Jabana must Fall Episode 1

Written by Brian Makara.

Created by Mr Mosimanegape Jabana.

The sweltering afternoon sun cast a golden haze over Makhubung Stadium. Rows of worn metal seats shimmered under the heat, as thousands of citizens packed the arena. Men in dusty overalls, women with children perched on their hips, and students in faded uniforms all gathered, their faces a mixture of anticipation and unease. Fans of Jabana kept singing and some had posters written Education for all and some written Create new jobs. Everyone is waiting for the speech from the president and they longed that the Makubung country would change so that everyone would benefit. People were wondering what President Jabana wanted to talk about, their eyes were out on their socket and ttheir ear waiting to hear the good presentation from the president. 

At the center of the stadium stood a grand stage, draped in the national colors of gold and emerald green. The flag of Makhubung waved sluggishly in the breeze. On the stage, Chief Bethel adjusted his tie nervously, beads of sweat forming on his temple. His gaze flickered over the restless crowd. As he addressed the crowd and make an introduction of the president, the crowd kept quite, waiting to hear the good news. 

Behind him, the imposing figure of President Jabana waited. His dark suit was crisp, and a gleaming gold pin on his lapel symbolized his authority. Jabana was a man known for his sharp tongue and iron fist. At six feet tall, his commanding presence often silenced dissent before it even began.

The crowd started cheering and applauding as Chief Bethel stepped forward. His voice boomed through the speakers, though a hint of nervousness betrayed him. 

“Citizens of Makhubung,” he began, 

“today we gather under the leadership of a man who has guided this nation with strength and resolve. Please join me in welcoming our leader, President Jabana!” The applause was scattered, lacking enthusiasm. 

Jabana strode to the podium, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. He gripped the microphone, his knuckles white, and cleared his throat. “My people,” he began, his voice cutting through the silence, “this country owes its progress to discipline, to order, and to leadership that understands its people’s needs. For years, I have carried the weight of this nation on my shoulders. And now, the time has come for elections.” The crowd murmured, some nodding, others narrowing their eyes in suspicion. “But,” Jabana continued, his voice sharp, 

“there is a matter of great concern. In this election, I am faced with an opponent who dares to challenge me. And who is this opponent? A woman!” Gasps rippled through the crowd. Jabana’s lips curled into a sneer. 

“Women belong in the kitchen, raising children, not meddling in affairs of the state. It is an insult to this nation to suggest otherwise!”

The murmurs grew louder, turning into shouts of outrage. Women in the crowd exchanged looks of disbelief and anger. “You are out of mind, we are human beings,” said a woman who became so furious. Jabana was not himself, he looked so angry and angered because of the woman’s response, the president ordered his bodyguard to escort the woman out of the stadium, they dragged her like a paper and threw her outside. Men shifted uncomfortably, some nodding in agreement, others looking away. A young woman near the front of the crowd stood abruptly, her fists clenched. “Enough of this nonsense!” she yelled. “We deserve equality!” Women became so brave to face President Jabana and his speech didn’t sit well with them.

Jabana’s gaze snapped to her, his eyes narrowing. He leaned into the microphone. 

“Sit down, girl, before you follow your friend.” The woman remained standing, defiant, as more voices joined hers. “Equality now! Jabana must fall!”

The president stepped back, his face darkening with fury. Chief Bethel rushed forward, gesturing to security to calm the growing unrest. But the damage was done. The seeds of rebellion had been planted. Jabana finished his address and went out, the crowd started to make a chaos and some started to throw the stones. Jabana’s bodyquard tried to calm the situation but it was too late, they started shooting at the crowd. People started to run away after noticing that they are going to die. A gunshot was heard and some were shot, teargas was thrown and everyone was covered by a blue smoke, withing the blink of an eye, body guard started by slashing some of the crowd. “We can’t be treated like we are not women,” a woman yelled. 

That evening, President Jabana sat in his grand office at the presidential palace. The room was a reflection of his power walls lined with bookshelves, a massive mahogany desk, and a portrait of himself hanging behind it. The television in the corner played footage of the protests erupting across Makhubung. People carried signs that read “Equality for All” and “Jabana Must Go.” Fires burned in the streets, and clashes with police were escalating. Corpses were lying on the street, Makhubung became a den of lion for everyone, children ran away to hide themselves, and mothers became worried. 

Chief Bethel entered the room cautiously, his expression grave. “Your Excellency, the unrest is spreading. The people are angry about your comments.” Jabana turned his chair to face him, his fingers steep led. “The people?” he repeated, his voice cold. “The people need to be reminded who their leader is. They’ve grown soft, Bethel. They’ve forgotten that it is my strength that keeps this nation together.” Bethel hesitated. 

“Sir, perhaps... perhaps it would be wise to reach out to President Marry. A meeting might ease tensions.” Jabana’s eyes flashed with anger. “Reach out to her? A woman who dares to challenge me? She will come to me, Bethel, not the other way around. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Bethel said, bowing slightly. But as he left the room, his heart was heavy. He had seen the fire in the eyes of the people, and he feared that even Jabana’s iron grip would not be enough to extinguish it.

In a modest office on the other side of town, President Marry stood before her team of supporters. The room was cramped but alive with energy. Marry, a tall woman with short-cropped hair and piercing eyes, exuded strength and determination. “You’ve all seen the footage,” she said, her voice steady but impassioned. 

“Jabana’s words today were more than an insult, they were a declaration of war against progress, against equality. We cannot let this stand.”

Her team nodded, their faces alight with determination. “What do we do next, Madam President?” one of them asked.

Marry’s gaze was unwavering. 

“We keep fighting. We show the people that change is possible. Jabana’s reign of oppression is nearing its end, but we must remain focused. This isn’t just my battle, it’s ours.”

As she spoke, the sound of chants from the street below filtered into the room. Marry walked to the window and looked down at the crowd of protesters. They carried torches and signs, their voices united in defiance. A small smile played on her lips. “The people are speaking,” she said softly. “And this time, Jabana will have no choice but to listen.” The battle for Makhubung had begun. And in the heart of it stood two leaders, each driven by their own vision for the nation. But only one would prevail.

©Author Brian Makara 2025.