A christmas present for Michael

A CHRISTMAS PRESENT FOR MICHAEL

By Mordecai J Banda



Randall Tsoka wasn’t a happy person. In fact, he was one of the most short-tempered, gloomy Malawians in the whole Lilongwe. And there are some pretty bad cases. Everyone knew his story and the man himself because of his frequent visit to bars, pubs and special events usually associated with drinking. And in Malawi most are.

Randall had once been the bwana that people in the shops and streets always refer to. “Bwana Randall by me this. Buy that. It’s cheap.” Randall had grown tired of the term. However he didn’t realise that he would be missing the sound of the reverence and awe that surrounded him in his clean suit and polished shoes and his well known pot belly. His fate had started some months back when even then in his temper had been bad. He constantly abused his wife, a common occurrence in Malawi, indeed, but abusive all the same. Whatever she did to appease his unfounded anger only slowed things down in some cases but mostly just annoyed him some more. The only thing Randall paid any attention to was his son Michael. And many did not doubt that if his wife died he wouldn’t grieve at all. Maybe for the grilled chicken, but that would be the end of it. Around June the unfortunate Mrs Tsoka got fortunate by attracting attention of a business man who was stopping by in Malawi from South Africa. Randall was unknowing of the development and could have found out if he bothered even phoning his wife. But he had friends who needed this and that and he had chats and a reputation to hold up to. “No man bows for the wife”, he was told by his ‘wise’ friends who had no wives at all and couldn’t even pay their rent.



Gradually the business man got more intimate with Mrs Tsoka and discovered the predicament she was in. In his sympathy he courted her and finally out of the blue she filed for divorce. Randall initially thought he had it in the bag but was surprised at the amount of evidence against him and the expertise of the lawyer hired by the wealthy business man.



The jury and judge didn’t help in any way since they were one of the new Malawians who detested abuse in any family. Randall lost the case, and surprisingly he was left with only a few hundred thousand. This amount was soon rendered negligent when all the bills his wife had left including his own suffocated the funds. His company also promptly laid him off to avoid bad publicity. Randall found himself in the streets within the blink of an eye. Others would’ve turned honest on the spot and even apologetic. But Randall found himself being a hawker sometimes and usually a mugger. What Malawians call wachifwamba. He constantly messed with the law. The greatest blow from the lawsuit came when only two days later another charge was filed and Randall lost custody of the child to Mr and Mrs Tembo. The newly wed couple who had settled in Area 10, a very prestigious area. They had the American ambassador as a neighbour there.



Randall discovered after these losses no one seemed to remember how much he helped them in the good days. The poorer friends realized that they would no longer get any more free drinks while the richer friends didn’t want to associate with a person who now walked in a white vest and dusty jeans. Having sold his suits cheaply and thus giving away his bwana-ship



So Randall, on the 24th of December in his white vest and dirty jeans, was walking around an empty, clean street. His stony face with its large nose, massive mouth and huge eyebrow and forehead, was creased in a famous frown. The clouds were gathering ahead. An omen that told of this man who was thinking of plans to gain his son’s trust. Randall only wanted to gain some pride in making his son happy. But he had no intention of obtaining this legally.



Randall had managed to salvage a kitchen knife before his house had been taken. And he waited on the street here because there was a private winter lesson school just across the street. It was a small but modern house. Randall had decided to relieve one of the children of his riches as he returned home. And he steeled himself for the long wait. Gradually rain started falling and it soaked him through. But he was still determined. He waited from three ‘o’ clock up to five and finally the session seemed to be over in the ‘rich’ school.



Cars started arriving and Randall cursed his stupidity. That fact hadn’t crossed his mind. He watched hopelessly as some genuinely British boys clambered into various posh models of cars not yet available in Malawi. Finally the swarm of chatting students disappeared with the cars and to Randall’s immense relief, one lone boy in a raincoat remained on the street with a big blue backpack on his back. He timidly looked up and down the empty street. Randall looked around just like him and saw completely no one in the vicinity. And the rain fell harder discouraging anyone from walking around. Besides, it was a quiet area already and people were wrapping presents in the warmth of their homes. Randall studied the boy, who took an advanced phone out of his backpack, shielding it from the rain. His phone call didn’t seem to be successful so he returned the phone in the backpack and started walking with his head bowed down. Randall thought for a moment, one of the only times in his life, and decided the boy was asking for it. Clutching the kitchen knife in his jeans harder, he approached the boy. A growing hatred for the rich and the fortunate growing in his belly. Randall approached the boy from his side and knifed him in the side. The boy uttered no sound and tumbled into the water. Making a small splash. Randall, his heart thumping with excitement, ignored the boy thrashing on the sidewalk. He relieved him of his backpack and raincoat, and headed in the opposite direction. Jumping fences and increasing his distance from the scene of his successful crime.



The next day Randall was in Area 3 and ready to present his gifts. There had been the Nokia and a lot of cash which he used to make the Nokia look new with a new face, erased past memory done by his friend and an empty box. He had also bought Michael some Hang-10 clothing which he was sure Michael would like. Randall located the huge house and went directly for the windows. He had studied the place in his past jealousy long enough to know the structure. And this time in noon Mr and Mrs Tembo were normally out so Randall would be in and out without any implications. The guard was on holiday so Randall had no problem as he went through the gate and at the window. He dropped in through the window with the backpack on his back. Santa Claus in Malawi. He closed the window, turned and tried Looking jolly until he saw his ex-wife sitting at a table. Her head in her hands. And Randall froze there in surprise. She looked up at him with red eyes with grief. Oblivious of any past events they had between them.

“Oh, Randall it’s terrible.” She sobbed, and Randall felt his stomach drop in a premonition of horror. “Your son Michael. My child…” She looked up at Randell and Randell knew; he just knew. She moaned, “Michael went to school and had to come back by himself because David had a meeting. But then… but then someone mugged him, and he got admitted… and he passed this morning due to… complications.” And she started crying earnestly.

Randall dropped the stolen backpack and took steps back. He fell through the window’s glass. Shattering it and toppling over. Then he stared at the grey sky in his twisted posture. Oblivious to the cuts and glass and the alarmed shouting of a mourning mother.





I realise its not quite the perfect christmas story or advisable, but i want to prove a point that our decisions always have something to do with our life whether we like it or not. If you think you can be bad on someone else's life watch out! it might be closer to you than you think