I Think I am Going to Cry - danford mpumilwa

By Danford Mpumilwa

So the London 2012 Olympic Games are here. Millions of world citizens are daily glued to their TV sets watching their popular sports or their national teams at this global event. We have already seen the lightning Jamaican Bolt bolt his way to the gold medal becoming the fastest man in the world at 100 metres.

 We have also watched in awe the footballing prowess of the ladies teams. The likes of Japan, Canada, USA and Brazil ladies eleven that are so formidable and indeed can, from what we have seen, easily thump our Kilimanjaro or Taifa Stars. The basketball tournament is another nerve gripper, particularly when one watches the games involving the USA, Argentina, Lithuania, Greece and the like. Massive and sweaty bodies execute intricate and intelligent moves to basket the ball. It is awesome.

 Indeed this week London has re-lived its Victorian era of its being the epicentre of the world. Everything is happening there. All eyes are glued to what is taking place in London. All nations, including those which are not even members for the United Nations have their large and tiny delegations in London to participate in this global event.

 To be more precise, I did not know that we had so many member states of the International Olympic Committee. In my mind I was thinking their total number was just over 190, taking into account the 193 member states of the United Nations.

 It was with this in mind that I decided to watch, though a bit late at night, the opening session of the London 2012 Olympic games at the newly erected cutting - edge Olympic Stadium on 27 July 2012. The ceremony had everything to do with British ancient and modern history and its social, cultural and economic evolution through the ages. The lighting blitz and the creative touch which included brief views of the Jubilee Queen, James Bond and Mr. Bean added a more British flavour.

 At the beginning, the ceremony dealt with historical events – about the land and machinery and women's rights – epically and poetically. The director really did a superb job in moving between those periods of history and today, and between reality and the movies. The section on the welfare state showed an achievement to be truly proud of. It clearly told you what the British nation is about: children, nurses and a dream. A nation that has no music and no fairytales is a tragedy.

One spectator commented, “It was terrific, spectacular, moving, and wonderful! Oh, the joy of people! It made me cry.” I felt the same. Another summed it up; “And it was everything I needed to get excited about the next few weeks. By the end of the night, I was so addicted to patriotism I started cheering for countries that I'd visited, or that I'd once met someone from. It felt amazing.”

Some three hours later of this joy, it was time for the march past of participating countries. I knew Tanzania was there, and I patiently waited to see my representatives. In alphabetical order the countries composed of all peoples of this world and of all colours and cultures passed by ceremoniously resplendent in their national costumes.

They varied from the colourful and flowery participants from the Caribbean to the white robed Malians and Senegalese; from the cadet dressed Americans to the oriental tunics of the Chinese; and from the Kabaka-style dressed Ugandans to the cream short-trousered Samoans and sombrero hated Mexicans. It was indeed an extravaganza.

Patiently I waited for my Tanzania delegation. It was almost at the end of the 241 member-states. Yes 241 Olympic Committee member countries. An hour later, the delegation appeared. I was stupefied. Actually I became angry and upset. Our national delegation was clad in some dark-blue British suit. Yes some British suit. Even the British had, on this occasion, discarded it for some golden creamy and royal outfit, reflective of their Queens jubilee. Where were our celebrated Kitenge shirts and dresses, or even Khangas, for that matter? I think I am going to cry! mpumilwa@gmail.com.