The Tweeting Prince of Matookestan

Once upon a time, in a kingdom called Matookestan, tucked somewhere between the Equator and good judgment, there lived a king.

The king had ruled for so long that children genuinely believed presidents simply grew old in office. Many people could not remember another ruler. 

The king also had a son.

Like many royal sons, he received the finest education, the finest uniforms, the finest promotions and enough stars on his shoulders to outshine the milky way. Every time you looked away, another star appeared. If promotion were a crop, this prince alone could have fed the whole kingdom.

Everyone understood the arrangement. The prince was being prepared for the throne. Our elders say, "The chick that will become a cock is spotted while it is still young." Unfortunately, nobody stopped to ask what kind of cock it would become.

Then the prince discovered Twitter, or Twitter discovered the prince. Either way, peace left the kingdom. My friends... That app finished us.

Every morning Matookestans wake up the same way. Before brushing their teeth, before saying their prayers, before checking whether there's electricity, they first ask one question. "Eh... what has the prince posted today?" 

Royal decrees once arrived on parchment. In Matookestan they came as notifications. His Royal Tweetness had spoken.

With this prince, you cannot plan your day. You sleep knowing Matookestan is at peace. You wake up to find the prince has declared war on a country. Tomorrow he is challenging another president. The next day he is insulting journalists. The day after that he is arresting somebody in a tweet. Then he posts a selfie. Then shuts down a newspaper. Then a joke.

The funny thing is that government officials themselves check the prince's posts before attending the morning meetings. One man's thumbs have become a national remote control.

Meanwhile, back in the kingdom, ordinary life continued. People were still being picked up in drones, opposition politicians still disappeared into long nights of uncertainty, journalists still wondered whether tomorrow's headline might also become tomorrow's court case, families still waited outside prisons, lawyers still waited outside police stations. Citizens learnt the ancient Ugandan skill of lowering their voices in public. The prince, His Royal Tweetness kept posting.

Our elders say, "When the drumbeat changes, the dance also changes." The problem in Matookestan is that the drummer has discovered unlimited airtime. The beat changes every five or so minutes. One day the prince is discussing international diplomacy, the next day he is threatening somebody. Tomorrow he is ordering arrests on Twitter, the day after that he is tweeting who needs to found and punished.

After a while, the kingdom stopped asking, "Why did the prince say that?" People asked, "mpozi which tweet are you talking about?" That is when you know a kingdom is in trouble.

What was interesting in Matookestan is no longer the prince, but his power. Power is interesting in that the longer it goes unchallenged, the more it mistakes itself for wisdom. The longer it escapes consequence, the more it begins to believe that consequence is for ordinary citizens. Soon, "laws become suggestions", as I read somewhere.  Systems become background music. The kingdom develops two legal systems. One for citizens, another for royalty.

Our grandparents had another saying, "When termites begin eating the centre of the pole, the roof still stands... until that fateful afternoon."

That is how kingdoms get into trouble not just in Africa. Everywhere. A prince discovers that nobody can tell him no. Courtiers laugh when they should advise, advisers clap when they should caution. The kingdom mistakes fear for peace. Then one day everyone asks, "How did we get here?"

One thing we should remember is that kingdoms are not protected by the strength of the lion. They are protected by the wisdom of the pride. Every pride reaches the day when the old lion must decide whether he is preparing a successor... or just creating a louder version of himself.

Wise lions do not teach young lions only how to roar. They teach them when not to roar. They teach restraint because strength without restraint frightens the jungle. Power without restraint weakens the kingdom.

A prince who grows up believing he can do anything simply because he can eventually believes there is nothing he should not do.

Our grandparents had yet another saying. "When the child starts carrying a panga carelessly, he is not the only one in danger." That is Matookestan today. If this is how the prince behaves before wearing the crown... What exactly will happen after someone finally places it on his head?

Fairy tales normally end with, "And they lived happily ever after." Matookestan's fairy tale is still being written.