By ELSIE EYAKUZE

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I’ve liked almost all our presidents, which gets me accused of being a sentimental naif, but even in a country as rich in charmingly approachable heads of state there are some more appealing than others. Over the years I collected many anecdotes about the man who succeeded Julius Nyerere and proceeded to loosen Mwalimu’s autocratic grip on both state and party. It’s only in adulthood that I’ve come to appreciate the subtlety and skill with which this was done.

When Mwalimu stepped down, I was just a guppy. The roads of Dar were practically devoid of cars, so it was easy to spot our presidents, past and present, when they moved around on the mainline that connects the city centre to Kinondoni.

Still, I noticed the switch from Nyerere seated in the back of his old-school black automobile to Mwinyi cruising into town in a cream Mercedes Benz. Our presidential motorcades at that time were incredibly simple: Barely an escort and no tinted windows.

Speaking of subtlety, a simple thing like switching the presidential ride already spoke volumes. President Mwinyi indicated that he was going to do things differently, and he did. The arc of his presidency is summarised by my elder, Jenerali Ulimwengu, in last week’s column so I will not repeat it. Suffice to say that over the course of the 1980s into the 1990s I saw and felt changes from suffocating deprivations to emergence of shops and a proto media industry.

Read: ULIMWENGU: Mwinyi had faults but a man with heart

Beneath the liberalisation of Tanzania, there were undercurrents we were negotiating. A practising Muslim president after a devout Catholic. The continuity of the one First Spouse system coupled with an easing into an expanded understanding of the institution of family. The massive territory of Tanganyika ceding to the gentle grip of Zanzibar and perhaps learning some grace — PhDs could be written about the contrasts between the Lake Zone and coastal cultures of this United Republic. The living was easy.

Mzee Rukhsa, we nicknamed our second president, and he referred to himself that way with an amused grin in later life. He retired to become a beloved fixture of the fundraising scene, leaving packs of walkers in the dust as he surprised organisers at the finish line. Legend.

He lived quietly in a Kinondoni suburb, where the mango trees outside his compound would fruit, and be harvested by children while security guards watched relaxedly. Rukhsa means permission.

For Tanzania, it came with a long and deep and much-needed exhale.

Upon his passing, in response to condolence from a friend in a neighbouring country, I said: “He lived a long life, in harmony with his community and peoples. He served his country to the best of his ability, he practised his faith, he ceded to the next generations. May he rest in peace, in the soil of his home.”

I am no longer a guppy and in this time of aching knees and incessant bills I am only beginning to have the maturity to appreciate how truly deep a soul has to be to live so simply, and be spoken of well in retrospect. Beware the quiet ones, goes the saying. Indeed.
Mzee Rukhsa, asante. You were the warm grandfather we didn’t even know we needed until we had to say goodbye. What a beautiful gift to have given a young nation.

Elsie Eyakuze is an independent consultant and blogger for The Mikocheni Report; Email [email protected]