You know folks, my uncle, Anganga Che Chitekwe most often mistakes nostalgia for entitlement and confusion for wisdom. If you thought his borehole meeting takeover was a spectacle, wait till you hear what he pulled at the recent funeral of his late niece, Thokozile.
Funerals, in our culture, are sacred, somber, and deeply communal affairs. That is, unless Anganga Che Chitekwe is involved. The moment we informed him of Thokozile’s passing, his first words were not of sorrow or condolence but, “Make sure my red chair is ready.”
Now, dear readers, let me explain Anganga Che Chitekwe insists on sitting in at every public event. Legend—or rather, scandal—has it that this was once his official chair when he served as Speaker of the National Assembly in the early 1980s. No one knows how he managed to keep it after leaving office, nor how it’s still standing given its advanced age, but there it is: a throne of delusions.
On the day of the funeral, as mourners gathered, there came James, his long-suffering aide, hauling the red chair like some ancient relic, while Anganga Che Chitekwe followed, waving like a war hero returning from battle. “Put it by the tent!” he barked, dismissing the humble plastic chairs everyone else was using. And before anyone could object, there it stood—his crimson command post.
But he wasn’t done. As the coffin was being carried to the graveside, Anganga Che Chitekwe rose to his feet, raised his cane like a conductor about to lead an orchestra, and made a demand that sent ripples through the crowd.
“Roll out my carpet!” he declared.
You see, not content with mere chair supremacy, Anganga Che Chitekwe demanded his red carpet—the same carpet that once graced the floor of Parliament. Yes, dear readers, somehow this man has in his possession the official parliamentary carpet. No one knows how he smuggled it out (or if Parliament even noticed it missing), but it resurfaces at all the wrong moments.
James, looking mortified, produced a bundle from the back of their battered pickup truck and began unfurling what was unmistakably a threadbare, red parliamentary carpet, right there at the cemetery. The mourners watched in disbelief as the carpet was laid from the tent to the edge of the grave.
“My niece deserves a dignified send-off, led by the head of this family!” Anganga Che Chitekwe proclaimed, placing one shaky foot after another onto the faded path of former glory.
The officiating pastor, clearly bewildered, tried to proceed with the burial rites, but Anganga Che Chitekwe interrupted. “Before you continue,” he announced, “it is customary in my protocol for the most senior family member to say a few words.”
Nobody had ever heard of such a protocol.
Nevertheless, the microphone was reluctantly handed over, and for the next 40 minutes, Anganga Che Chitekwe rambled about everything from his first radio interview in 1973 to how he single-handedly brokered peace during the village maize crisis of 1981. Thokozile, God rest her soul, was mentioned exactly twice.
By the time the coffin was being lowered, most people had either sighed themselves hoarse or strategically shifted to the periphery. But not Anganga Che Chitekwe. As the final spadeful of soil was tossed, he insisted on giving a military-style salute and demanded three ceremonial gunshots. “James, where are the rifles?” he bellowed.
“Sir, we don’t have rifles. It’s a funeral, not a state funeral,” whispered James.
“Outrageous!” declared Anganga Che Chitekwe, slumping into his crimson throne in protest.
When it was all over, and people had begun to disperse, one of the elders quietly asked me, “Why do you let him behave like this?”
I had no answer. Because the truth is, stopping Anganga Che Chitekwe is like trying to hold back the tide with a broom. His world operates on the unshakeable belief that he is still the epicenter of national affairs, and we—his bewildered relatives—are merely background actors in his imagined drama.
So here’s to my dear uncle: the only man who could turn a funeral into a one-man parade of misplaced nostalgia. Until next time, dear readers, stay tuned for more chronicles of chaos from the living legend that is Anganga Che Chitekwe.
