EULOGY FOR MY LIVING 'MON AMI'

“This person we are burying here today was so kind, generous and selfless.”

This is a common eulogy line at the edge of a loved one’s tomb.

True they deserve it! but did you let them know when they were alive so they can appreciate your gratitude?

I do not want to be guilty of the same transgression of exalting the dead to one friend, among many, that have made my life what it is today. Believe me, there are many people you meet in life who contribute massively to your personal development. But there are exceptional ones too!

This is a special thank you to a childhood friend, without whom I could not be capable of writing my story for public consumption. Mon ami, Enock Kaputula.

 Enock, Melania Kaputula, Kunda, and Charity Londa having fun at Delaine Kaputula's Wedding! 

In January 1981, I met Enock at Mungwi Secondary School. A brilliant, athletic, jumpy young boy, dark in complexion, always carrying with him a smiley happy face. I arrived, fresh in my brand-new navy-blue trousers, light blue shirt, and black shoes, some adorable attire I wore for the first time in my life, as I reported in Form One Yellow class. This was after surviving serious molestation a day before by those who were a year ahead of us.  Enock was in Form One Blue class.

Mungwi Secondary School had a reputation for mockery of newcomers. I was a victim of harassment when I arrived in a pair of khaki shorts carrying a new Olympic bag procured from Kapapa Stores in Kasama, which concealed my few belongings.  From Chiunda Ponde in Mpika district, these possessions were in a small diaper bag which my sister surrendered as her contribution to my boarding requirements. I had never worn a pair of trousers and shoes before.

On arrival, I was greeted by cheers, boos, ululations amidst shouts of Manong’o! Swenke…!  and other derogatory descriptions of a fresher. You can imagine my feelings as they teased me that I was in shorts because, I alleged, I was continuing into the fourth term of Grade Seven! 

Some notorious boys pushed and pulled me in all directions while others were busy searching my pockets. But the mind was only on one thing. Money for my school fees. I hid it safely. The hard-earned currency was securely tucked in the inner small pocket of my new uniform under the bag. I was forewarned that I might be treated savagely on arrival and possibly get robbed. So, I was ready for them.

After our maiden class tests, I found myself sitting next to Enock in Form One White class, which was considered a class of the cream from all other five classes. Our names were sorted in alphabetical order. Enock was number eleven while I was number twelve. We found ourselves taking similar subjects among them pure sciences and French.  That’s how we stopped addressing each other as “friend” and instead chose to say the same in French, ‘mon ami,’ so we can sound sophisticated. You may be interested to know that we still use the same term whenever we are together!

We became great friends. Some of our expatriate teachers who couldn’t pronounce our names simply called out numbers to mark the attendance register. So, sometimes I answered for Enock or he did for me. We did all the stupid things boys do in school together... if you know!

Time flies. We wrote our final examinations to mark the end of Form Three. Our intake was the last to write examinations after three years of junior secondary education. Those who followed wrote theirs in Grade Nine as we came back to Grade Eleven.

Something happened after examinations. My name was omitted from the overall list. The school could not send my acceptance letter to Grade Eleven while Enock and the rest received theirs and reported to the school. The only way to know if you were selected then was by receiving your school’s acceptance letter through the post. Mine never came. Everybody concluded I had failed the exam because only those who qualified were notified. But Enock was never convinced that I had flopped. I was wondering how I failed the exam too. I secretly wept several times as I was mocked by many friends in the village who were happy nobody among all that sat for the exams had qualified. I had no way to find out from school except to wait and wait and wait. I was deep in a remote area of the Bangweulu swamps.

 Enock did find out for me. He contacted somebody to check my name and he was told I was not on any list; of those who had failed, and those who qualified. He wrote me to go and physically check. He suspected that being a poor boy, my results could have been ‘corruptly traded!’ There was nothing of the sort.  And his letter never arrived too!

I was determined to go and check. During the April holiday, I set off for Mungwi. I found the Deputy Headmaster about to go for lunch. When he saw me, he was surprised and sympathetic that I had failed. But that was before he scrutinized the records. After checking, he discovered that I had passed, among the best ten. I was specifically number five out of about 365 pupils who wrote the exams at Mungwi in 1983, and that I was selected to be in Grade Eleven Science, a class of pupils who did pure sciences. Enock was in this class and had come out third in the exam.

What a waste of my valuable learning time! My acceptance letter was mistakenly thrown into a box of blank acceptance forms. It was a huge relief! I was heaving with ecstasy upon discovering that I had made it, but fate wanted to rob me in broad daylight. I dashed out of the Deputy’s office to the station, singing praises to Jehovah.

When I told my story to my guardians, they received it with mixed feelings. While they were happy that I was selected, they were sad that they had used the little money they had reserved for me. So, I was still not going back to school. Was this to be the end of the road?

Finally, Enock’s letter arrived in which he encouraged me to “get to school and start learning.” Knowing my financial woes from my junior secondary years, he generously offered to help with books and his extra pair of uniforms. In fact, this he did since we were in Form Two when I had little support from my poor guardians. I remember very well how we took turns wearing his blue Safari suit on weekends. How he bought several extra exercise books to share with me. We shared everything that he came with from his parents who ran a grocery store in Katuta village, in Lupososhi district.

I struggled to get back to school mid-second term in Grade Eleven. Enock was there to welcome me. True to his word, I had a pair of uniforms and all that we could share so I can continue learning. Twice I remained at school during the holidays due to lack of money. Enock begged me to follow him home but I declined thinking that would be too much a burden, considering what his parents were doing for us. Each time he came back, he had enough provisions for both of us… until we completed school.

How can I consciously justify thanking such a person after he has died? Today, I thought of saying a BIG THANK YOU to mon ami! Yes, today, and publicly so, while he is still alive. Merci beaucoup mon ami! 

Know that I shall forever remain grateful for everything; your friendship, your parents, individual members of your family for their sacrifice, your company whenever I was down and hopeless. Thank you for understanding. We agreed to disagree on religious matters. We still do and remain the closest of friends. Thank you, Jehovah, for this soul! May You continue blessing him and all that is his!