The returnees and their Sovereign Republic of Procreation

Dear Judge Mbadwa,

My Lord, if I had spare time, I would have deeply immersed myself in the various national debates currently electrifying the atmosphere in Nyasaland. But as you know, Nyasas are a fascinatingly unique species; easily amused, highly adaptable, and possessing an elastic intellect that is rarely guided by cold reason or logic. Instead, their processing of national issues is beautifully warped by political fanaticism, tribal allegiance and religious bias. Most tragically, My Lord, our highest levels of enlightenment often produce individuals who behave remarkably like village idiots with certificates.

Forgive my cryptic tone, My Lord. In a republic such as ours, sometimes taking the “see no evil, hear no evil” stance is the only remaining luxury for a man wishing to preserve a modicum of personal integrity.

Having said that, My Lord, I feel a profound patriotic duty to formally welcome our brothers and sisters who have spent ages in Jozi (Johannesburg) and have now safely returned home. Welcome back to the warm heart of the dark continent! We missed you dearly. As former Makwerekwere who survived the hostile economic terrain of Mzansi, you return with a dazzling array of skills that could theoretically move this stagnant nation forward.

However, My Lord, of all the legendary innovations our returnees have brought back, the one I admire most is their staggering and industrial-scale level of physical productivity.

I have watched the repatriation offloading zones with immense awe, My Lord. Almost every single lady among the returnees is either nursing a fresh newborn or carrying a pregnancy so heavy it defies the laws of physics. It is clear that while our compatriots were busy filling the skills gap in South Africa, they took the biblical command to “multiply and fill the earth” as a literal performance target. They were working overtime to populate Mzansi with pure Nyasa bloodlines!

My Lord, I have listened with tears in my eyes to testimonies of how the very same hosts who eventually chased them out were secretly in complete awe of the sheer stamina and skills of the Nyasas. I now fully understand the enormous physical stress our brothers and sisters were under to meet that foreign demand; clearly, the only logical response to economic xenophobia was to accelerate the production line of next-generation citizens.

Indeed, My Lord, our people had fully conquered Johannesburg. We were holding full-scale traditional weddings in the middle of Gauteng, and we were actively exporting Angaliba (initiation camp leaders) to initiate youngsters, whose populations were also increasing there, in the sacred, undocumented Nyasa ways. They had turned Jozi into an overseas province of the republic.

But now that the party is over and the buses have dropped you back home, I must raise a gentle, administrative point of order to our beloved returnees: Kuno anthu adakwana kale! (The house is officially full!)

My Lord, someone needs to whisper to our returning patriots that there is no vacant land left for subsistence farming in this country, the economy is currently on life support, and our hospitals have a distinct shortage of basic paracetamol. Therefore, while we celebrate your technical skills, we highly implore you to immediately shut down the baby manufacturing machinery.

We congratulate you on your liberation from South Africa, but please, let us practise immediate de-escalation in the bedroom. Only sire souls your current Nyasaland pocket can realistically support. Nanga mungalime?

Yours in demographic panic,

John Citizen

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