Court

Sorry for not updating on this sooner. From some e-mails and comments we have had, I think some were worried that I was languishing in a Tanzanian gaol cell for an indeterminate period!

Fortunately not.

For the sake of interest and cultural research, I'll give you the details of last Monday's little foray.

We (that is me and Frank - my 'right hand man') arrived at the courthouse around 8.30 for a 9.00 start. We weren't sure when the case was actually going to be heard, as we didn't know where we were on the magistrate's list.

However, by 8.55 we were getting a little edgy as our lawyer hadn't turned up. His clerk and Frank were desperately ringing all his numbers, but there were no answers! Fortunately, he turned up just before nine. I noticed him talking to someone just before he drove in the entrance - it turned out that the prosecuting lawyer had 'forgotten the file' (?!) and had returned to her office for it. Why she walked, and didn't take her car, I'm not sure.

But she turned up eventually, and we were ushered into a corridor outside a small 'lounge' type room. We stood there for sometime, with the only interruption being the lawyers clerk coming out to advise me that if I was asked a certain question, I shouldn't tell the truth, but should give a pre-prepared answer. I told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn't planning to lie under oath on my first court appearance (or on any other appearances for that matter). He went back in to the room for a hurried consultation with the lawyer, and then reappeared to let us know that this was 'OK'. Good job really :)

We were eventually allowed into the room, where we sat on a small wooden bench at the back of the room. The other contents of the room were two fairly large tables, arranged in a 'T' pattern; another wooden bench against the left-hand wall, and a couple of comfortable looking armchairs. The magistrate (or judge?) sat at the head of the T, and on other side of the vertical were sat two people. One a fairly large lady, who seemed to be a bit uncomfortable and do very little; and another a tall gentleman with a beard and a very laid-back manner. Him I recognised, as he is a staff member at the NSSF (the rough equivalent of National Insurance in the UK). He was scheduled to visit us the following day for an NSSF audit! He appeared to be prosecuting the case underway! So that was an encouraging start.

Anyway, we sat on the benches listening to the case being heard (most of which I didn't understand, as it was in rapidfire Swahili). Our lawyer sat in one of the armchairs, furiously flicking through large tomes of law on 'procedures in the conduct of criminal cases', or somesuch. This encouraged me even more, as I hadn't appreciated that this was a criminal case!

Eventually the previous case finished (or 'was adjourned' is probably more likely). Our lawyer suddenly left with the prosecuting lawyer, and the magistrate asked Frank what case we were there for. He told her, and we were then told that we should be in Court No 1. So we traipsed around asking various folk where this was, and eventually ended up in a much more traditional looking court, with a big stand for the judge at the front, and witness/defendant stands on either side. There was also a large table and several chairs in front of the judges' stand, and rows of rickety wooden benches at the back. We were motioned to the front of these, while various people came and went.

Frank enquired of the lawyer (who turned up eventually) what would happen. He was told that I would be standing in the witness box on the left. He also discovered that the proceedings would be entirely in Swahili, and he and our lawyer would translate. Great! Nothing like a fair trial, which you don't understand!

In the meantime, the wooden benches were filling up, until there was standing-room only( and precious little of that). I guess it's not often that a mzungu (rough translation 'white bloke') is in court, and it was obviously thought good sport.

So we sat and sat, waiting for the magistrate. There was some kerfuffle (?) with the larger lady from the other court, and a lady in uniform. Frank (eavesdropping) told me that they were discussing the fact that neither of them spoke English, and so didn't want to have to swear me in!

After a few more minutes we were ushered back to the original (chamber) court. It appears that neither lady wanted to have to try and swear me in in faltering English!

So eventually we started the hearing (in English, fortunately!) Our lawyer's first argument was that, as MAF was a 'corporation', he could appear for the defence (rather than my predecessor, who was actually the person named on the charge papers). This didn't seem to be the sharpest argument to me, but then I'm not a lawyer.

I should mention that our lawyer was the only original 'player' in the case (which had started in July 2005), my predecessor having left, and both prosecuting lawyer and the judge having been dismissed for corruption. [On a side note, and to prove how ludicrous life can be (and how small Dodoma is) I understand that our lawyer is now acting as the lawyer for the former prosecuting lawyer, in his corruption charges!] The magistrate's understanding of the case was therefore a little hazy - which may turn out to be a good thing!

Anyway, I was then sworn in as DW2 (Defence Witness Two). It was only at that point that I actually appreciated that I was appearing as a witness, and not the defendant. This made me quite happy :) The larger lady swore me in reading the words off a scrap of paper. It was quite exciting really. It was a 'Swahili-ised' version of the thing you see in American films: "I promise to tell truth, all truth and only truth, so help me God" (if I recall correctly, which I don't).

I then proceeded to give my testimony, which consisted of presenting two letters into evidence which had not been written by me; had been written to someone I didn't know, and had been written before I even knew I was going to be in Tanzania. This may sound a simple thing, but everything I said was repeated in duplicate by my lawyer the magistrate, at ever-reducing speeds, before she understood it. She then wrote this down on blank sheets of paper in laborious longhand.

The whole hearing consisted of this, plus my lawyer stating that this was all we had to say, and that his final defence arguments would be by written submission at a later date. There was much rustling of diaries for the negotiation of a suitable later date (7th March, as it happens), and that was it.

Incidentally, the only role the prosecuting lawyer (a nicely turned out, but very young-seeming lady) played, was to whisper 'no objection' at suitable intervals. Even this had to generally be repeated by my lawyer to the judge a couple of times!

Frank tells me that he thinks it will be alright because our lawyer has struck up a good relationship with the prosecutor.

As the lawyer said to me the week before, it's not know-how that matters in Tanzania, but know-who.

We shall see......