Sent by Judy Miriga

From: Fatima Husenali

Dear President Kikwete

I know you are fine. No doubt. But you must be under pressure. You deserve it. You ask me why and I will say because you’ve been in the corridors of power for a long time and I’m not impressed at all. I have been to Bagamoyo, sir, where you once served as An MP, but there’s nothing to show for it. Does Bagamoyo even have an airport? I think not.

Other people might not be impressed with you, but they wouldn’t dare say that, because you are president. Tanzania has no future with what’s happening now.

Dear Mr. Kikwete, Tanzania is 50, that means, the British left 50 years ago and said, ‘Oya, take care of yourself and don’t mess up.’ What is happening, sir? We are messing up: culturally, politically and economically, which is very annoying. Are you not ashamed, sir? I know you are, but you won’t say that, because you travel all the time and you see how other leaders set their countries right. Please don’t even give me any excuse like, ‘I just became president yesterday.’

I won’t take it, sir. Check your track record. You could have done something. I will not put all the blame on you only. We are also part of the problem, because we tolerate people like you and praise you so much that it gets into your head. I’m from an Angry Generation; a betrayed generation. Your generation failed us and each day they want to come back and rule.

I don’t hate you, but can I ask you a question? Where are your children? Are they in any Tanzanian university? If No Why? Because they should be taken care of properly. I’m happy you think so much of your children and love them so much. Our parents do, too. So, what to do? I envy your children, because their father is a selfish man. Sir, do you care about other children? Be honest. Last June, sir, I was in Hong Kong. Guess what, sir? I met Robert Mugabe’s daughters at City University in the beautiful city of Hong Kong. So, what happens to the universities in Zimbabwe, sir? You may not be Mugabe, but sir, there’s really no difference. He’s older, yes, but you are still an African. I will tell you one thing, which makes me angry: my father is a member of CCM, your party. He forbids his kids to study abroad, so I was sent to the University of Dsm , thinking I would even meet my vice chancellor’s kids there.

No, sir, I didn’t. They have been sent abroad, where the lecturers are not aged, where the lecturers are computer literates and won’t ask their kids to check their mail for them; where there are no power outages, or riots, because some vice chancellor wants to demolish everything and increase the tuition fee all by himself. Sir, these are your boys. They are like you. You tolerate them and we tolerate people like you, so we end up in the same bin. We are scared of talking to you. Sir, I want to be an Anthropology professor, but I can’t.

Maybe, I can, but I will have to go abroad to do so. But how is it not possible for me to become one in UDSM and a good one in demand all over the world? I’m not speaking for every student, sir. I speak for the Angry Generation, to which I belong. We are not a fraternity, we are not a cult; we are like the children with telepathic instincts in Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children.

Now take this from me: I’m a happy man. I have an international passport, pages of it haS visas to different countries.

I can run away to any country, unless you will have it confiscated. But if you do so the international community will question you, because I’m a man who has worked for himself in this demoralizing country, which you rule now. I know you know where the Indian Prime Minister lives in south Delhi, sir? I’m not joking, sir, I live close to that area too. Each time I return to India, which I call my home now, I remember what Tanzania has done to my generation.

I’m begging for my generation. We are intelligent people and when the West starts celebrating us, you take our pictures with the faces of people raised by another culture. Isn’t that ridiculous, sir? Sir, last time I was in Delhi, a group of Tanzanians were watching TV where the House of Parliament discussed the prices of tomatoes, onions, potatoes and even SALT! These Tanzanians were laughing, while the Parliamentarians were brawling in there, trying to make sure things don’t go wrong.

Dear Kikwete, you look like a good man. And a good man has to do good things.

I feel terrible that I have to say these things to you, but the good thing is that you will not be hurt. It’s not personal. Thank you and I don’t hope to hear from you.