Mwalimu in the Squared circle _While this effort was being made, Amin postured: "I challenge President Nyerere in the boxing ring to fight it out there rather than that soldiers lose their lives on the field of battle...Mohammed Ali would be an ideal referee for the bout." -- George Ivan Smith GHOSTS OF KAMPALA (1980) As the Tanzanians began to counterattack, Amin suggested a crazy solution to the dispute. He declared that the matter should be settled in the boxing ring. "I am keeping fit so that I can challenge President Nyerere in the boxing ring and fight it out there, rather than having the soldiers lose their lives on the field of battle." Amin added that Mohammed Ali would be an ideal referee for the bout, and that he, Amin, as the former Uganda heavyweight champ, would give the small, white-haired Nyerere a sporting chance by fighting with one arm tied behind his back, and his legs shackled with weights. -- Dan Wooding and Ray Barnett UGANDA HOLOCAUST (1980)_ # Nyerere looks up through the haze of blood masking his vision and sees the huge man standing over him, laughing. He looks into the man's eyes and seems to see the dark heart of Africa, savage and untamed. He cannot remember quite what he is doing here. Nothing hurts, but as he tries to move, nothing works, either. A black man in a white shirt, a man with a familiar face, seems to be pushing the huge man away, maneuvering him into a corner. Chuckling and posturing to people that Nyerere cannot see, the huge man backs away, and now the man in the white shirt returns and begins shouting. _"Four!"_ Nyerere blinks and tries to clear his mind. Who is he, and why is he on his back, half-naked, and who are these other two men? _"Five!"_ "Stay down, Mwalimu!" yells a voice from behind him, and now it begins to come back to him. _He_ is Mwalimu. _"Six!"_ He blinks again and sees the huge electronic clock above him. It is one minute and 58 seconds into the first round. He is Mwalimu, and if he doesn't get up, his bankrupt country has lost the war. _"Seven!"_ He cannot recall the last minute and 58 seconds. In fact, he cannot recall anything since he entered the ring. He can taste his blood, can feel it running down over his eyes and cheeks, but he cannot remember how he came to be bleeding, or laying on his back. It is a mystery. _"Eight!"_ Finally his legs are working again, and he gathers them beneath him. He does not know if they will bear his weight, but they must be doing so, for Mohammed Ali -- that is his name! Ali -- is cleaning his gloves off and staring into his eyes. "You should have stayed down," whispers Ali. Nyerere grunts an answer. He is glad that the mouthpiece is impeding his speech, for he has no idea what he is trying to say. "I can stop it if you want," says Ali. Nyerere grunts again, and Ali shrugs and stands aside as the huge man shuffles across the ring toward him, still chuckling. # It began as a joke. Nobody ever took anything Amin said seriously, except for his victims. He had launched a surprise bombing raid in the north of Tanzania. No one knew why, for despite what they did in their own countries, despite what genocide they might commit, the one thing all African leaders had adhered to since Independence was the sanctity of national borders. So Julius Nyerere, the Mwalimu, the Teacher, the President of Tanzania, had mobilized his forces and pushed Amin's army back into Uganda. Not a single African nation had offered military assistance; not a single Western nation had offered to underwrite so much as the cost of a bullet. Amin had expediently converted to Islam, and now Libya's crazed but opportunistic Quaddafi was pouring money and weapons into Uganda. Still, Nyerere's soldiers, with their tattered uniforms and ancient rifles, were marching toward Kampala, and it seemed only a matter of time before Amin was overthrown and the war would be ended, and Milton Obote would be restored to the Presidency of Uganda. It was a moral crusade, and Nyerere was convinced that Amin's soldiers were throwing down their weapons and fleeing because they, too, know that Right was on Tanzania's side. But while Right may have favored Nyerere, Time did not. He knew what the Western press and even the Tanzanian army did not know: that within three weeks, not only could his bankrupt nation no longer supply its men with weapons, it could not even afford to bring them back out of Uganda. # "I challenge President Nyerere in the boxing ring to fight it out there rather than that soldiers lose their lives on the field of battle..." The challenge made every newspaper in the western world, as columnist after columnist laughed over the image of the 330-pound Amin, former heavyweight champion of the Kenyan army, stepping into the ring to duke it out with the five-foot one-inch, 112- pound, 57-year-old Nyerere. Only one man did not laugh: Mwalimu. # "You're crazy, you know that?" Nyerere stares calmly at the tall, well-built man standing before his desk. It is a hot, humid day, typical of Dar es Salaam, and the man is already sweating profusely. "I did not ask you here to judge my sanity," answers Nyerere. "But to tell me how to defeat him." "It can't be done. You're spotting him two hundred pounds and twenty years. My job as referee is to keep him from out-and-out killing you." "You frequently defeated men who were bigger and stronger than you," notes Nyerere gently. "And, in the latter portion of your career, younger than you as well." "You float like a butterfly and sting like a bee," answers Ali. "But 57-year-old presidents don't float, and little bitty guys don't sting. I've been a boxer all my life. Have you ever fought anyone?" "When I was younger," says Nyerere. "How much younger?" Nyerere thinks back to the sunlit day, some 48 years ago, when he pummeled his brother, though he can no longer remember the reason for it. In his mind's eye, both of them are small and thin and ill-nourished, and the beating amounted to two punches, delivered with barely enough force to stun a fly. The next week he acquired the gift of literacy, and he has never raised a hand in anger again. Words are far more powerful. Nyerere sighs. "_Much_ younger," he admits. "Ain't no way," says Ali, and then repeats, "Ain't no way. This guy is not just a boxer, he's crazy, and crazy people don't feel no pain." "How would _you_ fight him?" asks Nyerere. "Me?" says Ali. He starts jabbing the air with his left fist. "Stick and run, stick and run. Take him dancing til he drops. Man's got a lot of blubber on that frame." He holds his arms up before his face. "He catches up with me, I go into the rope-a- dope. I lean back, I take his punches on my forearms, I let him wear himself out." Suddenly he straightens up and turns back to Nyerere. "But it won't work for you. He'll break your arms if you try to protect yourself with them." "He'll only have one arm free," Nyerere points out. "That's all he'll need," answers Ali. "Your only shot is to keep moving, to tire him out." He frowns. "But..." "But?" "But I ain't never seen a 57-year-old man that could tire out a man in his thirties." "Well," says Nyerere with an unhappy shrug, "I'll have to think of something." "Think of letting your soldiers beat the shit out of _his_ soldiers," says Ali. "That is impossible." "I thought they were winning," said Ali. "In fourteen days they will be out of ammunition and gasoline," answers Nyerere. "They will be unable to defend themselves and unable to retreat." "Then give them what they need." Nyerere shakes his head. "You do not understand. My nation is bankrupt. There is no money to pay for ammunition." "Hell, I'll loan it to you myself," says Ali. "This Amin is a crazy man. He's giving blacks all over the world a bad name." "That is out of the question," says Nyerere. "You think I ain't got it?" says Ali pugnaciously. "I am sure you are a very wealthy man, and that your offer is sincere," answers Nyerere. "But even if you gave us the money, by the time we converted it and purchased what we needed it would be too late. This is the only way to save my army." "By letting a crazy man tear you apart?" "By defeating him in the ring before he realizes that he can defeat my men in the field." "I've seen a lot of things go down in the squared circle," says Ali, shaking his head in disbelief, "but this is the strangest." # "You cannot do this," says Maria when she finally finds out. "It is done," answers Nyerere. They are in their bedroom, and he is staring out at the reflection of the moon on the Indian Ocean. As the light dances on the water, he tries to forget the darkness to the west. "You are not a prizefighter," she says. "You are Mwalimu. No one expects you to meet this madman. The press treats it as a joke." "I would be happy to exchang...
margozap