The appearance of comparative peace which Max’s house presented to me that morning proved quite deceptive. Oh perhaps some of Chief Nanga’s ‘queen bee’ characteristics had rubbed off on me and transformed me into an independent little nucleus of activity which I brought with me into this new place. That first night I not only heard of the new political party about to be born but got myself enrolled as a foundation member. Max and some of his friends having watched with deepening disillusion the use to which our hard-won freedom was being put by corrupt, mediocre politicians had decided to come together and launch the Common People’s Convention.
There were eight young people in his room that evening. All but one were citizens of our country, mostly professional types. The only lady was a very beautiful lawyer who, I learnt afterwards, was engaged to Max whom she had first met at the London School of Economics. There was a trade-unionist, a doctor, another lawyer, a teacher and a newspaper columnist
Max introduced me without any previous consultation as a ‘trustworthy comrade who had only the other day had his girlfriend snatched from him by minister who shall remain nameless’. Naturally I did not care for that kind of image reputation. So I promptly intervened to point out that the woman in question was not strictly speaking my girlfriend but a casual acquaintance who both Chief Nanga and I knew.
‘So it was Chief Nanga, yes?’ said the European and everyone burst out laughing.
‘Who else could it be?’ said one of the others.
The Whiteman was apparently from one of the Eastern Bioc countries. He did not neglect to stress to me in an aside that he was there only as a friend of Max’s. He told me a lot of things quietly while the others were discussing some obscure details about the launching. I was as much interested in what he said as the way in which he said it. His English had an exotic quality occasionally – as when he said that it was good to see intellectuals like Max, myself and the rest coming out of their ‘tower or elephant tusk’ into active politics. And he often punctuated whatever he was saying with ‘yes’ spoken with the accent of a question.

  A wolf, seeing a lamb drinking from a river, wanted to find a pretext, for devouring him. He stood higher up the stream and accused the lamb of muddying the water so that he could not drink. The lamb said that he drank only with the tip of his tongue, and that in any case he was standing lower down the river, and could not possibly disturb the water higher up, ‘when this excuse failed him, the wolf said: ‘Well, last year you insulted my father .’I wasn’t even born then, ‘replied the lamb.

  You are good at finding answers, ‘said the wolf, ‘but what do you mean by taking up so much of the path where I am walking? The lamb, frightened at the wolf’s angry tone and terrible aspect, told him, with all due submission, that he could not conceive how his walking on such a wide path could occasion him any inconvenience. ‘What! Exclaimed the wolf, seemingly in great anger and indignation. ‘You are as impudent as your father who seized me by the throat last year, and caused me to be kept in a cage for three months.

  If you will believe me, ‘said the lamb, my parents are poor simple creatures who live entirely by green stuff; we are none of us hunters of your species. ‘Ah! I see it’s no use talking to you, ‘said the wolf, drawing up close to him. ‘it runs in the blood of your family to hate us wolves, and therefore, as we have come so conveniently together, I’ll just pay off a few of your forefathers scores before we part. ‘so saying he leapt at the lamb from behind and garrotted him.