I, Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ, have also employed a group of thugs more terrifying than any other youth wing I know. The group undertakes any mission I give it, including removing from the face of this Earth anybody who so much as dares to meddle in my thieving and robbing activities. My thugs, or perhaps I should say my mercenaries, have an enormous appetite for very strong bhang. My present intention is to import European mercenaries from France or Britain.

  “But if there’s anybody here who’s anxious for a duel, I, Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ am ready with my gun, wakati wo wote.

  “Why do I say that? The lanky fellow who was standing here, known by the name of Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca, has claimed that I am a mere beginner in the art of theft and robbery. What! Son of Gatheeca! Do you really know who Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ is, or have you merely heard men mention his name? I swear by the Truth of Truths that you should come and kneel before me at my school—that is, you go back to Standard One—so I can teach you the ABC of the kind of theft and robbery that has made my belly the size it is now.

  “Mr. Chairman, what kind of theft and robbery is it that this long-legged fellow has been bragging about? Bribing opponents to drop out of the running in council elections? It might perhaps make more sense if these had been parliamentary elections! What’s the other kind of theft that he bragged about? Buying plastic Europeans and deceiving people into believing that they were real European children?

  “Let’s go back to the question of how he intends to contribute to the development of theft and robbery in this land. Isn’t it laughable that the one idea our long-legged friend can come up with is to build sparrow’s nests as houses? Who’d ever agree to buy a nest just to shelter his nose and lips? Mr. Chairman, that man who calls himself Gatheeci wa Kĩhuuhia (or was it Kĩhihi wa Gatheeci?) wants to rouse the workers and peasants to take up arms against us. The man wants the workers to become so angry that the scales will fall from their eyes, and they will rise up against us with swords and clubs and guns. Doesn’t Gatheeci wa Kĩhaahu realize that our people are sick to death of taking up arms? I know what it is: the man wants to introduce Chinese-style communism into this country.

  “Mr. Chairman, my development plans make a thousand times more sense: sell soil in tiny dishes, and trap air so we can sell it in tins or through meters! The workers and peasants would then breathe to order—our order! Grabbing all the soil in the land and all the air about us is the surest way of making workers and peasants obey us forever, because should they make even the smallest noise, we would only need to turn off the air to bring them to their knees. . . .

  “My friends! You’d better show Waceke wa Gatheeca that you are not the kind of people who can be bribed into surrendering your votes with a glass of beer. I hope that wherever he is now seated, Gatheeca now realizes that I, Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ, am not a man to run away from the battlefield and leave victory to the clan of long-shanks, even if they are experts at breaking the legs of their opponents. The crown of victory is mine!”

  Before Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ could stagger back to his seat, another man had already jumped up. This one did not even bother to mount the platform. Although saliva did not dribble out of the corners of his mouth, as had been the case with Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ, he too was clearly bitter.

  “Mr. Chairman, I too would like to put in a word, for it has been said that wisdom locked in the heart never won a law-suit. . . . Sorry! I’m known as Ithe wa Mbooi. I take it that we have all gathered in this cave to brag and to teach one another more efficient and cunning ways of stealing and robbing from the poor. But the man who was standing up there just now—I mean, the lanky, mosquito-like fellow—has slipped up very badly.

  “Son of Gatheeca, don’t you feel ashamed? Weren’t you embarrassed, standing there in front of us bragging about deceiving people of your class, shamelessly boasting about how you have stolen from people of your class? If we start robbing, thieving and cheating one another, how will our unity as a class take roots?

  “For my part, I am dreadfully ashamed, and feel very sad because all my children have attended those so-called modern nursery schools. I have always taken it that my children were attending the same schools as European children. So they were only fake Europeans? They were plastic Europeans in wigs? And to think that I’ve paid hundreds of thousands of shillings for my children to be in the company of Europeans with plastic skin, stones for bones and electric machines for hearts? What! So when my children come home and tell me that they have been playing with their European friends, all along these friends have been plastic and electric European machines?

  “I have never in all my life come across such unspeakable wickedness. Imagine an adult like Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca pocketing other people’s money for nothing? So that’s why my children can’t speak English through the nose like real European children? And to think how often they have made me feel ashamed in front of people of my class because whenever they are spoken to in English, they normally reply in Gĩkũyũ?

  “And, you know, their mother, Nyina wa Mbooi, has said to me from time to time: ‘Ithe wa Mbooi, I don’t think those Europeans are real Englishmen. Why, they are always playing and doing the same thing over and over again: they spend their time running about.’ And I would reassure her: ‘Nyina wa Mbooi, the English are a hybrid race of whites of different kinds—Irish, American, German, French, Scottish—and they are a very highly principled race, not the kind to keep changing from one thing to another, day in, day out. They love games that involve running. Indeed, the English were the people who invented football and rugby and cricket, all based on running. Nyina wa Mbooi, let our children stay at those schools, so that they can learn true English customs. A European is a European even though he may be deformed—what matters is the whiteness of his skin!’ And now it turns out it was she who was right? It’s true indeed that a man believes a woman’s word when it’s too late.

  “Mr
. Chairman, to thieve, to rob and to cheat the poor is all right. Where else would our wealth come from? Nobody worth his salt would ever question such a scheme of things, for that’s how the world has always been and that’s how it will ever be. But this man who thieves, robs and cheats his own class—what kind of a thief and a robber is he? Isn’t it generally agreed that theft like this passes all understanding? And he dares to stand before us to make hollow noises and to demand a crown of victory! A crown of victory indeed! He should go home and put on his mother’s crown!

  “Kĩhaahu, from today onwards my children will never go anywhere near your schools. I’ll go straight to Nyina wa Mbooi—she is highly educated, has even been to Cambridge—to tell her to look for an international school. Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca, do you hear that? You have had it! You’ll never again eat anything that belongs to Ithe wa Mbooi and Nyina wa Mbooi. We shall go to international schools for international Europeans, where international English is spoken, schools without cripples for principals, schools without Europeans made of plastic and with electric hearts and skins whitened with Ambi acids. We want an international color!”

  And before Ithe wa Mbooi had sat down, another man stood up to speak. He was so angry that as he spoke, he gnawed at his fingers and his lips. His belly was so huge that it almost bulged over his knees.

  “Mr. Chairman, my name is Fathog Marura wa Kĩmeengemeenge. I don’t have much to say. I move that Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca be expelled from this competition. How dare he come here and boast about how he fucks other people’s wives? Mr. Chairman, my wife has virtually run away from home. Now I know where she goes. Now I know the adulterer who despoils and destroys other people’s homes. You, it’s you, Kĩhaahu! I swear that if I had brought my gun with me—yes, I swear by the woman who bore me—that tonight you would have slept minus that prick that offers Haraambe to other people’s wives. I wouldn’t have minded, Mr. Chairman, if Kĩhaahu only fucked the wives of the poor, or schoolgirls from poor homes, but . . . but . . . !”