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I have a friend in Dar who once called me
and thanked me, mockingly, for being in Dar without calling her.
I tried to explain unsuccessfully that I
was not in Dar that, in fact, I was in Butiama. I had not been to Dar for about
a year when she called me. She was not convinced. Someone had seen me at the
Mwalimu Julius K. Nyerere airport, apparently having disembarked from a Mwanza
flight, and struggling under the weight of a bucket full of Tilapia from Lake Victoria .
Whatever I tried to say, she remained
unconvinced. I realized it was case of mistaken identity, and I recall years
back when another friend told me that there was someone in Dar who looked
identical to me. The friend tried to arrange a meeting with my “twin”, but I
ran into my “twin” before the pre-arranged meeting. It was true that we shared
some likeness. My “twin” even seemed to have a preference for batik shirts,
same as I do, and kept a beard like mine.
By some strange coincidence he happens to
be a scholar in some aspect of the law at the University of Dar-es-salaam. I
also am trying, through the Open University of Tanzania, to become an expert in
some aspect of the law.
Cases of mistaken identity range from the
laughable to those with potentially serious consequences. A number of people
around the world end up in jail for crimes committed by others. Some lucky
individuals wrongly sentenced to death have been released before execution.
Just imagine the dire consequences of mistaken
identity and yet there is one Turkish parent a few years ago in Germany who
wanted to call his son Osama. German authorities refused to register the name,
based on some law that prevents giving children names that could be offensive
or bring ridicule.
I am often mistaken for one of my brothers
who is a politician, and I usually let it pass when it is off-season. But
during elections when political tempers and temperatures are unusually high, I
become exceptionally proficient in saying that I am someone else.
The trouble with political campaigns these
days is that some supporters and opponents always find reason to use force, and
I do not want to be on the wrong side of a “forceful” argument.
Sometimes cases of mistaken identity turn
to be embarrassing. I once approached someone I thought I knew, with a greeting
and my hand stretched out for a handshake but he kept his hand to himself.
After realizing my mistake, I apologized but the man was unruffled and did not
see any problem in his reaction, which I found most impolite. Instead, he began
to interrogate me to find out who I had assumed he was. It was during the last
election campaigns and I resigned to the fact that strange things happen during
elections.
You never know what apparently friendly
people stretching out their hands to greet you can have hidden in their palms.
That is what I assumed prompted that strange behaviour, especially after the
man asked me whether I had mistaken him for some famous politician. It dawns on
me today that he was probably taking the same precautions that I was taking
against being mistaken for my brother.
When Professor Li Baoping of the University
of Beijing visited Butiama for a few days in June 2003, I was having lunch with
him and one of my nieces when he asked me to take a photo of him “with Mwalimu
Nyerere’s granddaughter”. Later I told him I had visited China in the past and
when the opportunity arises, I expect to re-visit his country.
As we exchanged addresses, he asked me
whether I was related to Mwalimu Nyerere’s family. When I said I was he told me
that he had assumed that I was “one of the Secretaries”. I am still not
sure if that is a positive or negative comment, but I have since been extra
careful about what I wear when hosting visitors.
That friend who thought she saw me with
about 20 kilos of Tilapia concluded the telephone conversation by saying
something that resembled like “I hope you choke on your fish.” I had almost
missed the point. It was all about the fish, I realized, not the friendship.
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