Matigari

by Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o

  The builder shall live in a decent house,

  The tailor wear decent clothes,

  The tiller eat a decent meal?

  No, the producer refuses to produce for parasites to harvest.

  We the toilers refuse to be the pot that cooks but never eats the food.

  Every human being has a pair of hands.

  The words formed into a song in his head. He sang it over and over again.

  As he sang the song, he recalled the talk he had had with Ngaruro wa Kiriro. Ngaruro had told him that there were two camps in the country. There was that of the imperialists and their retinue of messengers, overseers, police and military. The ruling party were these messengers, and they had control over the government, the laws and the gunmen in boots. The ideas and the culture and the history they cultivated in the land were those singing glory to the role of carrying messages... On the other hand, there was the camp of the working people, with their values, their culture and their history. The ruling party of messengers was trying to imprison the real history of the working people behind bars and in detention camps. For how long, Ngaruro had cried, were we going to endure this rule by messengers and overseers?

  Justice for the oppressed, Matigari had told him; yes, justice for the oppressed springs from the armed might of the united dispossessed!...

  He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Behind him was a police car. He stepped harder on the accelerator. The police car raced after him. They were clearly out to get him. He drove faster than ever before. The chase had begun.

  Matigari did not know what to do. He felt like stopping the car and running for it into the forest. But he might get caught.

  Doubt and regret began eating into him. If only I had first gone to the house. But how would I have supported my claim for what is rightfully mine with bare hands?

  The police car followed closely. Matigari drove on, trying to work out the best way of shaking off the police. If only there were a side road, he could perhaps take it. But supposing it led to a dead end? He did not lose hope. He kept on looking either side of the road as he drove on. Perhaps he could do a U-turn if he came to a junction or a roundabout.

  Suddenly another car appeared in front of him. It was another police car. He was trapped between two police cars. How was he ever going to escape?

  The blue lights on the roofs of the police cars flashed. The police also flashed their headlights at him, signalling him to stop. The car in front of him drove on the same side of the road as he did, and the one behind him tailed closely. They were trying to sandwich him between them. They thought that they would scare him sufficiently to make him stop or drive into the ditch that ran along the road. He cautiously stepped on the brakes, applying just enough pressure to make the car slow down considerably, as though he were about to stop. The police cars slowed down too. But Matigari was only preparing himself. He made sure that there were no other cars coming from either direction.

  And then suddenly he quickly made a complete U-tum and drove back the way he had come.

  The police were taken by surprise, and before they could avoid it they had rammed into one another. By the time they had worked out what had happened, Matigari had travelled a fair way.

  The two police cars now drove after him. How did they know that I am the one driving this car? Matigari asked himself. Could it be that the informer had phoned the police? He remembered that the minister’s wife had reported that her car had been stolen. What bad luck it was that the man she had been making love with was her driver and not another man! Had it been somebody else, she wouldn’t have been so quick to report that the car had been stolen. But perhaps she might have reported that whoever she was with was just a passenger. But what am I thinking? Matigari wondered. If? If? If? If? Misfortune knows no regrets. It cannot be predicted.

  The police cars followed him. Matigari could see them in the rear-view mirror. But he realised that, although the police cars were faster than the one he was driving, they were avoiding „ driving too close to him. He understood why. They thought... that he was armed. Hadn’t the radio announced that the people who had stolen the car were armed? Matigari felt laughter well up in him. Then just as quickly he became very angry when he thought that the police had cut off every possible route that might lead him to the mugumo tree where his weapons were.

  Even so, come what may, Matigari resolved that he would not let Boy steal his future. How would he get to the tree?

  Then he firmly made up his mind as to what course of action to take. The house belonged to him. Fortune favours the brave.

  He would follow the way of Iregi revolutionaries.

  He took the road leading to the house. The police continued following him, their blue lights flashing across the evening sky as they rotated. The sirens filled the evening silence with their shrill wail.

  What a surprise it was for him when he came to the road leading to the house. The whole country seemed assembled there. Cars were parked everywhere. Every single space on both sides of the road had been taken.

  There were so many people. The soldiers were evident everywhere, carrying guns and torches. The security lights of the house were on, lighting up the grounds around the house in every direction. They also lit up the faces of those who stood close to the house.

  Some policemen walked around with their dogs. This time they were not just the two that Matigari had come across earlier, but more, many more. It was as though the dogs too were waiting for Matigari ma Njiruungi,

  Just then the crowd spotted the Mercedes, escorted by the two police cars. Everybody thought that it was a VIP arriving.

  Matigari must be somebody indeed. How feared he was, seeing that even such VIPs were coming to wait for his Second Coming, people thought.

  The police driving after him were very pleased with themselves. Ah! they thought. We’ve got him now. They knew that the road on which Matigari drove ended up in a dead end. They slowed down confidently.

  None of the people present knew what was going on.

  Only Guthera and Muriuki did.

  But even they did not know the means by which Matigari was going to arrive. How will we get him to know where we are? they wondered, as they stood among the children.

  Their spirits fell when they saw Matigari behind the wheel of the Mercedes.

  He was in danger, they realised, as they watched the police drive close behind. They could not figure out how Matigari could have got himself caught in such a situation, or how he was going to get himself out of it. He was surrounded on all sides.

  The policemen standing at the gate opened it and saluted Matigari as he drove in. They did not know who the one in the car was. They were simply wondering: Who is this dignitary? Everybody was whispering the same question. Who was this dignitary in a black Mercedes-Benz? Yet they were not surprised at the fact that a VIP had come to the scene. They all knew how the government and the ruling party were worried about Matigari’s second coming. Even if Matigari were Christ himself, he must be arrested immediately or even be shot on sight.

  Matigari drove towards the garage and swung the wheel to one side. The nose of the car now pointed towards the main entrance of the house. He drove straight into the door, taking it along with him right into the building.

  The police cars came to a sudden halt outside. The policemen in them came out with their guns at the ready. Giceru the informer got out with them. One carried a walkie-talkie, and he began speaking into it.

  The people saw the soldiers and policemen quickly surround the house. More army lorries arrived and unloaded the Paramilitary Shooting Unit, their guns at the ready. The people suddenly understood what was going on. They all began shouting, ‘Matigari ma Njiruungi! Matigari ma Njiruungi! ’ The officer in charge now stood on top of his Land-Rover and addressed the crowd with a loudspeaker.

  ‘There is a gang of very dangerous criminals inside the house, ’ he said. ‘They are armed! ’

  He now turned to the house and made another ann
ouncement. He had a powerful voice which reverberated in the still darkness that seemed to fill the whole world.

  ‘Matigari, you and your followers, whoever you are, you must all surrender! You are surrounded on all sides by the security forces! Surrender! Come out of the house, with your hands in the air. No harm will come to you. ’

  Outside, the crowd continued shouting:

  ‘Matigari! Matigari! ’

  The officer in charge of the Paramilitary Shooting Unit warned them. Whoever dared to cheer again would be shot down there and then. A solemn silence fell over them — a silence not so much as a result of the warning, but due more to the tension arising from excitement as they waited to sec what the outcome would be.

  The officer in charge of the armed forces made the announcement again:

  ‘Matigari, we know that you are in the house. Give yourself up. Surrender! Nobody wilt harm you. You can tell those others you are with to do the same. But if you don’t surrender, you’ll be shot dead. You are surrounded on all sides. You have noway of escaping. Don’t listen to Matigari. ’

  The spotlights, searchlights and torches now lit up the house from every direction. The soldiers stealthily approached the building, crouching behind trees, cars and shrubs and trying to make sure that a person inside the house could not see their movements.

  ‘Whatever you do now, you are covered. This is a warning, I am giving you five minutes to surrender; otherwise I shall give the order to fire. ’

  After each minute, the officer called out a warning:

  ‘You have four more minutes left, '

  ‘Three more minutes. ’

  ‘Two more minutes. ’

  ‘One! ’

  Suddenly a ball of fire burst out of the windows of the house. And now it was as though the people’s mouths were also suddenly opened. They shouted and scrambled. The crowd surged forward towards the house. The soldiers were completely taken by surprise. They could not hold back the surging crowd.:

  ‘Boy’s house is burning! Boy’s house is burning! ’ they sang. Some people tried to climb into the house through those windows which seemed free of smoke. They wanted to loot the house. They each wanted to ensure that they took something, however small, from the house.

  ‘Bad Boy’s house is burning! Bad Boy’s house is burning! ’ they sang on.

  Thick clouds of smoke drove back those who were trying to enter the house through the windows. Tongues of fire curled dangerously round the window frames. The crowd retreated, forming a huge ring as they did so. They continued singing:

  It’s burning!

  Yes, Bad Boy’s house is burning.

  Let’s warm ourselves with it.

  It’s burning!

  They surrounded the house, singing, ‘Boy’s property is burning!,.

  The officer in charge called for the fire brigade with his walkie-talkie. He also asked for reinforcements, because the crowd looked as though it was getting out of control and might attack and overwhelm the security forces or start burning other houses in the vicinity.

  A loud explosion was heard from the building. Bits and pieces of shattered stone were hurled up into the air, some of them falling on the crowd. It was as if the house had been blown up by a bomb.

  It was the Mercedes-Benz finally exploding into flames and adding to the brightness of all the tongues of fire already spitting from the house in every direction.

  The tongues all merged into one great bonfire. The flames lit up the whole compound, the fields and the surrounding country.

  It was the children who started the events which followed. They shouted, ‘Even these other houses should burn! ’ They turned the call into a refrain:

  Everything that belongs to these slaves must burn!

  Yes, everything that belongs to these slaves must burn!

  Their coffee must burn!

  Yes, their coffee must burn!

  Their tea must burn!

  Yes, their tea must burn!

  The rest of the people made more torches now from the burning house and they joined in the singing:

  Their cars must burn!

  Yes, their cars must burn!

  Let all the other oppressors’ cars burn!

  Yes, let all the other oppressors’ cars burn!

  And those of the traitors too!

  Yes, and those of the traitors too!

  The property of those robbing the masses must burn!

  The property of those robbing the masses must burn!

  Parrotology in the land must burn!

  Yes, Parrotology in the land must burn!

  The culture of Parrotry must burn!

  Yes, the culture of Parrotry must burn!

  Nationality-chauvinism must burn!

  Yes, nationality-chauvinism must burn!

  They started burning all the Mercedes-Benzes that were in sight. Their owners ran for their lives. The only ones which escaped were those parked at the edges of the compound and by the main road.

  The people split into groups and moved to the different houses and estates. They thus rendered the security forces helpless. They set the houses on fire.

  They burned down the houses.

  They burned down the tea-bushes.

  They burned down the coffee-trees.

  They burned down the vehicles.

  And as they did this, they intensified their singing, as if they were now at war with the oppressors:

  Burn detention without trial — burn!

  Burn detention without trial — burn!

  Burn the exiling of patriots — burn!

  Burn the exiling of patriots — burn!

  Burn the prisons holding our patriotic students - burn!

  Burn the prisons holding our patriotic students - burn!

  Burn the prisons holding all our patriots - burn!

  Burn the prisons holding all our patriots — burn!

  Burn Parrotology - burn!

  Burn Parrotology — burn!

  But above all this activity and commotion, they were all asking themselves the same question: Where was Matigari ma Njiruungi?

  The security forces were asking themselves the same: Where was Matigari ma Njiruungi?

  The officer in charge ordered the security to try to stop this wanton destruction of private property. They fired shots in the air.

  When John Boy Junior heard that his house had been set on fire, he fainted. He was rushed to hospital. Where would his wife and children stay on their return from their summer holidays in the USA?

  John Boy was not alone in this private terror. Many a comprador tycoon had a sleepless night then. They thought and claimed that the insurrection had been carefully planned. Still they wondered: Who really was this Matigari? Was this insurrection the start of another guerrilla struggle - a repeat of the struggle like the one that had been waged against colonialists? And why didn’t the security forces shoot down all those carrying out this arson? How on earth could they have allowed Matigari to slip through their fingers? No! There must have been plans for a coup d’etat, some of them concluded.

  When the news of the insurrection and the acts of arson reached His Excellency Ole Excellence, he immediately promulgated a new law: Shoot on sight, shoot to kill. He then ordered that Matigari be bought to the state house Dead Or Alive.

  Some soldiers remained at the site, waiting for the fire to die down so that they could look for Matigari’s remains.

  When the fire brigade came, they did not know how to begin dealing with the fire. They stood there mesmerised at the side of the road, their sirens wailing into the night.

  More soldiers arrived in lorries. They rushed to protect the homes that had not yet been set alight or attacked.

  It was Giceru the informer who first spotted Matigari’s hat in the fields near the gate.

  The officer in charge asked for the dogs . . , Two policemen leading two Alsatians rushed to their boss. The dogs caught the scent,

  ‘Bring me Matigari, dead or alive,’ the offi
cer in charge ordered, echoing the wishes of His Excellency Ole Excellence. He offered a prize of £5,000 to any policeman or soldier who would bring him Matigari, dead or alive.

  The greatest search that had ever been witnessed in that area began. It began even before the flames of the burning houses had subsided. But the soldiers in the hunt were worried: Who is Matigari? they asked one another. How on earth are we going to recognise him? What does he look like? What nationality is he? Is Matigari a man or woman anyway? Is he young or old? Is he fat or thin? Is he real or just a figment of people’s imagination? Who or what really is Matigari ma Njiruungi? Is he a person, or is it a spirit?

  20

  ‘How did you manage to escape?’ Guthera asked Matigari. ‘I escaped through the window!’ Matigari answered. His heart was heavy with sorrow. But he looked straight ahead of him, as if searching for something in the distance.

  ‘Weren’t you scared, with so many guns pointing at you?’ Muriuki asked.

  ‘Of course I was scared,’ Matigari answered. ‘But we have to learn to fight fear. We must wage war on the fear that has descended on this land. Fear itself is the enemy of the people. It breeds misery m the land... But how did you find me in this crowd? ’

  ‘Your hat, ’ Guthera said.

  ‘Where is it now? ’ Muriuki asked.

  ‘I don’t know where it fell, ’ Matigari answered, ‘but it doesn’t matter. It has served its purpose; at least it led you to where I was. ’

  ‘I thought that you got burned in the house, ’ Guthera said.

  ‘I thought that you would get arrested by the police, ’ Muriuki said.