Gov’t pressed to protect Tanzanian citizens living in Malawi

The Malawi government has been urged to protect Tanzanian citizens residing in the country who are now a target for mob justice following xenophobic attacks and the deportation of Malawians who were resident in Tanzania.

Police stabilizing the tension after some Malawians
wanted to attack Tanzanians on Monday.

“We strongly behold that all law abiding Tanzanian citizens like all people have the right to security,” a statement issued Monday by Mzuzu-based Youth and Society (YAS), Young Politicians Union (YPU) and Africa Enterprise Mission (AEM) which Nyasa Times has a copy reads in part.

On Monday, Malawi woke up to a shocking development of violent deportation of Malawians from Tanzania. Over 30 Malawians camped at Mzuzu St. Andrew’s CCAP premises looking seriously victimized and destitute.

The statement – co-signed by Charles Kajoloweka, Peter Mumba and Tiyane Nyirenda of YAS, YPU and AEM respectively – asked government tighten up security in “some vulnerable parts of the country affected by the Crisis such as Mzuzu where tensions are rife” and also furnish the general public on the current happenings between the two countries.

“Malawians deserve to know the urgent measures their government is employing in dealing with the crisis,” the statement further said.

But reacting to the development Minister of Information Moses Kunkuyu said no Malawian living in Tanzania with legal documents has been deported.

“Those who have been deported are those without legal documents [to stay in Tanzania],” Kunkuyu said Tuesday.

But the government spokesperson decried the beatings on some of the Malawians.

He said “we are only sad that some have been beaten up.”

Kunkuyu brushed aside rumors going viral on social media that the deportation of Malawians from Tanzania is as a result of the misunderstanding between the two countries over the Lake Malawi border.

“The deportation of Malawians has nothing to do with the Lake Malawi border dispute. Actually, Tanzania has been so cooperative on the issue.”

He added: “It is an exercise every country can conduct. It is not only Malawians that are being deported. Burundi, Rwanda and other countries have also been affected.”

Kunkuyu warned the citizenry not to take the law into their hands by attacking Tanzanians living in the country.

“That’s a responsibility of the Malawi government. No citizen can do that on his or her own,” he said.

Mnganya Mikayele Msowoya (My friend Mikayele Msowoya)

By Pius Nyondo

Pagona nkhwantha apo

Mikayele Maviyambewa Msowoya

Chikaya chake nipalapalapala

Pa Yotamu panena pala

Kula ku Mphompha

Doda lagona apa ili

Libenge kuti lichali kuthuta

Mphanyi ine nkhukhuta,

Nkhumwa na kubezera

Mphanyi ine ntchimwemwe perapera

Nkhuti bakaba banthu aba

Nyengo yila bakati bawerako waka ku Joni

Chiponde Mikayele Maviyambewa Msowoya?

Njani wakalekanga kubamanya?

Makopara bakiza nayo ndundundu

Ndipo tikakondwa nakumwa nabo

Kangala? Chipumu?

Yaye mwana wane tikamwanga tuwemituwemi

Ngati tula ukanigulilapo pa Lunzu

Akumbuka nyengo yila nkhiza ku Bulantayala

Kweni ha! Munyane uyu wagona apa uyu

Wakamba kuponya maso uku na uku

Wakamba kuzgeba na tumaswenga 

Nkhumanya cha uko bakanjililanga

Nkhanjimweranga waka ine, mwana wane

Pachoko na pachoko bakamba kulwala 

Tuvikhoso, kufumila

Tuvilonda pose na pose

Ulendo ukaba weneuwo

Ni aba bali kujigonela apa

Sono wati panyake yikaba Edzi?

Wamwana Edzi yifumelenge kochi mukaya nga ni muno?

Edzi yili ku boma na

Pa Rumphi pala

Pala pa Kanyika kusika kula

Tikumanya kuti ndiwe dokotala sono

Kweni pala ukukhumba kuti uwelele na umoyo

Nkhani ya Edzi iyi uyileke

Muleke mnganya Mikayele Maviyambewa Msowoya wapumulenge

Wamwana bakufwa bakwenera kupumula!

---This poem was inspired by a true life story.

Political parties challenge Chakwera’s ‘popularity’: ‘It’s mere excitement,’ says UDF, PP, DPP

Political parties in the country have described the popularity that has followed the Reverend Lazarus Chakwera due to his election as Malawi Congress Party (MCP) presidential candidate as “mere excitement” that will not translate into votes.

Although there has been no official survey to gauge Chakwera’s popularity, the social media and the public sphere has been awash with discussions that point to his and MCP’s increased popularity. 

Speaking in separate interviews, People’s Party (PP), United Democratic Front (UDF) and Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) have dismissed suggestions that Chakwera is gaining popularity.

Said UDF publicist Ken Ndanga: “When we [UDF] had a convention there was a lot of euphoria. The same thing with PP and DPP. So there is nothing new with Chakwera’s case. This is temporary excitement that will go away.”

He said UDF is not threatened with Chakwera, stating that UDF has its own “people centred” manifesto which will be unveiled soon.

He however noted that the coming in of Chakwera will offer the electorate a wider choice in the forthcoming presidential elections.

PP deputy publicity secretary Ken Msonda also dismissed suggestions that PP might be threatened with the euphoria of Chakwera.

“He is not a game changer in Malawian politics. He may be a game changer to MCP but not to Malawian politics. The game changer for Malawian politics is God. God is the one who made it possible for PP to take over government. So we are not threatened of him,” said Msonda.

He concurred with Ndanga on the excitement of Chakwera, saying “this is Chakweramania. It happens in politics; it happened before and soon the dust will settle.”

Commenting on Chakwera’s ideology of basing his politics on issues, Msonda said PP as a party has a similar ideology only that it might have a “few dirty players” with politics of personalities.

DPP publicity secretary Nicholas Dausi cautioned the electorate to patiently wait on Chakwera if he will stand the test of time before making their decisions.

“There is nothing unusual with Chakwera’s election. The euphoria will die. Let’s wait and see if he will stand the test of time,” he warned.

A political scientist Henry Chingaipe, while admitting that the excitement will fade with time, said the excitement might be an indicator that more people support him.

“People wanted change in MCP and Chakwera represents that change. His election explains that excitement. He might also represent change the country expects because his ideology is clear, at least as of now.

“But he may not have a walk over in next year’s elections because MCP is confined to the Central Region,” he said.

Chakwera was elected MCP president at a convention earlier this month where he beat 10 other contestants.

Mugabe argues compulsory HIV testing way to go for SADC member states

Re-elected Zimbabwean president Robert Mugabe says if countries in the SADC region are to make headway progress in combating the HIV/AIDS pandemic, compulsory HIV testing ought to be adopted.

Mugabe said on Sunday during a meeting on AIDS Watch Africa (AWA) by the Heads of State and Government chaired by newly elected chairperson, Pres Joyce Banda.

“The problem is that when it comes to HIV/AIDS testing, issues of freedom and rights come into play and yet, we force people to go for testing and vaccinations for diseases such as polio,” 89 year old Mugabe is quoted as saying by New Zimbabwe.

He challenged that compulsory testing could be the most viable way.

Mugabe added by telling fellow leaders how his idea of making available levies to those affected by the pandemic has proved to be a workable policy in Zimbabwe.

But fellow attendees to the 33^rd SADC Summit held in Malawi’s capital Lilongwe downplayed Mugabe’s suggestion.

While Botswana leader Ian Khama said compulsory HIV testing would be unbearably expensive for SADC member states, Tanzanian leader Jakaya Kikwete suggested a different approach altogether.

He said leaders should be at the fore in getting tested for HIV saying he has done it before and that the gesture has positively impacted on the mindset of Tanzanians as regards HIV testing.

“Today, over 18 million Tanzanians are tested and they know their respective status,” said Kikwete.

My Going

By Pius Nyondo 

I shall pick up a rope, of course

No treasures. Just a bunch of frustrations.

I shall not head south, this time

My crime shall not need judges,

Magistrates and lawyers.

It will be a matter of the heart, of course

A bunch of frustrations, of course

A crime of conscience, of course

A point of no return, of course

A moment for a do or die pronouncement.

I shall wait, for twilight

While seated in the heart of Chikangawa Forest

Beneath a pine tree

To make use of the rope

The K500 rope

That will define my fate

My car – the latest version of BMW models –packed

By the roadside on the M1 road shall smile and,

Thank me a bunch, of course.

For my going

Will make her rest, bring about a new beginning.

I shall feel pain, of course

May be

For sure

I shall cry, of course, but to no avail

For I will be miles and miles and miles away from the rest

Alone in Chikangawa Forest.

Friends will come, of course

To sympathize with my two week old Nancy

Poor widow!

18 year olds don’t make poor widows!

Much more when they get betrothed to

Men they never dreamed of tying a knot with.

But that will be the end

No talk about my rubbish

My accolades in sexcapading

My knighthood in beerscapading

My HIV, awarded to me as a hit-and-run goer

At Sinners Live Long Bottle store.

May be the mighty one up there

Will whisper into the preacher’s ears

To say to the crowd:

This man lying here

Was not as good as we thought, of course

He married this under aged girl

Against her will

Beat her up like a bull.

This man was not very good, of course

He was achidyamakanda

Sleeping with school going girls

Infecting them with HIV.

The preacher will be booed at, of course

For speaking ill of the dead

For talking ill of a man who

Lived a good life

Offering tithe on daily basis to the Church

Good sums.

But Nancy will smile, of course

And my soul will rest in peace

For that will be the truth

Nothing but the truth.

Just wishful thinking, anyway

For no one will be courageous enough

To say ill of the dead me

And it shall not be true at all

It will only be a dream.

Such shall be my fate

As dreamt on my reed made mat.

Backbiting at Mchinji District Council: Juniors say DC is hard

By Pius Nyondo

Back-biting–apparent recipe for disarray–has ensued among employees at Mchinji District Council who claim that the present authority District Commissioner James Kanyangalazi is not ardent in addressing their concerns, Nyasa Times has established.

According to our source, Kanyangalazi is new in town– with no more than two months old– but is already leading with a heavy hand.

“He is very hard and no one likes him,” said our source.

The source also divulged to Nyasa Times that for the two months Kanyangalazi has been at the helm, the council’s direct employees have been receiving their salaries very late.

“When he [the DC] was probed, he said the council was not collecting enough money and that they are currently thinking of reducing the number of members of staff.”

Additionally, Kanyangalazi is allegedly also denying local newsmen in the district interviews.

“I once followed up a story on the salaries and I was condemned [by Kanyangalazi] for that,” one of the reporters who works in the district said.

According to the reporter Kanyangalazi, apart from denying him interviews, has refused to give him contact details including e-mails.

But a senior official at the council who did not want to be named described the allegations as unfounded and blatantly untrue.

“That’s surely the work of backbiters. People don’t like principled men,” he said.

In a telephone interview with Nyasa Times on Friday Kanyangalazi refused to comment on both allegations and referred this reporter to Mchinji District Information Officer (DIO).

“Where are you getting all this from? I have not been in the office for the past three weeks so talk to the District Information Officer,” said Kanyangalazi before cutting the line.

When this reporter tried to call the DIO, the number he was provided with could not be reached the several times it was tried.

Hike in lodging prices crippling local participants: Lilongwe SADC Heads of State Summit

By Pius Nyondo

Local participants for the ongoing SADC summit are finding it hard to lodge in Malawi’s capital Lilongwe following a hike by service providers.

According to a snapshot investigation, the new prices which are being attributed to the influx of foreign dignitaries, the hikes are between 40 and 120 percent.

“The prices have been hiked because of the SADC hype,” said Gift Msiska, an Area 47 lodge owner.

He added that because travellers have no option but to find lodging, they, as business persons, have to grab opportunities.

The Economic Empowerment Action Group (EEAG), however, has described the development as a “bad tendency.”

The group’s chairperson Lewis Chiwalo said “We’ve to be realistic with our businesses if they are to blossom. There is also need to look at the long term plans so that we attract more customers.”

Rooms that were previously at K12 000 are now going at about K40 000 while those that were pegged at K39 000 are now at K63 000.

Earlier this week, Nyasa Times revealed that the summit has also resulted in a boom in commercial sex.

The SADC Heads of State Summit is expected to commence today.  Malawi is hosting the summit for the second time after 2001.

Malawi Pres Joyce Banda has taken over the SADC chairmanship from her Mozambican counterpart Almando Guebuza.

Celebrating the end of 2013 MSCE examinations mediocrity

Celebrating the end of 2013 MSCE examinations mediocrity

Yesterday, Malawi bus depots, across the country, were jam-packed with most Form Four students leaving for their respective homes to take a breather after sitting for the country's last national exams at secondary school level.

They celebrated. Some of them even jeered at innocent onlookers for reasons only known to themselves. But, when I observed this in the Mzuzu Bus Depot, I gnashed and ground my teeth in pain.

Weren't these learners celebrating the end of 'protected examinations' which were punctuated with leakages from day one? I use protected because that's the word the Malawi National Examinations Board (Maneb) chief Roy Hauya and National Police mouthpiece Rhoda Manjolo used when they got reports from the well-meaning public that examinations were selling like chickens in Ndirande, Chikanda, Chibavi and Pa Tomasi trading centres and many others in the country at discussable prices.

What is wrong?

Nyasa Times had, by last Friday,  reported over ten cases of this year's Malawi School Certificate of Education (MSCE) examinations but; disturbingly, nothing from either Maneb and the Ministry of Education [MoE] has been said as regards way forward.

The question that quickly comes to mind here is that: are there duty minded people who care about the welfare of tax-payers'  money at these [Maneb and MoE] institutions? It is very sad today that despite stiffening the punishment on those found flouting examination rules, cheating and examination leakages seem to be cruising for the worse. Something, somewhere must be wrong!

Or, is it that this has been the case all long but the media was not providing enough coverage? Yes, why 'too much' publicity now and 'too little' then? Should the media premise guarantee us to conclude that examination leakages are more rampant now than ever before?

But the young men and women I found in Mzuzu Bus Depot-our future lawyers, doctors, nurses and teachers-celebrated that they were done with the examinations which most of them described as 'bonya' (cheap).

Grooming a generation of cheats, illegal dealers.

Remember the arrest of 14 girls at Multipular Private Secondary School in Mzimba for illegal possession of exams? Girls, I say. Sad. I mean, what generation are we grooming? Is it not one of cheats, illegal dealers?

The more our Maneb and the MoE continue casting a blind eye on such leakages the more slowly but steadily we are teaching our young men and women to indulge in uncooth deals of all sorts. When these girls, for example, find their way to the university, they will be the same who will be putting lecturers into sexual temptations for the sake of better marks. I mean, with the examination thievery we are but tolerating as a nation, our young men and women will be the worst in corruption deals and all other crimes you can dream about.

Is that what we want for Malawi?

Way forward

In 2007, a similar case occurred. Examinations were stashed in the streets of Malawi at negotiable prices. Then, during the late Pres Bingu wa Mutharika era, it was directed by government that the papers which were grievously leaked should be re-written. It was done.

Now, after six years, the same has happened. Will our children be re-writing the exams at our burden. If you asked me, I think the whole process is own its own extravagant of our hard-earned resources. If Masiteni Joyce Banda's government decides to replicate the 2007 saga, it should be prepared to provide 'our' cash for extra printing costs, water and electricity bills in our secondary schools and allowances for supervisors and their teams. Now, that's a fortune that could otherwise help build a simple bridge or two for the people of Mwamkumbwa in Chitipa or buy beds and matresses for that hospital in the Veep's Mzimba district.

Granted, I feel like something else other than re-writing the examinations should be the solution. We should sit down and brainstorm as a nation on what really is rotting up at Maneb. We just replaced Mathews Matemba with Bwana Roy Hauya not long ago. If he is proving to be incompetent why should he keep on basking in hefty allowances at Maneb at our expense?

The thing here is that some people, I am sure, have over-stayed at Maneb and might be the perpetrators of this kind of examination mediocrity. If Masiteni is really committed towards moving education standards in this country for the better, let her commission another inquiry on Maneb that will find out what's happening and let all those who will be found smelling be kicked out like she did with Ambwiye Bright Msaka and that police 'top dog'.

For institutions like Maneb, people aren't supposed to be there for long to grow wings [Let's us the Kabaka Mutesa's style of leadership here, it helps]. Once they do that, they will hammer deals with some of our trying private secondary schools in the country who will offer them hefty amounts of money-may be thrice their monthly incomes. And, who hates money? Regular changes at the institution will prevent some of these problems.

Yesterday

By Pius Nyondo

 

　

Yesterday, like an angel,

I soared over and above the skies;

Singing- dancing off my fears.

Yesterday, I tell you, I sinned,

Not even once. Yes, with my hand,

I committed the Sin of Onan.

It was not sin: I avoided an unwanted pregnancy,

STDs, HIV/AIDS, the after-the-deed guilt.

 

 

Yesterday, I learnt-from a

good Bollywood movie- that,

It is nature for life,

To begin with murder.

That, not even riders of aristocratic automobiles,

Know what the future holds.

Yesterday, as I cogitated, I realised

That we are not immortals but mortals.

I found out that, whether one likes it or not,

This is Earth, not Mars.

 

 

Yesterday, I realised that,

She goofed several times, many times.

She lied, did the same things she,

Vehemently spoke in opposition to.

Yesterday, through her, I learnt that,

Too much power corrupts too much.

 

 

Yesterday, believe you me,

I became a philosopher.

　

Zikomo Matope receives 'Midnight 2' award, promises to stop womanizing after Tembo quits politics

http://www.maravipost.com/malawi-bloggers/blogger-list/86-pius-nyondo/3765-zikomo-matope-receives-‘midnighth-2’-award-promises-to-stop-womanizing-after-tembo-quits-politics.html

We got sold

By Pius Nyondo

It was still very early in the morning, and light rain made dawn look darker than usual. My muscles rippled at the cold. I rose to my feet and let out a low guttural roar of tiredness, hunger and anger. I felt great pain all over my body, especially my chest. Pain that had emanated from my nightlong direct contact with the reed-made mat I had slept on.

I slept on a mat back home; the same kind of mat that was here. But this one did not accord me the comfort I had when back home. Back home, I had nice dreams when lying on my mat. It was not the case here. I had actually dreamt nothing. Totally nothing.

Even the floor; it was so dusty as early as it was. Mother could not leave the floor like this for a long time. She sprinkled water on the floor every time we went to sleep, and every time we woke up. From the way this place looked like, one could easily conclude that there were no mothers here. No mothers.

Where was I? I finally asked my blank mind, and expectedly, got no answer. A shiver zipped up my spine, and I felt a hollow, aching sensation in the centre of my chest. I felt like vomiting. But there was nothing I could have vomited. My stomach was very, very empty. It even produced strange noises.

Across the room, I caught sight of three familiar bodies, September, Can and Chimwemwe. With my half-opened eyes, I saw their chests rising and falling with rapid, choppy breaths. I felt like shouting, but then a voice from within instructed me not to. I was just hopeless. I was just helpless. I was weak. Yes, I could not do a thing.

What was happening? Just yesterday I had been home, with my poor mother, laughing and arguing and sniffing and sighing and shaking my head in disgust. Just yesterday I had been playing on the banks of the river that snaked through our village, moulding people, cows and cars with September, Can and Chimwemwe. It was just yesterday.

My heart raced. Could it be that mother really offered me to the man she had said wanted me to work on his farm? It was just yesterday that mother had broken the news about one estate owner who wanted children to work on his farm. Mother had said the man was nice, that the man was rich, and that the man would wipe out all our poverty if I went with him. Mother had spoken highly of the man, saying the man was God-sent.

I had sniffed, sighed and shaken my head in disgust. What about school? What about my ambition of becoming the editor of The Nation newspaper? I had asked my mother: What about her, wouldn’t she miss me? You see, I wanted to move out of my poor village at my earliest opportunity. I wanted to be like Uncle Blantyre. He owned a good car. Mother once told me he had a big house in the City of Blantyre, the largest city in our country. September and Can said Uncle Blantyre had a beautiful wife too. I wanted all that. And I couldn’t get all that by working on somebody’s farm. Uncle Blantyre did not work on somebody’s farm. He had worked hard in school.
Shoving my hands into my shorts pockets, I had walked out. I was bitter with mother for wanting to sell me off. I had ran down to the river where September, Can, Chimwemwe and I had agreed to meet.

They were not there. I waited and waited. And when they came, they all wore sombre faces. They wore worried looks. They were upset as I was, or even worse than I was.

“Why do our parents want to sell us off?” asked Chimwemwe, tears rolling down her chubby cheeks.

“Perhaps it’s because of our poverty.” I answered. “May be they want to raise money for our school.”

“Have they told you too?”

I nodded. There was a moment of silence. We talked no more. We all walked to the anthill just a few yards from the river, collected some clay, soaked it in water, and then started moulding.

“When the man comes, I’ll run away.” Chimwemwe who was the youngest amongst the four of us spoke after the long silence. “Or I will hide under my bed.”

“What if there’s a snake under your bed?” September asked her.

“I’ll scream.”

“And you think they’ll not hear you?”

“I’ll pray to God that they don’t hear me.”

“What if God does not hear you?”

Chimwemwe stopped her moulding and then, as if filled with some divine inspiration shot back.

“God hears our prayers all the time, that’s what the Sunday school teacher said.”

Another graveyard silence followed. When our moulding got less exciting, we dispersed to our homes. But with a resolution that we would all refuse if our parents asked us again to go and work on the rich man’s farm. All of us, it seemed, hungered for education which our teachers told us was the only key to success.

Chimwemwe was in Standard Four, September and Can were in Standard Five, and I was in Standard Six.

When mother asked me to go and work on the rich man’s farm once again that evening, I refused. She became bitter with. I could read the bitterness in her eyes. But then, strangely, she had told me to forget about all that. Mother had given me food, rice with chicken, which I had eaten hungrily. That was a meal that came once a year and thrice in three years, only on Christmas….

Then I don’t know what happened next.

But all that happened yesterday. Today, this morning, I could not just understand my predicament.

*****

I was about to amble out of the room when I heard heavy deadly footsteps approaching. I ran back to the mat, closed my eyes, and pretended to be dead asleep.

“Attention!” a heavily built old man forced the door open.

I was the first to open my eyes, and the first to see him. He wore his grey hair in a briskly crew cut. Clenched in his hands was a deadly machete, pointed at no one of us in particular.

“Attention!” September, Can and Chimwemwe jumped up. The looks on our faces were all weird. They were looks of shock. Looks of apprehension.

“Welcome to Lundazi and to this lovely tobacco estate,” the old man forced a smile which, still more, could not make him look any saintly. “You’ll all address me as Commander!”

“I want to see my mother! I want to go home!” Chimwemwe cried.

But the Commander, it seemed, was not the soft and sentimental type. He gave Chimwemwe a stern look, did the same to me, and then to everyone in the room. He had no heart at all.

My heart began to pace rapidly. Yes, this was it. Our parents had sold us off.

“You’re not here to cry, you small rat!” the Commander bellowed at Chimwemwe. “You’ve come here to work on this tobacco estate. I’ve paid your mothers huge chunks of money to let me have you, ok?”

It was a question directed at no one in particular, and one that needed not to be answered. The Commander then walked to the door, called out a funny name, and then a moment later a skinny young boy joined us in the room. He looked twelve or thirteen years.

“This is Jackie Chan,” The Commander said while patting the skinny young boy on the back. And the Commander went ahead. “He’s the Second-in-Command here and his orders must be obeyed without question!”
“Liar,” Can said sarcastically. “Jackie Chan is only found in movies.”

“You call the Commander a liar?” Jackie Chan snarled. He gave Can two successive slaps. Can cried disturbingly.

“Listen, we’re not here to play jokes. Should anyone try to do something fishy I’ll not hesitate but blow his or her brains out!” warned Jackie Chan, his eyes looking like those of a poisonous snake.

At his command, we walked out of the room after him. Jackie Chan was such an unusual character. The small boy did not have his shirt on as chilly as it was.

It was still relatively dark, and the morning birds were still tweeting and twittering. We walked till we reached what looked like a tobacco barn. At first, I thought we were going to have breakfast. But when I saw children of my age with plates full of fertilizer, my dream got raped.
I had not eaten for two days now, and the idea of spending another day without food really suffocated me. With the little experience I had so far, of staying with these people, it was suicidal to ask them any stupid question. Asking for food, I must confess, sounded like one of such stupid questions one would ask them.

We walked closer and closer to the shed. When the children saw us, they stopped what they were doing and started talking in low tones. They were no doubt gossiping. They looked quite young, younger than our own Chimwemwe. Yet their faces seemed to have outgrown their ages; they looked like grannies facially and children physically. They wore worn out dresses, shorts and shirts. While the condition of the girls seemed much better, as their clothes only managed to flatten their tender breasts; the situation was sad for the boys like us. Their shorts were badly torn, such that they laid bare their dirty buttocks for all of us to see.
In two to three months, I told myself, I would surely become like these boys.

“Listen everybody,” the Commander called for order, whilst Jackie Chan watched. “I’m glad to announce that we’ve been joined by new members. They’re from Kaporo, and I’m sure you’ll get to know them better as you get along.”

The Commander then turned to us. “These are your new mothers, friends, fathers, and relatives.”

As Jackie Chan and the Commander left, we joined our weary friends.

We later learnt from them that they had been on their way from school when they had met the Commander who had given them some sweets. The next time they had opened their eyes, they said, they were on this tobacco estate. They said they missed home too, and that they wanted to see their parents. They also told us that they had been on the tobacco estate for six months.
The Commander, so we were told, was a merciless man. I shuddered when our friends told us that he had impregnated one of their friends who had died because she was too young to deliver a child. We were told that the Commander had a stony heart, a wicked sexual appetite, and to sum it all, a devil's incarnate. We agreed.

“We heard a cry in there,” the boy who introduced himself as Misfortune faced me. “Was anything the matter?”

“He slapped our friend.”

“He does the same to us, sorry my friend.” Misfortune told Can.

“Is there no police around here?”

“Police?” he looked stunned, as if he had never heard of police before.

And then he told us more. There was no police around because Lundazi was very far from the district headquarters at Mzimba.

We talked and talked and talked, as we applied fertilizer. Chimwemwe was tired, so too was September and Can. It was a back-breaking job, one that even adults desisted back home.

From what Misfortune told us, escaping from this place was out of question. Even if one managed to leave the boundaries of the estate, he or she would not go further than that. Lundazi was heavily forested. Lions, tigers, elephants and many such killer animals roamed all over the place, ready to bring to death any escapee. According to Misfortune, the best was to accept our predicament.

“I’ll pray to God that my father comes back to rescue us.” Chimwemwe spoke out with the confidence of black ants.

“Where’s your father?”

“In South Africa,” Chimwemwe responded with a grin. “Mother said that he works in the gold mines.”

There was a moment of silence.

“And you, Mwayi,” Misfortune turned to me. “Where’s your father?”

“He’s dead. He died before I was born.”

Misfortune paused awhile, and shot me a pitiful gaze. “My father is dead too.”

Then we felt like members of the same family. Almost everybody's father had once been to the gold mines in South Africa. My father had died there, so too Misfortune's father. Chimwemwe, September, Can and the rest of the children we had found fathers were also in South Africa working in the gold mines.

We were, it seemed, children who were growing up with no idea of what fatherly love felt like. Children who each time went to play with peers who had their fathers around were mocked fatherless. We had all been raised by our mothers who many a time failed to get the best for us; mothers who did not really love us, and ended in selling us off.

“Do you have any idea how much the Commander gives our mothers?” I asked Misfortune.

“I don’t know,” Misfortune shot me another pitiful gaze, cleared his throat and shook his head. We kept on working. It got unusually hot. My back was aching like hell, so too was my head. I was about to sit down when I caught sight of Jackie Chan approaching us, his machete in hands.

“Listen everyone!” he shouted. “You’ll break for lunch now, and resume work immediately afterwards. I give you thirty minutes.”

When Jackie Chan was gone, Misfortune whispered into my ears, ‘We come from the same village.”

“What?” I asked in disbelief.

Misfortune nodded, putting down the plate with fertilizer.

“He’s changed badly,” he said. “He was a good boy but then the Commander taught him to smoke Chamba. He no longer regards us as friends.”

Chimwemwe, Can and September, and two other boys we had found with Misfortune, were already seated beside the plates piled on top of each other.

“Is there a toilet around here?” I asked Misfortune.

He shot me a surprised look, as if he had never been asked the question all his life.

“We do it in that river.” He said, pointing at a river that could be heard flowing just at the edge of the estate.

“You do it in the river?” Misfortune shook his head, sat down, and washed his hands.

“But we’ll not wait for you.” He said matter-of-factly.

I rushed to the river, did what was supposed to be done in a toilet and frantically walked back to the tobacco barn. We ate our meal in silence, Mgaiwa paired with undercooked beans.

“I want drinking water, where’s the borehole?” Chimwemwe asked Misfortune.

“We drink from that river.” Misfortune pointed at the same river he had told us was a toilet.

But Chimwemwe, it seemed, was too thirsty. She was already gone to quench her thirst.

*****

That night we did not sleep. Chimwemwe was convulsing and seething in pain, complaining of abdominal pains. I knew what it was. I was in Standard Six. I shouldered Chimwemwe, paused for an incoherent prayer and walked towards the door.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Misfortune asked me, utterly perplexed.

“I’m taking her to the hospital.” I shot back, Misfortune did not object. In no time I was gone.

I managed to sneak out unnoticed, crossed the river at the edge of the tobacco estate and headed southwards. I could hear lions roaring but I still walked on. Chimwemwe’s groans infused immeasurable willpower in me.

After hours and hours of walking, I heard a cough. I hid. Then I saw a man pushing a bicycle overloaded with bags of charcoal.

I wanted to tell the man that what he was doing was bad for the world. That it was contributing to Global Warming. I wanted to tell him never to fell trees carelessly again but I could not. I was afraid of him but more importantly, I needed his help.

His bicycle looked worse than the one my father owned before he had died. The bicycle my ruthless uncle had grabbed from my mother and I soon after my father had been buried. I remember we owned a YI FNG radio, a few mug cups and a large piece of land. My father’s brother had grabbed these treasures we had from us, leaving us helpless.

“Excuse me, Pa,” I heard myself saying. “Does this path lead to town?”

The man gave me a surprised look. “It does, but you can only get there tomorrow evening.”

I was terrified. The Commander and Jackie Chan would start tracking me; probably they were already even doing it now.

“Are you from the tobacco estate?” The man asked. I nodded.

“You know it?” I asked him. “Then why don’t you report the tobacco estate owner to the police for ill-treating us?”

“I would have loved to my son.”

“And what stops you?”

“Because the owner of that estate is our Member of Parliament.”

“And so?”

“We’ve tried to report him to the police several times,” the man said sadly. “But each time we’ve done so police officers have told us there’s nothing they can do.”

“Why? How?”

“I don’t know,” sighed the man. “But we all now know that our MP bribes the police and all concerned parties not to pursue his case farther.”

There was graveyard silence.

“By the way,” the man spoke again. “What’s the problem with your sister?”

“Oh,” I sighed, weighed down by distress. “I think it’s Cholera.”

The old man stopped his bicycle, offloaded his bags of charcoal, and then said to me. “Let’s put her on the bicycle.”

I sighed with relief, and joy. I hurriedly put Chimwemwe on the bicycle but then, as I set her free, the young girl sprawled to the ground.

“Chimwemwe! Chimwemwe!” I called and shook her body vigorously but it was stiff and cold.

“She’s dead,” the man said with finality, grief-stricken too.

Just then, I heard heavy footsteps approach us, the same deadly heavy footsteps I had heard earlier that morning. I did not know whether to shout or cry or ran away.