The other day, I met a former colleague of my late father. The now very elderly man, Mzee Mpogolo—presumably in his late 90s—is nevertheless still remarkably sharp-minded.
After the usual formal greetings, he wanted to know whether I was still involved in music. Naturally, I told him that apart from enjoying listening to music, I was no longer active.
You see, Mzee Mpogolo had been a fellow teacher with my father in the 1960s and 1970s. He knew well how my father used to assemble our family—himself, my mother and my four siblings—for Sunday choir stints at local Lutheran churches in Kidugala and Wangama settlements, along the slopes of the panoramic and imposing Mount Livingstone Ranges, in what is now the Njombe Region.
We were young children, but we sang our hearts out under the strict command of our father, the late Mzee William, the choir master. We were forced to master the correct keys for fear of punishment at home. In due course, we ended up embracing—and loving—music.
It was therefore no surprise that when I joined secondary and high school at Mkwawa Secondary School in Iringa in the late 1960s and early 1970s, I quickly learned to play the piano and guitar, in addition to being a member of the school choir. I was also a prominent member of the popular school jiving group, The Skylarks.
Around this time, the school acquired a full set of music equipment that had been left behind by the now-disbanded Mbeya-based TANU Youth League band.
Together with other music enthusiasts at the school, we formed two bands: The Orchestra Mkwawa Jazz Band, which played rumba music, and The Midnight Movers, which specialised in American soul music.
We performed on weekends at the Iringa town Community Centre in Kitanzini. Our programme would begin with The Midnight Movers at around 3 p.m., featuring a boogie session for teenage schoolgirls and boys that lasted until 6 p.m. Then, at 7 p.m., the Orchestra Mkwawa would take over and play until midnight.
Throughout these sessions, our school Social Affairs teacher, Mr Katigula, supervised us. The money collected at the gate went towards supporting TANU Youth League activities at the school.
One Saturday afternoon, I met a businessman from my home village in Njombe and invited him to attend our session at Kitanzini. He thoroughly enjoyed the evening before returning home the following morning.
I had completely forgotten about the incident when, four days later, early in the morning before class, I was urgently summoned to the headmaster’s office. I was confused—this was highly unusual.
To make matters worse, our headmaster, Mr Ambangile, was a no-nonsense man whose strokes of the cane were legendary.
I therefore entered his office meekly. What I saw was a shock. Standing right in front of me was my father. I was utterly confused. Something must have gone terribly wrong. Dumbfounded, I muttered a few disjointed greetings.
That was when the headmaster said, “You see, Mzee William, your son is in class—and he is doing well. He is among the top five in his class.”
Apparently, the businessman from my village had returned home and told my father that I had quit school and was now playing music instead.
Ha! Some people can really cause trouble.
