by mazuba mwiinga

Motive and Emotive
Passions and emotions
Full of seasons and sections
Are the reasons
We do actions
That put us in motions
When we mention
How to poison
With love-positions.
Copyright: 2009 Mazuba Mwiinga


by mazuba mwiinga



Kuzwa ku miyanda ya Moyo wangu…
Amucipoompo ca Bongo bwangu…
Ndime nduwe…Nduwe ndime…

Moyo wako ulabalangala mbuli Ntanda yakubucedo…
Ndakuyeeya lyoonse misozi ya Luyando ilakunkumuka ca buumba…
Ijwi lyako ndibozu, lilalweela mbuli mulolo wa buci…

Uli Kalungu kaa Moyo kangu…
Ookeebelwa Nzoka mubwina…
Bacele boonse kuti koenda balalakama kukulanga…
Uli Mpana yangu iitabbili olo cizyiba cavwula buti meenda…

Nduwe Kasesya bafu…
Kalakamya Ncece…
Bbolomombo lya mumusena….
Haakabumbilwa Kujulu….

Imubotu aanga meenda aa Kasensa…


From the roots of my heart…..
And from the skull that holds my brain….
You are me…am you…..

Your heart beams brightly like the morning star at dawn…
When I think of you, tears of love drip with sadness…
Your voice is soft….and sweet like syrup from a hive of honey….

You are the bead of my heart….
Snakes peep at you from their holes…
Wild dogs yap with jealousy when you walk past them…
You are my lily that floats on water no matter how over flowing the river is….

You make men in bereavement smile….
Boys woo at you with amazement…
You are the soft flower in the plain…
You; who was made in the sky….

You are as beautiful as water from a spring…


Born of Silence

by Mazuba Mwiinga

Chapter 4

Down the Plateau land, it was calm but hot. The sun was heating the land from the Tropical of Capricorn. Cicadas were complaining bitterly in trees. Birds hardly chirruped. They made incessant trips to and from the Village stream, Baceta to quench their bursting thirst. But from here some found themselves in tight ropes of traps set by villagers.
At Hapaku’s home in village Munjile all was a nine-day’s wonder. Namweemba’s first born child was now sixteen. Her name was Malweza locally meaning taboo. Only a few villagers knew how that name came about; yet no one dared to ask. Had the local adage Mungu Munene Uvumbwa Matu – ‘a big pumpkin is covered with leaves’, not valued very much? Surely, ignorance has no excuse. Its either you know and you speak rightly, or you don’t know and you keep quiet.
At sixteen, a typical Tonga girl was to graduate to womanhood. Her breasts were as pointed as a ripe cucumber; and that was dangerous, for men would have already started giving her deep sighs whenever she passed by them. Their looks would be so bewitching and penetrating through her. To avoid any embarrassment from the watchful public, she had to be initiated into a higher class of village status; taught how to behave as a young lady towards such advancing beasts; preparing her for marriage and social life; how to handle men in all circles of life and many other such village clap-traps.
This was particularly the fun part of the nkolola initiation rite. Mudonga, an old woman in her late seventies was hired to lecture Malweza on how to keep her home to perfection.
“My granddaughter, you will not be expected to grow horns as a sign of maturity”, she started her usual ancient propagandas. “For you to be in this house, secluded for all this time is proof enough that you are no longer a girl, but a woman who is expected to give your husband the best of his marriage to you. A good wife takes care of her husband the way she does to her children. Burning food while cooking is cause enough for divorce; so is poor performance when sharing the golden fruit at night”, at the mention of this she would smile as if reminding her of her sweet sixteen days.
“Men are crazy my granddaughter. They like surprises and whenever your husband calls for the secret tête-à-tête; even if you are in the middle of house chores, you have to take a break and attend to him. In that way he will never look elsewhere for quenching his binding thirst
“When he is talking its rude to answer him unless he asks you to do so. Don’t look at him on the forehead; it signals that you can challenge him which is not the way to keep him in charge. Always keep your body warm. I will show you tomorrow some roots you can be digging for yourself to mix in your porridge before you go to sleep at night. But don’t ever let your husband go to bed before you. It’s your duty to warm the bed for him before he joins you”.
The old woman spoke with agility and seriousness. She was one such woman who never left tradition behind. Her mind was always focused on what life was during their days as girls. Though her face was wrinkled with age, one would imagine her youthful posture behind that loosened skin. She should have been an attractive lady who could not have been walking around the village unnoticed. Just from her smile and tone, you would deduce some metallic postures of a woman who was proud of her dignity and character. Her only contradiction was that her favorite topic in initiation ceremonies of girls was marital matters. Villagers said that she was some kind of an expert on such for she managed to keep her marriage for more that fifty years before her one and only husband past away.
“It may sound fun for you my granddaughter”, she continued after taking a sip of cibwantu from a plastic cup. “But it’s so important for you. Have you seen this water in this cup; this water is very helpful. Use it at all necessary times. A woman should always take a bath before doing house chores in the morning and before going to sleep at night. When your husband upsets you, it’s uncalled for to bark at him; to cool yourself down just take a gulp of water and you will be fine. Always make sure your husband takes a bath before he goes to the field in the morning. If he can’t then as soon as he comes back at midday, make sure he washes his body. No matter how few his clothes or your clothes are, they should always be clean.
“Visitors are more important than your own relatives. Keep them safe, health and cared for. In this way you will never be a stranger to anyone even in a strange land. What happens in your house with your husband belongs in your bedroom. No one should get wind of it. ‘nkatombe kanu’, its your own dirty to clean. Our village has many people with various languages; but you have only two ears; make sure your ears only listen to such language which is palatable. If you allow your ears to pick everything it hears, you will become deaf, because your ears won’t manage to keep all the messages and that will be your end in your marriage. A trained wife has both the heart of a Lioness and a Lamb. Proud of her self and what she has and humble to everything that bleeds blood.
“Your times are very enticing. So don’t fall prey to what you see or hear about your peers. You are such a beautiful girl; but your looks are just like any other looks. Don’t let them deceive you. Selfishness and pride are the most hideous vices this world has ever given us; avoid telling lies and deceiving others; in that way you will be rewarded with old age like me”. Mudonga spoke with revered authority, breathing in peace meals as if she may not complete her sentences. She looked at Malweza and smiled broadly exposing her thick brown toothless gums. She enjoyed such times for she had nothing else to do apart from collecting dry wild fruits called mbula and pound them to make a traditional cake called cibbuubbu. But such times were so important to her for they brought her youthful memories so close to her heart.
“I think you have heard enough for today my granddaughter, but one more thing; the time you will open up your heart to someone its important to take note of him before you finally let yourself go with him. Men have different sizes of their manhood. Some have small ones, some medium ones and others big ones. But a woman of your stature need full satisfaction to avoid outside temptations. So you can guess who has what by looking at their fingers. If he has long thin fingers, so is his piece. Such pieces are painful because they almost reach the core of your house and pregnancies are very quick. If you are not ready for a baby such a man should be avoided.
“If his fingers are short and broad, hence his piece too; and such pieces satisfies us though sometimes it may hurt you if it is too broad. Pregnancies are slow because the water has to go a long way into the baby chamber. Such men are the right ones if you are not ready for a baby but just play; but they are not good for marriage. The right men are those with long and not broad fingers. These will give you both satisfaction and children”, she giggled and laughed to herself.
Mudonga never got tired of talking. She would speak and speak until she spoke no more. For six months, Malweza received different women with different experiences, each with her own theory on how to be a woman. Only two days was remaining before she graduated. Preparations had already started. Grass shelters were built and meal-rice was ready for brewing cibwantu. Goats were already selected for butchering and a celebration drum beat was unceasingly sounding making the whole village and others beyond be aware that something jovial was underway here.
Then the D-day arrived; the eve of the graduation. A dance known as kulinda was held to welcome Malweza in the class of respected people in society. From every nook and corner of the plateau, villagers hurdled together at Hapaku’s home that evening. They were whistling and humming tunes of famous songs as they came in the compound. Some were hurling obscene at no one in particular but just as a sign of attracting attention. Others were shouting and wailing rowdily. In a moment or two, they all broke in a frenzy of an acapella-tuned song; the latest kalimanda jive rhythm originated by the highlanders. The young men who in a split of a second formed a circle wheeled their waists; scampering and jerking their fronts and backs in sexy styles as they chorused in an almost same vocal syllable.
The drummers – three men from the eastern end of the plateau, beat the drums to ear deafening. Animal skin made instruments throbbed to a point where they almost talked. The rhythm possessed old men and women who sat on mats and stools speechless; reminding them of the times they would be leading the procession like this and gradually they started jittering and humming; their heads nodding in anticipation. They were carried away by childhood thoughts; those days they would play hide and seek under the bright moonlight. Kalimanda wasn’t there at the time, but its rhythm was maddening too. Ululation filled the air; enticing lame men and women to wishful thinking. Nsabata was the one leading the song; the very young man popular in every ceremony and celebration. He would lower one song stanza, high-pitch the other line and almost talked on the other; and a rippling of joyous laughter would explode mostly from young women; sharp and high like an afflicted pack of laughing jackasses, as men picked it up with the chorus.

Disi kalimanda walala
Disi kalimanda
Yeeye kalimanda
walala iyeeye
Yeeye kalimanda
walala yee….

Midnight swiftly gathered over the heavily filled home, as joyful guffaws echoed round the whole plateau. Drums throbbed from dusk to down; villagers dancing and prancing round the drummers. The light of dawn which put whining predators to flight afflicted a further slam of drums, this time to wake up all those who were still asleep. At about midmorning, they called it a day.
In the afternoon, every bit of the ritual was performed. Malweza the initiate known as kamwale, covered in a citeenge cloth from head to feet was led by a best lady known as mubbazi to a place where two seats were prepared under a cool shade of mubombo tree in the middle of a circle of gathered celebrants. In front of the seats they occupied was a table with two metal plates for gifts. One was for her mukowa – mother’s relation and the other for her mausyi – father’s relation.
The Master of Ceremony known as Mwaambilizyi got ready to start the phase of the initiation. People danced first until he stopped them to make an announcement just in time for women to break up in a song amid merry ululation.
“Amuteelele”, the MC announced. “Moonga says ‘this girl seated here is my child. So I have fetched this coin for her’, hats off for him!” Ululation cracked as a thanks giving song followed:

Niiniini nsekelele mali
Nsekelele mali
Nsekelele mali
Nsekelele mali
Nsekelele mali

Let me be happy for the money
Let me be happy for the money
Let me be happy for the money
Let me be happy for the money

Amid joy, the MC came in: “Halt! Yes, halt. Today is today. Hakadeene says, ‘who is this man called Moonga so rich that he offers fifty kwacha for this girl while the likes of us don’t even know her? She might be a village queen sure. So I have these coins as well; one hundred kwacha! I want the whole congregation here to see this village beauty’ any counter-reactions?” Bbusu the MC bellowed with his rusty hoarse voice and there was a circulation of murmurs across the spectators as heads turned in all directions expecting someone to throw a challenge. Then one man, Muneke with a walking stick in his right hand, walked to the MC and whispered in his left ear. Bbusu beamed with a delightful smile.
“Well, well, well where two bulls are battling for recognition, it’s the innocent grass that suffers. They say ‘a man is seen by his actions and not words’. Muneke here says ‘as far as I am the uncle to the girl at hand, no one can see her amazing beauty before the ceremony is over. Let anyone who thinks is richer than me throw a dice of challenge. Here is one hundred and fifty kwacha’, manja aayo! - Let claps crack!” women broke in a song as the drum roared with happiness. No one was able to challenge Muneke with his heft amount of money he bate. So the ceremony continued; they danced and brought gifts of various décor while others offered money.
At the end of the ceremony, villagers were offered nsima with meat so were drinks of cibwantu for those who were sober minded and bukoko for those with spirited brains before they one by one disappeared just as they had come.
Malweza was then set free from the bondage of being kept in the house for six months. Her posture changed to a glossily frightening beauty. Men would hide in tall grass beside her way to have a good view of her body structure. They wouldn’t manage a direct eye contact with her for it lowered their eyes in shyness of appetizing passion. Her changed complexion was so bewitching that had it been a painting, it would have been the famous Mona Lisa.
She was a girl abounding in goodness of heart. She caressed a true turtle-dove. Buttocks were low-slang and of smooth and infinite to touch. She always wore a scent of green guavas. Her face wasn’t for mere looking. A tongue taste would have been such a condoning heart breaking matter. She wasn’t brown neither black. She wasn’t light or dark but of a glossy color just like the quill-feathers of a peacock. She had white even teeth that looked as if they weren’t meant for eating. Her nose was that fine straight one like a taut thread. Her breasts like yams, firm and gleaming. Her voice resembled the tune of a dove.
No world word matched her looks. Unlike for her movements, unceasing smile at anyone and evenly built body make up; one would otherwise have mistaken her for being a younger sister unlike a daughter to Namweemba her mother.
Now that the training was over and she graduated with honors, what remained was to be in employment; attending to someone’s home duties. Many suitors had already rested their hearts on her; they just waited for her parents’ approval. Some came from as far places as the highlands; others as far as the eastern hills of Kavuna; some came from across Baceta stream in the plains. This had pleased Hapaku the grandfather. He knew her granddaughter brought up in shameful circumstances would now end up growing up like a princes and not just like any ordinary girl who was once a village laughing stock. He knew too that Malweza’s marriage will make him popular and rich. So he just interviewed the suitors first and turned them back for a later date. He wanted to have ample time to scrutinize the bidders together with his childhood elders.

NOTE: This is a 15 Chapter novel. You know more about it if you continue coming to this blog.

Copyright: 2008 Mazuba Mwiinga

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews and for the purpose of teaching and or learning.


Born of Silence

by Mazuba Mwiinga

Chapter 3

In the southern far side of Tonga land, the land was high, rocky and covered by bushes and tall trees. One would barely see the next village on the highland slope. There were two high and flat-peaked lands. One was Sikabenga the other one was Nampeyo. Between them was a stream with clear fresh water. It flowed from the eastern hills of Nadongo down to the Mopani shrubs of Makamba meandering silently to the highland of Nampeyo on its way to Sikabenga down to join the mother Magoye river in the far west.
At the eastern foot of Nampeyo highland, there was a famous ancestral forest called Chisoboyo. The forest had a lot of legendry stories to tell. Just like the plateau great seer, it was also a forest with dreaded spell. It had planted estrangements to both Sikabenga and Nampeyo villagers.
A word used to go round the villages that this forest harbored an old woman with half parts of a human being; one leg, one eye, one ear, one arm and one buttock, so was one thread of hair. But it was viciously told that she could run as fast as wind. This woman it was rumored, would kidnap men and marry them; children were her daughters and sons; women her worst enemies. She would resent the sight of any woman, so were the stories about her; saying that if captured she would kill them instantly and feed on their remains. She was said to be keeping up at the heart of the forest in a rock-cave just at the bottom of the highland. Astoundingly enough, no one had ever claimed having seen her or survived her attacks. Her name was Kaulukomwe – one legged.
This story was common among youngsters. Its narration was sometimes more akin to fable stories than to a true composition of what was there. To village elders of the highland, it was a legend they too found as children. Their parents in threatening them to stop moving out at night, they would scare them that Kaulukomwe one day will find them and take them hostage. To their theoretical honesty, they too produced another novelty narration in defense.
They said that since time immemorial, the forest was untouched because it harbored a lot of vicious wild animals. When the Tongas were moving from east to west in search of greener pastures for their animals, so was space for cultivation, they were clearing forests and bushes on the way. As they cleared out trees, animals were fleeing into the interior of the forest. When they came to this forest, Chisoboyo, which happened to be the only one left, they couldn’t dare clear it for it was a den of ruthless animals. So they had to skirt round it as they went further clearing shrubs.
This explanation was quite comprehensible, for Chisoboyo was the highlanders’ butchery. The headman would call for a meeting once a year at which he told his people the date for burning the forest so that hunting could resume. This usually happened during the dry hot season when villagers were off cultivation duties. At this time villagers from Sikabenga, Nadongo in the east and around Kakuni Mission would come to bate their luck on the hunting festival. Only the dare devils dared to take part in this hunting sport. Deaths occurred as people would find themselves in jaws of man-eating beasts. But as rain season drew near, the hunting spree would be called off until the following year.

* * *

Ruling Nampeyo was a tall dark young man in his early thirties. His name was Chinkuli. As a youth of around nineteen, he had shown the highlanders about what bravery and cleverness meant. He came as a stranger in Nampeyo some years past from the land he had just called ‘beyond the highlands’. He asked refuge as a casual worker at the Headman’s palace without any suspicions from any villager. The headman then, Nampeyo just as the place was called, had only six daughters and no sons. A lion killed the only son he had during the usual hunting sports in Chisoboyo forest. It was about seven years past. Chinkuli’s honest and dedication to work had earned his stay in the Palace such that within a few years, he became free and comfortable. Villagers gradually started to forget that he was a worker and began to regard him as the headman’s only son. Even his real name, was forgotten for his new name Chinkuli, given to him by the headman took root in the villagers.
At the time of early days in Nampeyo, Chinkuli did a wonder the highlanders never forgot to note in their evening fire place stories. During the Chisoboyo hunting extravaganza, a Lion challenged him. For two weeks he slept up a tree in the forest trying to wrestle his life out of danger of the Lion which was waiting impatiently down under the tree. Back in the village, headman Nampeyo was very sad and ailing with age. No one was able to gather enough courage to go for him in the forest. Even the best hunters in the village couldn’t take that risk.
In the forest, Chinkuli tricked the man-eater. When he saw that it started to doze, he dropped a bunch of twigs on its back. Frightened the Lion sprung up and trotted for its life. Chinkuli hurriedly jumped down the tree and showed a pair of clean feet to the way leading home. But the beast had nit gone very far. It just scampered for a few meters in the opposite direction and stopped, looking back. Then it saw him running away in rays of dust. Without second thoughts, it gave chase hungrily.
Looking over his shoulders, Chinkuli saw it trot in a cloud of merciless dust towards him. He took a diversion to the south and climbed a rocky hill. He soldiered hard up the hill until he reached its flat peak. Feeling safe up there, he relaxed; but disgustingly he saw the beast coming up the hill too; its tongue jerking in and out of its mouth. He stood almost irresolutely, his brain squeaking painfully as if someone had hit him with a blunt metal on his head. He watched it come steadily with snores of anger and hunger, displaying its long and sharp canines. He was hopeless and scared. Standing akimbo, peering at it, he felt as though he was already cracked to pebbles with those sharp chisels. His head was blackened out.
Standing in a dilemma, he felt a piercing feeling run sharply across his spine up his backbone. He heaved strangely and some bits of small stones rolled down the slope. He instantly put down his spear and looked around. Something came into his mind. He ran round the peak trying to track out something. He then saw a boulder at the far end of the peak. He ran to it and tried to remove it; but not even a slight crack formed at its base. It was as if the creator had put roots to it.
Hastily he went for his spear. The lion was by then stalking up the hill. Very soon it would have been up there. Chinkuli dug round the rock, brought a smaller stone and used the spear as lever and the small stone acting as pivot; and applied all his power pressing the handle of the spear. To his anger and worry, the long stick broke unceremoniously. Fuming with fear he used the short piece left, this time using the ground as a pivot and pulling up the handle of the spear, he managed to slot out the rock from its base. The beast’s snares were heard from a short distance and he realized it was very near the top.
Carefully he rolled the boulder of rock to the other side of the hill peak. Reaching the position direct with the climbing lion he stopped. Down the slope, only about three meters away, the beast called a halt as it hauled and roared loudly; its roar echoing out the whole forest and bounced to village Nampeyo where it inflicted a deathly pain into the headman, who lost hope for his beloved worker.
Soon after jubilating, the lion crawled forward. As it opened its big jaws to roar again, Chinkuli let the boulder go down. It rolled down as it gathered no moss and with a thunderous crash, it smashed its jaws, cracking the sharp and long teeth; dislocating the jaws in bigger than mouth opening; bigger enough for the boulder to get stack in the mouth.
Unbalanced, the lion went down as the boulder exerted force on it and breathed its last at the foot of the hill. Chinkuli took his broken spear and reluctantly descended down the hill. That was his thirteenth day in the bush. When he reached the foot of the hill he took a sizeable stone and smashed its head to make sure it was no longer alive. He skinned the animal and when sunset covered the highland, he climbed the hill and spent a night on the peak of the hill and lay on his back with exhaustion little did he realize that sleep was actually calling him.
While sleeping, he saw a blurred figure of a person he presumed to be the famous seer he had seen long before he came to Nampeyo. The old man sat beside him and told him and said:
“Your wife, do you still recall her?”
“Yes”, Chinkuli replied. “Namweemba; yes I still recall her”.
“Did you have a child with her?”
“No”, Chinkuli answered.
“But she is now pregnant”.
“What! That’s the greatest news I have ever heard. At last we have a child”, Chinkuli exclaimed.
“Sorry son, it’s not your child”.
“What do you mean it’s not my child?” Chinkuli asked puzzled.
“I mean just that my son. Your father has done it. Very soon she will have a baby girl; you will divorce your sister and marry your daughter. Your son will give your daughter a child and you will kill your son. But strangers will suffer for the death of your son and you will Scot-freely go off the murder case”.
“I can’t understand all this”.
“So don’t bother yourself trying to understand them my son. Your master is at the end of his life. He has no sons and you are the only alternative for the throne. Your courage of killing a lion will bring you honor. But you will have to be careful lest you fall”.
“Old man; what is all this; my father marrying my wife?
“You have no wife. She is carrying your father’s child”.
“But why am I here? Am suffering and missing my home. I want to inherit my father’s riches. I am the first born.”
“Those are not riches my son. Real riches are yet to come. Soon you will have….”
“Stop just there. You don’t have to argue with someone you can’t see. The sun will be up soon; wake up and go home. Everyone is waiting to receive you”.
Chinkuli sprang from the ground and looked around. He only felt the silent atmosphere of the forest. Birds were singing their morning tunes welcoming another day. He didn’t know he slept that long. Beside him was an ancient stool and cold embers of fire. ‘I never came with a stool. Neither I did I make fire last night’, he thought and stood up, stretching himself in the process. He looked around again and it was all silent and cool. He took the lion’s skin and descended down the hill and reluctantly walked home, his head turning all over the place thinking that he may see someone walking around.
He reached the Palace at that time Lizards spread their legs with their bellies stack on walls enjoying the cozy rays of heat from the Sun. The lion’s skin was placed carelessly on his right shoulder; a piece of a broken spear held loosely in his left palm. He was staggering as he walked up the royal village, his face glittering with thick smelly sweat.
Headman Nampeyo’s eldest daughter Tazyimanikubota was the first one to see him as he clambered up, calculating his steps lest he hit something that might have brought him closer to the ground. She stood gazing at him. ‘Could he be the one?’ She then ran to her father and made him aware of a figure approaching the Palace. The old man hurriedly came out, a wide smile cracking his lower lip without any fuss. No sooner had he seen the figure, than he summoned all his people to his royal arena. They were to welcome a hero.
A rhythmic yabukali drum sounded as Chinkuli came nearer and nearer. Villagers ran to the royal arena to see what the matter was. As the gods were honorably having their best ceremonial times of praise, Chinkuli on the other hand was reluctantly walking in the compound. Ululation filled the air as a mob of merry-making villagers surged towards him. In a blink of an eye, Chinkuli was carried shoulder high and for the first time in two weeks, he smiled with honor. Drops of jovial and ecstatic tears dripped down his cheeks. He felt great and powerful. He looked at the cheering people below him; they all appeared worthless and visionless. He was their man and hero; survivor and fighter.
A week later, Chinkuli was honored by the headman. He became the Prince of the Highlanders and heir to the throne. A Princely necklace made of a lion’s skin was knotted round his thick muscular neck. When eight years later, headman Nampeyo died, Chinkuli was crowned headman of Nampeyo Highlands.
That was many years ago. But the story was still fresh in villagers’ minds; especially grey matters of old age. They talked about it in group gatherings; though their respect for him exceeded their knowledge behind his originality. To them headman Chinkuli was their savior. Across the highlands, down to the plateau and far wet in the Plains, his fame blew out like dry spells. He restructured his cabinet and re-set the structures in the compound to show his mantle power sending a signal that he was in charge.
Though he was so famous and in charge of a very feared land, Chinkuli was still with no wife; but at the previous meeting of elders, he assigned trusted emissaries to look for a woman for him to lead to the alter. The pioneers were given a one month thorough search for the Queen to be.


Born of Silence

by Mazuba Mwiinga

Chapter 2

Up here in the east it was a plateau. The land was high and flat like a table. Trees were scattered in far areas where they made groups of bushes and shrubs. A stream which provided life to the villagers wound from south to north. Animals used it, so were people. It was called Baceta.
The homes here were quite scattered as well. But if you called from the top of an anthill, the next home would hear you. Villages were groups of homes far apart from each other. Three to four homes would make a village. The people were as few as the homes themselves too.
It was early morning. The sun was just a few meters above the eastern dome. A youthful woman in her late twenties from Munjile’s home walked across the compound heading to the west. She was carrying an empty pail on her head. On the way she met other village women and walked with them as they reeled with laughter like hens burdened with ripe eggs in their fallopian tube. They were going to Baceta stream to draw water for home usage.
Baceta stream as usual was silently cool. Birds of various species flapped their wings from one twig to another, chorusing their own sweet sounds reminiscent of biblical disciples, speaking in tongues. Islands of sand lay grumpily on the middle of the stagnant thick waters. The women descended down the banks stepping their feet in water as they crossed to the sand islands complaining of the chilliness the water was giving their feet. Once on the sand islands, they splashed out the water from the ponds dug in the sand and waited for clean fresh water to sprout out and started to fill their containers. Then one by one the women started to lift their pails and placed them on their heads. The youthful woman called her close friend Bina Milandu to help her put the pail on her head. Teasingly Bina Milandu remarked; “Ah Namweemba, you are not a girl. Are you? Lift it on your own my dear. It will be hot soon we need to hurry up in time for work at home”
“Oowo? That’s what you can say to me”, Namweemba complained. “Days are numbered my friend. If I want I can just go home with an empty pail. After all there isn’t anyone I am working for here. You girls are luck to have husbands”. The four other women were now up the river bank. They could only be heard by their wailing laughter. Namweemba and Bina Milandu were the only ones in the stream.
“Don’t say that Namweemba”, Bina Milandu said. “The gods forbid. Your husband will come back; any day, believe me my dear”.
“Ha, ha, ha, haaa…” Namweemba laughed queerly, “As if you are the one who took him. He is dead Bina Milandu and everyone in Maziilika pretends as if he is still alive. They think they can fool me.” She sighed heavily and continued, “How I miss him though. He was the most handsome man in Maziilika. Not even a white man could stand a chance for a charming contest with him. He was a Prince in his own right; a god of beauty with a spell of love. Which woman mother of Milandu didn’t cherish a night with him in bed? Even you would have loved to feel his chest and massage his back; but poor me. He is gone. Gone Bina Milandu in thin air; Saansakuwa the dare witch took him. If I had the guts Bina Milandu, I would have gone there. There in Kobo and castra……..”
“Don’t mention it!” Bina Milandu cut her short. “Don’t annoy Saansakuwa Namweemba. Remember we are in his much protected stream. His shrine is just a few meters away. It’s a taboo my dear. Your husband will come back. Don’t be so sorrowful. It’s bad for your health”.
“That’s a painful joke Bina Milandu. You really know how to joke roughly at someone. Two solid years isn’t a joke to crack so amusingly. I have slept alone; ate alone; sung alone. I have faced the consternating jungle problems alone!” Namweemba complained bitterly. “I was a fool to marry him. But I loved the silly boy. He was the hero of my life, the envy of the land. He was my god Bina Milandu! Look at you. You have three children and I have none yet we came the same year in this village. I don’t even have a miscarriage. Nothing! And you tease me saying he will come back? When? When Bina Mila-la-la……..” Namweemba broke down and burst into tears. She slumbered on the sand and wept solemnly. Bina Milandu squat before her and tried to soak sense into her thoughts. She consoled her sympathetically and without helping matters anymore, she cooled down. Bina Milandu helped her lift the pail to her head and they too set off for home much to their sadness which was acknowledged by the presence of a deadly silence as they walked.

* * *

Munjile was seated on a stool leaning against an empty barn when Namweemba arrived from the stream. He was facing the warm sunlight, reminiscent of Lizards during a warm winter morning. As she entered the compound, he raised his head and glanced at her. He felt a despicable feeling possess him and regretted his son’s action. It was one of those moves one doesn’t become defiant with.
The new developments in Namweemba his daughter-in-law were worrying him. They devoured the humanity of a loving father like him. All the people in the village had been patient over the disappeared son. But two years elapsed there wasn’t any sign neither rumor of his whereabouts. They had once wanted to consult Saansakuwa the village seer, but a rumor discrediting him that he was actually the one behind such disappearances, had kept Munjile from seeing this great seer of letters. But people still hoped that Muunga would one day pop up from nowhere and be home again.
Then Namweemba developed an unusual disease – the crybabies. She would at anytime, sob whenever a thought of her lost husband crossed her mind. And this development had forced Munjile to consult the seer of distinction.
Saansakuwa kept up at an isolated place called Kobo near the source of the stream of Baceta in the southern hills of village Munjile. No one knew where he came from. And only a few villagers desired to know. A lot of stories circulated in the village about him tough. Some said he came from the east in a place called Bbondo. Others speculated that he came from south in Fumbo. Others claimed he came from north in Katubamabwe. But none had a transparent mind to convince everybody on the originality of this strange man.
But old men and women; the dictionaries of village wisdom said that this seer was there since world creation. The time when wild beasts could talk and human beings could exchange word of mouth with the Supreme Being.
Saansa as he was called in short by most villagers had told the people who were sent to him, that Muunga was in the world beyond the Plateaus. And that he was a rich man and Highness of that village he lived in. But he couldn’t tell them where that place was located.
“Muunga is a rich man. He has a lot of animals”, Saansa had pronounced. “He is famous and is headman of the area in which he keeps up. But his way is very complicated. There is a tragic life drama on him”. And who didn’t know Saansa’s great spell of predicting the future? It was going to be naïve for them to brush out his story just like that. For had it not been the very Saansa, who long, long time ago, had talked of the great battle and famine? And didn’t the predicted things occur?
It was barely two years after Saansa had breathed out his warnings, that the dark people across the Zambezi River – the Balumbu came and conquered the plateau. Those who had survived had to come back from hiding to start afresh. Then a great famine had rocked the area in deep seas of death. People had consulted Chifumpu the rain maker but it seemed as though his great spell was sterile as well.
It was not until two seasons that the rains came. And it was at this very period too when people were disappearing in thin. Luckily enough, as if manna had fallen from heaven for those who had remained, the rains were good and they had a bumper harvest.
That was ages ago; the time when people could speak to their ancestors eye bow to eye bow; the time when pig-skinned strangers were beginning to penetrate the thick jungles of the Plateau. Word had already pervaded the whole Tonga land that a bald headed tall White man had put a marking pole near a big dry tree known by tribesmen as cinkuni. Two weeks later, the Whiteman had constructed two shelters made of sisal tents. People had to cross the streams and ridges just to see this peculiar village in the plateau. They were amazed and shocked. The white-skinned man was putting a home at the most feared place in the village.
“O Mukuwa – Whiteman! This is a ghostly place. It’s a shrine of bad-omen. Witches, hags, thieves, evil-spirit possessed people, leprosy patients, murderers and many others connected with evil were buried around this place; and you want to put a home? You won’t last long badaala” the plateau people had sternly warned.
But Fr. Joseph had gone ahead. From two tents he included four more and they became six. During Sundays he would patrol the plateau preaching the Good News to the people as if all they knew before was bad and evil. Some people had followed him, others had seen calamity in him. The likes of Chimimba had held his religion by its roots. Together they had talked of Salvation and Hell; of Eternal Life and Death. In barely three years a Mission Station was fully set up. Fr. Joseph called it Kakuni Mission.
The place became popular thereafter. Even people from as far places as the hills of Kuvuna – meaning protector, in the east where they used to seek refuge during tribal battles had to walk to Fr. Joseph’s station. This place was so hilly that it protected people from tribal wars. They would run to it, climb hills and secure their lives. Their spiritual dedication had persuaded Fr. Joseph to discuss with Nuns under his Movement on setting up a Mission Station there too. Their talks were fruitful and a year later Kavuna Mission was set up.
That was years and years far gone. The days when Chimimba who later became a priest under the name of Fr. Domingo, used to sing:

Fwala Joseph Mukondo
Imukondo utuulubi

Fr. Joseph don’t forget
The path
The very path you
We shall all get lost as well.

Now Kakuni Mission was a centre of Christianity and high learning. Plateau children went by foot others by road to get the Whiteman’s wisdom. Their school was called St. Cosmos College. It enrolled boys only; while Kavuna Mission opened up St. James Secondary School for girls only. From Maziilika to both places was a distance worthy traveling. Most plateau sons and daughters just heard about these famous stations. Only a few privileged ones had set foot on them to see the Whiteman’s wonders in the middle of no where. And they were these people who came back to the village with a lot of spiced up sweet stories to breathe to their clansmen and women.
Long before Fr. Joseph came to the plateau, Saansa the great seer had talked about the two stations; but as they say ‘seeing is believing’; the people had given him deaf ears. When Fr. Joseph arrived and later set up Kakuni Mission on the filthy land, the villagers had their eyes opened up. Saansa’s words echoed in their ears: “He will have power against our gods; Power against evil and power against our beliefs. Some of our clansmen will join him”.
For sure nothing happened to Fr. Joseph and his followers. And now Saansa the great seer had said that Muunga was a rich man in some place unknown. People started to doubt his prowess in seering. Had he too humbled himself to this norm they call Christianity? How could a great seer who could see the future as it unfolded to him, fail to spot out the place where Muunga was? A big question mark bent in their thoughts.

* * *

After putting the pail of water in the cooking hut, Namweemba heard a call from her father-in-law. Quickly she as per custom took a reed amt and went with it to answer. She spread the mat on the ground about a meter from where Munjile was seated and freely but shyly sat on it. Munjile cleared his throat, looked at her and spoke: “Eh, I thought I should tell you this, my daughter”, he dropped his head as he scribbled something unreadable on the ground. “I think you know very well that the time we had been waiting for is up. Your husband isn’t back yet and no one knows when he will come back because no one knows where he is and what took him wherever he is”. He looked up at her, his eyes shimmering with suppressed tears.
“Yes…” Namweemba answered in a choked tone.
“Therefore my daughter I no longer has a hand on you. Your parents are now having all the powers on you. As we agreed earlier with your relatives, you should leave for your parents rest of the traditional nitty-gritty will be discussed later when we meet with your family members. If he comes back then we can inform you the soonest. I am sorry, but we can’t help it my daughter. We just follow what tradition dictates”.
Namweemba started to sob. Tears dripped down to the mat. She tried to wipe them with her dress collar, but the more she did so the more of them ran through the piece of cloth soaking it as if it has been left in water for a while. Munjile felt pressed hard in his heart. A queer feeling ran down his veins and little drops of tears appeared on his eyelashes of the lower brows. A drastic pain of sympathy held his heart so much that he couldn’t breathe normally. He had to force the air out of the lungs, thus producing a loud hissing sound as air passed out of his nostrils and he sighed deeply with confused relief.
He tried to speak, but no word came out and he just lowered his head in a shameful manner. Namweemba calmed down, stood up, got the mat and headed to her hut. He looked at her as she walked away. Out of sympathetic feeling, a curious feeling intervened. It was so powerful and urging that it stiffened his manhood and he felt an erogenous elation sweep through him. He stood up from the stool and walked about the place; looked around as if searching for something at a distance. He then realized that his wife and two daughters left early in the morning to a neighboring village for a visit while the three boys had just left for hunting in the bush.
Dazed with an unconscious sting he came back to his stool and sat; but the erotic throb seemed to have tied him so much. As if one possessed, he magnetically jerked up from the stool and headed to Namweemba’s hut. Without announcing his presence with hodi, he stooped under the low entrance of the hut; and he was hardly completely inside the hut when he came face to face with a completely naked Namweemba who was about to change in other clothes.
Bemused, Namweemba got transfixed to her position like a Bat struck with lightening on a wall. The drama was too quick and unexpected to be true. She was as mute as a dumb; no word neither power for any slight movement. She did not even have any sense of reason to put her hands on her bare lower front. She just stood helplessly like a sacrificial lamb ready to submit to its master’s wishes.
Munjile tried to smile but the skin of his face wouldn’t move. He looked at her straight into her skin, his eyes so globe like a cat stalking its prey. Out of his senses he didn’t even realize he was talking: “Let me help you. I won’t harm you my dear. I know very well that you are sexually lonely. Muunga could be dead by now but we can solve the mystery together. I hope you have heard about my sexual spell. Its ever lasting and you won’t be starving once I offer it to you. Just lie down friendly”. Namweemba felt as if she was in a nightmare. She started to heave, her eyes looking past him, tears rolling down her smooth cheeks down her lips and dripped to the floor.
Then he pounced on her. As she was about scream, he spat a ball of dark saliva on her lips and she went confusedly mute. He forced her to the mat on the floor and forced himself on her. As the ball of saliva dried up, she came back to senses and recognized all what was going on between her and her father-in-law; but her body was already willing as a gratifying ooze of ecstasy prickled her as each orgasm took turns to tickle her in silent yells and moans. She held her hands round him so tightly that she even forgot the person to whom she had been forced to offer her innocent being.
It all happened like a fairy tale to her. As he dressed up and left the hut, she felt completely different. She wasn’t herself anymore. His sexual spells swam into her blood streams like medicine meant to cure some sort of a virus. Munjile was notorious for that the whole of plateau. Once he shook hands with a woman he dreaded in having sex with, that would be it; and Namweemba seemed to have joined the line of those innocent victims of the situation. She dressed up feeling so weak, restless and awful. She blamed herself for nothing; may be if she had not gone in the hut all this wouldn’t have happened; may be if she had just left this place to her parents some back she would have been served from this shameful incidence; may be if she wasn’t born all together; her stomach was so soft and weak to take it all. She was embarrassed and ashamed of herself. What if she is pregnant? What will she narrate her ordeal and who will believe her? She wept her lungs out; scratching her head madly and cursing the day she was born. She haphazardly packed her belongings in a nylon bag; tears flowing all over her face; looking so haggard, she trotted out of the compound heading east to her parents’ home as if one running away from a mysterious creature behind.


Born of Silence

by Mazuba Mwiinga

“….very soon she will have a baby girl.
You will divorce your sister and marry your daughter.
Your son will give your daughter a child and you will kill your son;
but strangers will suffer for the death of your son
and you will Scot freely go off the murder case……”

This is the main triumphs of this complex novel.
The claims come to appear neither meaningless nor arrogant.
What seems to be a straightforward seering
becomes an intricate puzzle that casts scales in Chinkuli’s eyes.
The scales only drop when it is too late.

Mazabuka Times newspaper

Published by; Zubie PR Media Solutions, Box 60628, Livingstone, Zambia. Email:

Copyright: 2008 Mazuba Mwiinga

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews and for the purpose of teaching and or learning.

Printed and bound in Zambia by Monze Printing Press; Health Help International, PO Box 660154, Monze, Zambia. Telephone: 021-3-250641 or 021-3-205845 Email:

So when the war came, he was glad and sorry,
But soon enlisted;
Then his mother cried a little and his father boasted how he’d let him go though needed for the farm……

So crown him with memorial bronze among the older dead,
Child of a mountainous island
Wings of a tarnished victory shadow him
Who born of silence, has burned back to silence.

James K. Baxter: ‘Elegy for an Unknown Soldier’

Chapter 1

It was just after midday on a Sunday. The sun was shooting its hot rays mercilessly over living things. Cicadas were screaming to death in bushes. Dogs never barked even when a strange figure crossed their eye sight for they lay shamelessly tired under cool shades of food barns and leafless trees. Cocks and hens crooked in their pens as doves were only heard by their proud murmurs up in nests. Boys sat aimlessly on stools in shelters, their chests as naked as a live wire. Old men were already snoring on their sack mats while women sat on their reed mats carelessly trying to allow any chance of cool air to find its way to their skin. It was such times when they cared less about the dressing manners of the village. From a near distance, goats were the only menace of the land. They blurted like a kid placed in hot water as they raced from one end of the village to the other seeking refuge from the burning mantle of the sun. The village at this point was as dead in life as when people receive bad news.
At this lonely hour, some man dared west ward following a beaten path. Had he met people on the way they would have wondered. He took after a jungle man. He was hideously fearful. His face was scratched so much that someone’s guess of having been battling with a wild beast would not have been argued much. The head wore deep cuts which exposed thick tissues of red flesh.
Staggering he walked on; all alone in an area that seemed not to have harbored man for along time. Rats ran away in amazement. Surely it was a wonder for them. For some time now, they lived along this path undisturbed. They might have asked “where is this creature going?” They couldn’t get a reply of-course; for he too seemed not to have known. He was a wanderer. Such purposeless walking-about had been his routine; at least for sometime now.
By his looks, he was deeply absorbed in confused thoughts. Relatives have aborted his mission. He hasn’t fulfilled his promise. What will his mother say when they meet in a village of no return? How will he explain all this? He shook his head in disgust. He just wanted to inquire about his sister; but to be awarded these death-signing scares. ‘Oh life thou shall not be so cruel to me’. He thought.
He walked on aimlessly, covering a distance he wouldn’t even calculate. What he only knew was that the sun was now bending towards the western dome and he hasn’t come across any village or home. The area was high, bushed and stony. May be he couldn’t just see the villages. Can a man so badly in a state of manner be able to recognize a stranger’s home? Not when the sun still promised life.
As he walked on, the thought of his friend Hachilongwe crossed his medulla. But alas, the only best and honest friend was dead. Soon may be they would meet again in the land where they sup grasshopper soup.
He was thirsty and hungry; but where was he to find water and food. It was like wishing to ride on a dead horse. The path was isolated; but still more it was better to rest with God at someone’s home than to be feasted on by rapacious carnivores.
As the sun showed its last streaks of light, he came to a wide opening. His heart missed two beats. He was terrified. His eyes could see the end of the world as it met with the falling sky at a distance. Yes, he had come to the end of the world. Soon he will see his mother and friend Hachilongwe. He stood irresolutely and examined the New World. It was spiritually silent and deadly in forlorn. Then he thought he saw a flicker of light at a distance. Then a strip of dark oiled smoke curled up strangely and vanished in mid air. ‘A ghost?’ he asked himself thoughtfully.
He couldn’t mind at this point he had come to. At twenty-five, he was a man or two and regarded ghosts as creatures to scare kids and women. He dare-devilry soldiered towards his discovery. ‘Where there is fire’, he thought, ‘there is life’. It took him an hour to arrive at the place. As he walked the distance horizon ran away from him too. So were flames of fire. But he never threw up the sponge on his attempted hopes. ‘Loss of hope is for women’, he thought. Hasn’t after all the adage Mulombwana Munyati – a man is a buffalo, meant for him?
As night covered the plain, waking up nocturnal creatures to life, he came to the source of the fire. It was in fact a home. Three huts built abreast each other. A big one presumably for the owners of the home stood in the northern side of the compound. A small one may be for children or visitors was erected in the afar south end. The one with poles as a wall completed the file in the middle. It served as a cooking place. An aluminum pot was placed over fire when the visitor arrived; a tall slander woman squat on a mat beside the heath. He walked in the yard and announced his presence.
“Hodi!” The woman peered in the mirages of the night towards the man. Having not recognized him, she came out; but still the man turned out to be a stranger to her. She went back in the hut to return with a stool in her right hand. She handed it to him. The man reluctantly received the stool and immediately dropped it to the ground and sat with all his relieved force. Squatting before him, she greeted:
“Kwasiya”, he replied.
“Kwasiya buti”, she continued.
“Kabotu kwasiya buti”, he responded.
“Kabotu”. Then a silence of assessment swept across. For sure traditional wisdom after all says that Masiku taabanwi Nyama; meaning you cannot share meat in the night.
“Tumugwasye na – what can we do for you?” she asked; her voice suppressing a wave of tremor.
“Eh – I am going to the river in the west but I have been caught up by night. I am asking for lodging; just for tonight”, the man requested. She looked at him. A cutting fever ran through her swiftly. She shivered slightly and cleared her throat to distract it. The request came as a big joke to her.
“Um, am sorry we can’t do that. All our huts are well occupied. May be you try further in the west”, she refused her voice full of agility.
“Please no bacembele I am so tired. I can’t walk further tonight. I need to rest. Just for tonight”, he pleaded. But the woman stood her grounds.
“Honestly speaking my dear this place isn’t good enough. We fear strangers more than we fear wild animals. How do we trust you? It’s so late in the night. We can’t even see you properly”
The refuse and plead conversation was still at its peak when Mweemba the owner of the home arrived. “Bina Doombe who are you talking to?” he called as he entered the compound from the southern end; his voice rusty with alcohol.
“We have a visitor asking for somewhere to sleep for tonight. He is going to Butwa”, Bina Doombe explained. Mweemba couldn’t stomach such unfathomable requests. He looked at the man quizzically and in a drunken stupor snappily commented, “You have a sunken face like that of a monkey. Sorry my man, we have no rooms for monkey faced strangers like you. You better move on before it’s too late”.
But the visitor was unshaken. He remained on the stool his face down like one in deep prayer. His head enclosed a wise thought; Kasako nkojisi nkalimvunyo ka Nzoka – a stick in your hand is a protection against snake bite. He vowed never to leave the home he had already grasped for a secured rest. And he knew pretty well that victory only comes to those who persist in the struggle.
After a prolonged debate; almost giving up, the visitor requested Mweemba and his wife to allow him sleep in their compound yard; but that too wasn’t good for them. Mweemba in fact said it was more risky than giving him a room to sleep. “You want to torch our huts in the middle of the night. No my man, just get up move on”, he seriously commanded.
“Then you tie my both hands and legs and put me somewhere around here if you are so scared of me. All I want is to spend my night at someone’s home for safety”, the man suggested. Mweemba, tired of a further argument thought of it as the only solution to their problem. “I have never seen such a stubborn man like you. Who are you by the way?” Mweemba asked as he walked away towards his hut to collect sisal rope he had bought recently from a trader at a beer party.
“I am Mweene. I come from the Hills”. But Mweemba could hardly hear the last part of the man’s sentence for was already approaching his hut. A few seconds later he appeared with a red three meter sisal rope. He tied the man up, and with his wife Bina Doombe holding the legs, him the hands they carried the man to the small hut in the southern end of the compound. Once inside, Bina Doombe spread a sack on the floor on which they laid him and she covered him with a tattered smelly old bed sheet.
Mweemba closed the door and locked it with a pad lock. To leave no room for doubts, he tied the door locks with a barbed wire. Sure of security, they thereafter left for an evening meal.

One Dark Night

by Mazuba Mwiinga

Chapter 4

Jack and James, the two young merchants from Monze town decided to leave after staying for two weeks in Chikuni village at Hamooya’s home.

It was a dull Friday morning. The sky was so silky and smoky that one would not see the rounded ball of a sun shoot out from the eastern azure properly. James was up early, sorting out the clothes in a bundle as he whistled a famous traditional tune he had come to love so much.

Sunu tindoona ndali kulila mooye wangu ku dolopo…….
Bwaca biyo ndaunka nkabone kamwale wangu nobeenzuma….

Amundileke ndaambe nkaambo moyo wangu ulacisa ndamuyeeya muna miindi

I couldn’t sleep tonight
For I was just dreaming of my town sweetheart
Let morning come, and I will travel to see my love

Don’t stop me… let me talk because my heart is at pain
At just the thought of my darling…..

He would smile to himself and giggle like a small girl impressed with her school performance. Though the day had started on a low note, James was excited leaving the village in anticipation to meet his town friends and his beloved darling; a bottle of Mosi Lager. Out side the hut, the dogs were howling unknown cries at something James would not mind paying attention to. His mind was in town; only the body was doing him injustice standing there in a hut full of lizards and mosquitoes.

Beside him was spread a reed mat they used as a bed. On it Jack was covered from toe to his last hair with a chitenge wrapper they used as a blanket. He was snoring loudly like one who would not wake up. James didn’t like this noise. It disturbed his castle-building-in-the-air so much that he felt like pulling him up and throw him out of the hut. But he couldn’t dare do that or he should have been prepared for a very tough tag of war with his friend Jack. But he would not spend a lot of time waiting for him to get up and prepare for the journey before they finally start off. So he decided to wake him up.

“Jack! Wake up man, its morning”, James shouted, but Jack was as still as a log of a fresh tree put as a cordon. “Jack!” he called out again. “What’s wrong with you? You better be up or we shall be late in time for transport to town.” But James seemed to have been talking to himself for Jack never breathed out any single bit of a sound in response.

Ignoring, James went outside the hut to relieve himself in the near by shrubs for almost half an hour. When he came back in the hut, Jack had not showed any signs of life. Worriedly James bent his head towards the pillow but he could not be sure of his instincts. Panicking, he pulled up the chitenge wrapper from Jack’s head as he called out his name. “Jack! Jack!” but Jack was as mute as a mule. He then stood legs apart and shook Jack’s shoulders shouting in his ears to wake up. And out of a mixture of anger and fear, Jack leapt out of the mat like a charging Hyena and bumped his head into James’ left cheek, who went wildly shocked with apprehension as the force of gravity pulled him back so mercilessly and left him rest his back on the bundle of clothes to his utter luck.

“What the hell is wrong with you Jack?” From the bundle of clothes, James barked.

“What’s wrong with me? You want to know what is wrong with me? How dare you shout into someone’s ears as if you are mad?!” Standing akimbo, his eyes red with disturbed sleep, Jack furiously hissed.

“For how long could I wait for you to respond to my waking you up? Eh? I have been calling and calling you several times but you slept there like a dead monkey!”

“Why shouldn’t I be sleeping? Cant you see that its still night now?” Jack responded, his breathing so heavy as if someone from a marathon race.

“You should be ashamed of yourself Jack. Look outside and tell me what time it is. Come on go and look outside”, James insisted, but Jack just yawned widely, stretching his hands along as he said, “Oh, its so pale outside. I am deceived to thinking that its still night”.

“You fold that chitenge of yours and park it in the bag”.

“Why, James?”

“Why? What’s the matter with you Jack?”

“Is it a problem to ask why I should park the chitenge? Come on don’t be so thick headed James”.

“Didn’t we say we are leaving for town today?” James asked.

“Well, well, well, so that’s anger huh?” Jack snapped. “You should just have said it in a manner that bestows a gentleman my friend. Why the anger when you are going home?”

“I am not annoyed Jack. Your manners are irritating me. Come on now, park the chitenge and your clothes we are running out of time. You know that transport is a very big problem here”.

That was their life; arguing so nastily that some times they would reach a point of breakage. But a few minutes later, they would be back together again. Jack was a rough short-cut talker while James was too much into diplomacy. They cleaned the hut and then James started to talk about how he missed the town and their regular place Chakos Pub; but Jack very un interested walks out of the hut as if one possessed with a fetish feeling.

After having their morning meal of soft nsima with sour milk, James thanked Hamooya for keeping them all this time saying Jack and his himself would be returning to the village anytime soon. Hamooya reminded them that every time they would be in the village, his family would be very much willing to accommodate them for as long as they would wish to stay. Then Jack offered Hamooya a pair of shirt as a present for his family’s courtesy.

“No, no, no my son; accepting this shirt would mean I have charged you for staying in that good-for-nothing hut. Its ok my son, you travel well”.

“It’s not a fee ba Hamooya. This is just an appreciation for your kindness. Please accept it so that we can go with pleased hearts too”, Jack insisted.

“You see Jack…” Hamooya said but James cut him short, “No, ba Hamooya. Jack is right. We are not paying for your hospitality. This is just a gesture of good will”.

Hamooya accepted the shirt from Jack and a pair of trousers from James. Then Jack again donated a head wrapper for Lubono and a mini skirt for Bridget both of whom were absent at home. Happily, Hamooya asked them to stay for another week if they could, saying, it would be better they leave after selling all their merchandise. Jack quickly supported the idea adding that after all it was just Wednesday they could even leave over the week end. Diplomatically but with full force, James refused explaining to Hamooya that they had some pressing personal matters they needed to urgently attend to in town.

“What urgent matters are you talking about James? Ba Hamooya is right by saying that we stay for just another week so that we could do away with all these clothes we have”, Jack seriously suggested. But James told Jack that he didn’t mean ba Hamooya was wrong, but that it was much better for them leave now so that they could see Doombe who owes them money before he left town.

“Ok you can go alone my friend and you will find me so that I try to sell these remains”, Jack put his thought across.

“No, Jack we need to go my friend. Both of our signatures appear on the credit form we signed so we both need to be there” James explained further. Avoiding an argument, Hamooya bade them farewell advising them to remain hard working and committed to their work.

Jack and James left; James leading the way unhappily asking Jack why he was wishing to remain behind when they have some work to do in town. But in response Jack accused James of being unrealistic and unthankful for the offer Hamooya had given them after all what he did for them.

“No Jack”, James said stopping, giving Jack his back. “I was not unrealistic in anyway at all. I think I smell a rat in your brain”.

“What! A rat in my brain you say? What are you trying to imply James?” holding James’ right shoulder with his right hand, Jack confusedly asked. “Tell me, what do you mean by that James?” But James let his thoughts be a question of reflection. He started walking telling Jack to speed up his steps or they would miss their transport to town.

NOTE: This is an eleven Chapter novel. Continue blogging and you will read it for free in the next coming weeks.

Copyright © 2008 Mazuba Mwiinga

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews and for the purpose of teaching and/or learning.

Published by Zuu Media Solutions, Livingstone, Zambia. Email: Mobile: +260-979341855


One Dark Night

by Mazuba Mwiinga

Chapter 3

It was now a week after her deadly dream, and Bridget was still very disturbed at the whole turn of events. She had tried to puzzle it out on her own but it seemed as though the more she tried to hide her feelings the more sad and worried she became. Then she could not take it any more and thought of confiding in her friend Esther.

Esther was her child hood friend and age mate. At eighteen years old they both were Grade 11 pupils at Chikuni Girls Day High School. From the time they became companions as small girls in village Chikuni, Bridget and Esther never failed their friendship. They were as close as the buttocks and always supported and defended each other even in times when one of them was wrong. In class they were both brilliant though Esther was doing better than Bridget in most of the subjects. But this did not mean that Bridget was dull. If she wasn’t on position one then she would be at two and Esther at position one. In sports the two girls were very active and reliable as well. Because of this closeness they became known among the pupils as ‘birds of the same feather’.

On the other hand, it was not only their intelligence and activeness in sports and school work, but also their attractiveness that made them very popular not only among the pupils but also the villagers around Chikuni. Though Esther was not as beautiful as Bridget, still she was one of such up coming girls one would not manage ignore a glance when she passed. She was a grossly-skinned girl with dimples perforated on both sides of her cheeks. When she smiled her front upper teeth showed a well caved gap between the two broad front teeth. Her nose always shimmered with droplets of sweat. She had a smooth round face full of stack. Her hair was naturally dark and she always kept it pig-knotted. Her body was medially structured though her legs were a bit thick yet smooth and very calling.

Bridget was a girl you would never fail to ask for an outing even when you were a stranger or was married successfully. She was so attractive that many men found themselves gulping bulks of saliva whenever they came across her. She was naturally light in complexion. Her nose was as pointed as an ice cream cone. Her eyes were glittering like one who is about to shed tears of sympathy. When you looked at her closely she was always full of laughter. Her face was live and smooth. On both sides of her cheeks she had rightly dug shallow holes which appeared and reappeared every time she talked, smiled or laughed. This identical mark with her friend Esther had made boys and men call them ‘the twin dimples’. When she walked, her lower body structurally zigzagged from one end to the other like one who is calculating her steps. On her chest, well curved horn-like breasts protruded like a ripe cucumber. Her body always let out a scent of green guavas.

At this time of their education Bridget and Esther were already busy preparing for their Grade 12 examinations which were due in a year’s time. Bridget was always dreaming of becoming a journalist while Esther wished to be a medical doctor. That’s the reason Bridget loved Literature and English language very much while Esther’s favorite subjects were Mathematics and Biology. But now Bridget’s concentration on her studies for the past week was very low and extremely disturbed. The event she experienced lately had robed her of her happiness and flavor for life. She was worried lest something demonical happened to destroy her life completely and shutter her dreams for ever. She then thought of sharing her sadness with her favorite and best friend Esther.

It was mid afternoon when she left home to visit her friend. Esther was just about to leave home as well to buy some salt at a haggard shopping village called Mundale when Bridget arrived. Esther’s mother invited her in the house, for Esther was still dressing up in her bedroom. After her preparations Esther came out, greeted her friend and told her that she was going to Mundale to buy salt. She invited her to go along and Bridget said that she actually had nothing to do at home that’s why she had to come to spend some time with her. They then set off for the market.

As they walked talking and laughing, Esther discovered that her friend was not as participative as she was fond of. At first she thought that may be she was just being too sensitive but then she could see even on the face that Bridget was having something up her sleeve.

“Mwana are you fine? You look so down faced as if there is something troubling your mind”, Esther asked.

“Oh!” Bridget exclaimed. “I am ok Esther. It’s only that I am feeling a headache but I am fine really”, she added.

“No Bridget. You have been a long-time friend and I have come to know you very well. If you don’t tell me, who are you going to tell? Anyway may be I am just being judgmental I am sorry”, Esther replied.

“There is nothing to be sorry about mwana. That’s why I have come to you”, Bridget said as she stood looking at Esther worriedly.

“Don’t tell me that you are …..”

“No I am not pregnant Esther. You know I have never had a boy friend in my life before”.

“But what is the problem mwana? Are you sick?”

“I don’t know how to explain it Esther. I am very puzzled and worried.”

“Why? What is puzzling and worrying you Bridget?”

“It’s this dream I had last week my friend.” Bridget said, and started narrating her ordeal to Esther in all details and colors. Esther was quiet for sometime after Bridget finished talking and then reassuringly said, “Oh, Bridget this is just a dream; its, one of those biological developments happening to our bodies. You know that you have never slept with a man in your life before and you are now running to nineteen. Such experiences are common to us females. Maybe you have been thinking a lot about sex of late. Have you forgotten your Biology notes?”

“No Esther. I have never had time to think about men and their dirty games before. More over, I have never admired any man in my life. I value school more than anything. But what happened last week was more than just a dream Esther. I am very convinced about it”, Bridget lamented.

“But did you tell your mother or any elderly woman about it?”

“How do I tell them Esther? They will just give me the same answer as yours. May be worse than what you have just told me. Anyway I don’t really know what to do now. I am confused and worried”.

“I am very sure too Bridget that this is just a mere dream. Don’t just be afraid of anything because nothing will happen believe me mwana”.

“I can’t believe you on that one Esther. I went to bed dressed in my usual clothes but to wake up stack naked. Not even a pant! And you tell me that I was dreaming? No my friend I have never seen dreams that undress people. Not even a wet dream mwana. Its mysterious and confusing”, Bridget complained.

“Bridget, don’t demean your Biological knowledge. Have you forgotten that there are people called dream walkers? They can be walking for long distances without knowing what is happening to them. Some in the process can even undress themselves and walk back home, enter into blankets and sleep as if nothing has ever happened. It’s possible that something of this kind did happen to you mwana”, Esther insisted, this time more serious than before.

They reached the shops and went into No One But You Shop where Esther bought what she went for and they walked back home talking of different issues and tissues about school, family and girls’ nitty-gritty.

As they were about to part company a young tall man who had been following them from a distance all along caught up with them. He greeted them and Esther asked him why he had been trailing them.

“Me, trailing, you? It was not me”, he refused.

“I saw you Ben. You have been following us from home I just didn’t want to tell Bridget. It’s only that I did not recognize you at first until now”, Esther argued.

“I saw him as well I just didn’t care about it anyway. I thought he had his own way as well”, Bridget chipped in.

“So, how are you the twin dimples?” Ben asked.

“We are not twin dimples James. What’s your problem?” Esther replied.

“Where are you coming from anyway?”

“You know where we are coming from because you have been following us. Why do you want to pretend?” Esther remarked.
“Bridget what’s up? You look so upset. That’s not the way you are. Are you sick?”

“Hey it’s none of your business Ben. Why don’t you just pass, the way is here please”. Esther said.

“My, heavens! I am not talking to you Esther. Am I? I am talking to Bridget madam”, Ben protested.

“So what! She is my friend.”

“Her being your friend is not a guarantee that you are her spokesperson. Are you? Bridget is she your mouth piece?”

“Mouth pieces are my lips Mr. Sir”, Bridget answered. Looking at Esther she said; “Boyi I am taking this way. Let me rush home or else mum will be angry at me.”

“Okay my friend but please remember what I have told you. Don’t put it in your thoughts.”

“Bet on me boyi I have taken care of your words thanks very much, I am at least relieved now”, Bridget said.

“Don’t mention it my friend. What are friends for anyway”, Esther replied as she walked away leaving James standing near Bridget.

“Can I escort you?” Ben asked Bridget.

“What for? I am not afraid of walking home alone, moreover its still daylight. No thanks”, Bridget refused and started walking as Ben followed behind. Fearing suspicions from the public Bridget stopped and asked him what he wanted from her. Ben asked why she had not said anything on the letter he had written to her.

“What did you want me to say? The letter was just expressing how you feel about me. Or you wanted me to say thanks for all those silly compliments?” Bridget remarked.

“I am sorry if at all I offended you. But there is nothing I can do. I said in the letter that I love you. And every man who puts such a statement to a beautiful girl like you expects an answer but you have been quiet.” Ben explained.

“What do you mean you love me Ben? Is this one of the misplaced words in your mouth? Why don’t you go and tell it to your mother or your sister if you are in love with it? Love to me means nothing. Moreover I don’t love you Ben. Are you satisfied now?”

“Listen Bridget, it’s not a matter of satisfaction here; it’s an issue of affection, care, need, passion, like, fond of, dying for, no sleep at night, longing for you. It’s all about crying for your presence in my life Bridget. Understand me please. I love you more than the word itself. I can’t remove you in my mind and thoughts. I know you hate me; but why should you do that? Why Bridget, when I have never offended you in my entire life so far, apart from just expressing my deeper feelings about you. Look, luck knocks once at a person’s door. And it’s up to the owner of that home to either open the door or not. But there are people on this earth my dear who opened doors to strangers without knowing that they actually were inviting Angels in their homes.

“Look here my dear girl. Whoever you are or whatever you do, when you really want something it’s because that desire originated in the soul of the universe and it’s your mission on earth to fulfill it. You must understand that love never keeps a man from pursuing his destine. If he abandons that pursuit, it’s because it wasn’t true love; the love that speaks the language of the village. No reason Bridget is needed for loving. One is loved because one is loved. Sometimes Bridget, we really have eyes but are too blind to realize what we are doing. It’s only after we have fallen that we wake up and see what has happened to us. I know you are so beautiful that almost every man in this village wishes to have you to themselves. But it only takes a little bit of humbleness and critical thinking to see who is genuine and who is not.

“I have personally seen beautiful girls like you Bridget, so pompous and proud about their beauty, become laughing stock of the village because of their choices. They used their beauty as an anchor for survival. It’s only now or never my dear. You don’t know what tomorrow brings. If you are not careful you will just get pregnant to a mad man who will not even take care of your child. Make hay when the sun still shines. Every blessing ignored becomes a curse because life is generous to those who pursue their destiny. Remember that everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time. No matter what he does, every person on earth plays a central role in the history of the world. And normally he doesn’t know it. Today I may look and act like a fool but tomorrow you will remember my words. I have said this…………..”

“Shut your beak Ben!” Bridget thundered angrily. “That’s enough nonsense to me. Go. I say go! I ………

“I will not leave until you tell me something. If you don’t then I will follow you up to your home and ask your mother or father to let me talk to you”.

“What!? That’s a joke I hope”

“I never joke in this way. I am damn serious and I am going to do it. Tell me off so that I leave you in peace”.

“Okay Ben, listen; you have told me a lot of things. And I am too confused to think over them. Give me time and I will come back to you. Are you now happy?”

“I trust you Bridget and I expect you to do so accordingly. If you don’t come back to me I will come back to you. Good night and have more sweet dreams baby…. ”, Ben said and turned to go.

Bridget looked at him as he disappeared behind the tall grass. The sun was by now going down towards the western hemisphere. For the first in her life she came to admire him. She did not know that he could talk so much sense as she thought he did now. Sometimes she was finding herself in such dilemmas of hating men without any reason in particular. She was increasingly becoming worried that may be she had a feminine problem. She walked home feeling lonely and worried about her past dream. Ben’s words scared her very much. It’s like he knew what happened to her in the night two weeks ago. Could he be the one who had come to her?

She silently walked home trying by all her mental thoughts to puzzle out the worries she was carrying. What if it wasn’t just a dream but a real act of sex while she slept? And what if it turned out that she is pregnant or maybe infected with these diseases? How will she tell the tale to all those who showered her with blessings of being a good girl? At this point she could not fathom such thoughts. Tears of sorrowful fear and worry dripped down her cheeks freely. The thoughts were too strong and disturbing to be let go. But what choice did she have in this matter? It seemed that all her life spirits were too far away on a journey unknown to manage to come to her rescue.


Chapter 2

by Mazuba Mwiinga

Village Chikuni was covered by the morning sun rays which were cozily shinning brightly over creation. Birds were happily singing in trees, well-coming the sweet smelling breeze from the east, as cocks crowed announcing their survival from the night jars while hens crocked in homesteads as if announcing how wonderful their sleep was. Animals on the other hand were mooing in kraals and insects bursting out in squeaking irritating noise. Women were seen walking up and down stream, their heads carrying pails of water as their wooing voices were being carried away with the morning dew. The homesteads were already filled up with flying dust as girls swept compounds to make sure before visitors moved about; it was all neat and tidy.

At Hamooya’s home the wife Lubono was busy washing kitchen utensils as her daughter Purity was sweeping the compound. Her last born child Dan was already at the kraal milking the cows in readiness for the morning meal. Her husband Hamooya had left home before sun rise to check on his friend in another village about the sale of an animal that was not feeling well of late in his kraal.

After sweeping the compound Purity took a pail and headed to the east to draw water at the Well. Her mother prepared fire at the heath in the grass thatched kitchen. By then the sun was shooting smilingly far away from the eastern dome. “Dan!” she called out from the kitchen. But Dan could not hear. “Dan woo…” she repeated. And from the kraal Dan answered in an occupied voice, for at that moment he had put the cow’s nipples into his mouth gulping stocks of milk direct from the cow’s adder.

“Can you please hurry up we are running out of time”, she said.

“I am coming mama.” He replied. And talking to himself he remarked, “This cow is stupid. It has hidden the milk”. He lifted the Can with milk and walked to the compound. His mother asked him to sieve the milk and boil it as she prepared nshima. Then Purity entered the compound her clothes soaked with water to her brother’s surprise. “Why is your dress so wet Purity?” Dan asked.

“Why do you ask as if you don’t know that water makes things wet”, she snappily answered.

“Why do you answer your brother like that Purity. He is concerned, that’s why he asked. When are you going to grow up? I thought those things protruding on your chest are not horns but signs of maturity”, her mother unhappily remarked.

“That’s how she is. She is very naughty because no one beats her. Just wait, one day I will forget that you are my elder sister. I will whip you like a baby”, Dan said walking into the kitchen carrying a pot of milk with both hands.

“You can’t whip me you goat! Atah! Why don’t you try now and you see how I will whiz you around like a ball. Why don’t you just shut up your beak if you have nothing else to say…?” Purity angrily said.

“Purity, stop that!” her mother commanded. “Who taught you such bad manners of using such kind of language? What’s wrong with you? He was just asking you a genuine question and you bout out in anger why?”

“Dan is sometimes foolish mama. He thinks that I am his age-mate whom he can just be playing around with me.”

“Come on, go bring the table in the house and set the food outside here. Your Father will be in soon. He is going to town”.

“But where is Bridget?” Dan asked from the kitchen.

“Who is spending nights with her that should know where she is?” Purity commented.

“Purity I did not ask you okay. Did you sleep well last night? Don’t tempt me, its still morning okay”, Ben moodily warned.

“Hey people! What is going on with you? Get down to your work and stop the nonsense. Is Bridget sick? I thought she had gone to the Well to draw water. This time and she is still sleeping as old as she is? This is a taboo. Let me see her first of all”, Hamooya’s wife Lubono retorted and dashed in to the house. She went straight to Bridget’s bedroom and knocked on the door. But before Bridget could allow her in, she sprang the door wide open and stepped in. Bridget was only heard by her heavy breathing under the blankets.

Lubono moved close to her bed and shouted; “Bridget what the hell is this!” she roughly pulled the blanket from her head and Bridget screamed scarily as she tried to hide herself in her arms, “Not again please! Leave me alone! Dad! Dad! Mum! Please!” Lubono was shocked and realized something was wrong with her daughter. “Bridget! Bridget it’s me your mother! What’s the matter?!” she announced as she held Bridget by the hand trying to pull her up. Bridget opened her eyes and they met with a bright lightened room, her mother gazing at her surprisingly worried.

“Oh it’s already morning?” she said full of embarrassment on her face.

“Are you fine Bridget?” Lubono asked.

“Yes mother I am very fine”, Bridget answered in a low sad voice.

“But why were you wailing so loudly calling for help when I came to wake you up?” Lubono worriedly asked.

“Me? Wailing? I don’t remember having been wailing mother. Maybe I was dreaming when you came in,” she lied.

“I hope so. But why are you still sleeping up to this time? Look at your wall clock. Its half past eight and you were in the middle of sleep had I not come to disturb you. Are you sure you are fine?”

“I am fine mother. I don’t know why I slept like a baby today. I am sorry mother”.

“Wake up and help your brother and sister working. I thought that you had gone to the Well to draw water. How does a woman like you for sure sleep so carelessly?” Lubono complained as she walked out of the room not believing what Bridget told her. She suspected very much that she might have been sick for her to react that way when she went to wake her up.

Once outside she sent Dan to call the visitors at the far end of the compound to have their morning meal.


The two visitors Jack and James were two weeks old at Hamooya’s home. On the day of their arrival they were passers by going round the villages selling second hand clothes of all types. They would be carrying heavy bags on their shoulders and spent nights at the last point of their sales when the sun sank in the west. Then as days went by they found it so tiresome carrying the heavy loads and walking long distances. They also realized that it was very risk for their business as they could be attacked at any time.

So one day as they were trading their products at a beer party, one man approached them to sample what they had.

“How much is this shirt?” the man had asked.

“Twenty pin bosses”, James had responded giving it to him.

“No twenty pin is too much”, the man had protested.

“Okay, bring eighteen pin bosses. These shirts are from South Africa they just arrived three days ago”, Jack had joined in.

“You town boys are a problem. How do I know that you just brought them three days ago? I don’t even know where South Africa is. Just give it to me I will pay you ten pin”, the man had suggested.

“Ah bosses muzatipaya manje. We won’t make any profit. We actually buy these shirts at eighteen pin. So if we sell you at ten pin then we have made a big loss. Okay just bring fifteen pin since it’s you”, James had explained. The man accepted but did not pay them saying they keep it for him and would collect it when leaving for home.

“In case we forget you since we are still new here, what is your name?” James asked.

“Oh just write Hamooya, everyone knows me here”, the man had told them and left to join his friends in drinking gaankata opaque beer. In the evening as the two traders were about to leave, Hamooya came to demand for his shirt. He told them he had only five thousand kwacha instead of the fifteen thousand kwacha agreed before. Jack refused to give him the shirt until he paid in full. He told Hamooya that just as he is a farmer they also depend on this business for survival. Hamooya told them to go to hell with their shirt saying after all he can afford a more expensive shirt in town than this one. But James intervened asking him how he would pay the balance. Admiring James’s diplomatic language, Hamooya rebuked Thomas. “Look at your friend. He knows how to talk business. It doesn’t mean that I can’t manage to buy this shirt. I have money it’s only that I have used it. So next time you do business with me, try to be business-like. So let’s go home you get your ten pin”, Hamooya had said and started walking, Jack and Thomas trailing behind.

When they arrived at Hamooya’s home it was getting late though the family members were still watching a television broadcast from a TV set powered by a car battery. Hamooya knocked at the door and Dan opened the door for him. He entered in the house and went straight to his bed room leaving Jack and James outside. When he came out of the bedroom he sat at the dinning table, washed his hands and started eating. Just as he was finishing his evening meal, Bridget came out of her room going outside. She greeted her father complaining that he has not been home the whole day.

“That’s what it means to be a man my daughter. If you stay at home the whole day idling around then, you wont feed your children”, Hamooya responded.

“Look at this shirt its nice father where did you get it?” Bridget asked.

“Ahoo! A snake finds food by walking about my daughter. I bought it from these boys who sale salaula. Oh by the way; look at my foolishness I actually came with them! They are outside. Gosh tell them to come in”, Hamooya regrettably said.

Bridget peered outside through the window and told Jack and James to get in the house. Hamooya apologized to them and without wasting much of their time gave them their money so that they leave quickly in time for looking where to spend a night. James thanked him but asked whether he can help them with somewhere to sleep just for a night since it was already very late for them to look for somewhere to lodge. Reluctantly Hamooya told Dan to clean the small grass thatched house adjacent the main house outside so that Jack and Thomas could use for a night.

After cleaning, Dan led them to the hut to sleep. James asked for a pot so that they could prepare some food before they went to bed. As Jack started cleaning Kapenta in a plastic plate, James sat beside the heath waiting for the water to boil in the pot on fire. Then he told Jack that the coming morning they should take their merchandise to a neighboring Kachenje village to sell so that they spend a night there. But Jack disagreed saying that village Chikuni was good enough for their business. He emphasized that all they needed was to find a settling place so that after their walk-about they could just go to their lodging place and rest.

“But where can we find a place here boy when we are just strangers in this area?” James asked.

“What is the problem with you James? Were we residents in Pingililo when we found a home to lodge? Even here someone can help us. We just have to ask. Why don’t you try this same man Hamooya at least you have gotten on well today”, Jack suggested.

“He looks to be a difficult man my friend. May be we try that man at the beer party”, James fearfully stated.

“That’s a sheer waste of time. Let’s just see him tomorrow and if he refuses then fine; we will look for another place”, Jack insisted. James agreed saying that it would be a good place for them to do business while residing from here since Hamooya was one of the respected people in village Chikuni. Then James out of topic remarked, “Did you see that girl? Who could she be?”

“The brown one we found in the sitting room?” Jack asked.


“It’s like she is Hamooya’s daughter. I looked at her very closely mwana. She is a baibe and a half. Her legs are as smooth as a bottle. And you know what? She had even put on a see through night dress. I could see beyond her dress”.

“Thomas, you talk as if something has already occupied your dirty mind”.

“You know James it’s very difficult to resist attraction to girls like her. She is beautiful, boy. Even in town she can be among the top five. That’s very true”, Jack said admiringly.

“Hey don’t lose your senses into things that you can not manage to have. Come and fry the kapenta I have finished preparing nsima” James advised.

“James you talk as if you don’t know me. I am capable of doing anything that my heart desires. Have you forgotten our famous town saying: ‘there is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure’. And I am far from that. We will see as days go by mwana. We just have to make sure we convince Hamooya that we stay here during this period”, Jack explained.

He then prepared the relish and they had their supper. They then chatted a bit before they retired to bed where they continued talking about their business, hardships and future plans and finally were caught up un aware by sleep.

And that’s how the two young merchants found themselves being two weeks old at Hamooya’s home.