SWAMPY TALES

MY STORY AS A STORY-SELLER I had just been ejected from my step-brother’s one-bed-roomed-house in a small suburban compound by his mother. He is away on duty. Step-mother never wanted me to live with my step-brother anymore; for her own trivial reasons. With nowhere to go, no money to help me get anywhere at all, I wandered around Mansa town with my Olympic bag containing a small blanket and a few clothes. No food for at least forty-eight hours. This was sometime in October 1986.Out of desperation for survival, I agreed to take a position of waiter at Mansa Inn, advertised through the department of Labour. Visiting Bangweulu Wetlands -Chiunda Ponde Little did I realize that I was kick-starting a long and enjoyable sales career. I had just struggled to complete my Grade twelve a year ago with no hope for any sponsorship to enter college. I trekked all the way from Muwele Village in Chief Chiunda Ponde in Lavushi Manda district to come and join my step-brother, a United

A WET DISTRESS CALL FROM LUNGA! This long year, you will not find anything as wet as this call in Lunga wetlands!   Picture a family of eleven hungry boys and girls aged between one and nine surrounding a small pot. In it, is but little nshima . A piece of leftover bony-meat submerged in unseasoned gravy in a plastic bowl is placed beside the pot, in the center of the eleven-man team eagerly waiting for a signal to start munching. Parental refereeing is evidently missing.   They have gone searching for possible donor-pledged food packs from overwhelmed local government officials. You watch scantily dressed kids dipping a few fingers in a bow of water as a mere mandatory ritual; certainly not for health reasons! All eyes on the ball.   Ready- to- attack positions taken! But one necessary act is yet to be done. The meat has to be shared by Chakanya (sharer), the eldest person around. While Chakanya is struggling with the bone, siblings can’t wait for him to execu

An excessive sentimental yearning of some past period or irrecoverable condition, termed nostalgia, is exactly what I felt when I traveled to Ncheta Island, my place of origin. Thinking about Lunga  As our boat approached the flooded villages, instead of feeling sympathetic, my memories took me back to the time when conditions like that provided cherished opportunities to us, boys, to search and find small fishes that we slew for pleasure . Wading through ponds going fishing without a canoe (kufushila) was a prized pastime. That day reminded me of times men brought in tasty, gigantic tiger fish or bream which, when cooked, tasted more like steak; and needed no artificial spices.   Back then, came mid-days when men gathered in one place, nsaka, where it rained nshima, our main dish. If you were an obedient boy, you feasted with the village elite and you were encouraged at the end, to take away the leftovers of chunks of fish, which was a great honor! How I fondl

UNGA TRIBE STORY – AS IT SHOULD BE Reading excerpts of a book about Unga tribe written by our colonial District Commissioner many years before I was born, aroused my interest. The parts I read were heavy on the Ungas’ fishing occupation and had scanty information about our whole way of living.  I searched the internet, libraries and other sources of information to find out if there was anyone, dead or living, from my tribe, that is; who has ever tried to tell our own story. I found nothing. The closest I came was some research work students did in their theses (about our fishing activities), for their degree examinations . It made me think. Where are all the educated men and women from Lunga? Why would I fail to tell our own story? I have lived the life others are writing about. I understand better why certain things are done in a way and religiously support our belief system. Why would I let someone else empathize my feelings and pen them down when I can do so myself? D

Economists made me believe that the ten biggest industries in any economy are oil and gas, food, real estate, automobile, health, finance and insurance, pharmaceuticals etc. This week, watching women taking snuff made me think deeply about the sex industry.   And when one mentions the sex industry, there is likelihood of inducing thoughts about common underground sex trade. But, wait a minute! I realized the sex economy is one of the biggest in the world and goes beyond what we see on the surface. A closer look at fashion, beauty products, weight loss and everything that makes one look attractive is connected to sex.   Men’s suits and other clothing churns out millions of dollars , mostly with a connotation of sex. You are probably wearing what you are, have a certain hair style, driving a particular type of car, live a certain lifestyle , because you are influenced by the manufacturers in order to attract those of the opposite sex. Count the number of erotic massage-parl

Abalunshi te baluunshi. Benda babili atemwa batatu. Nangu benda bucebuce ngo tucece! Nga ba buuma, balasushanya ati: Shi Mumbo na iwe uli wa mumbo, Kuti wapanya kapoli na apo uli? Ni Shi Mulenga e wali walenga, nga nacimulasa ifumo mwi fumo. Shi Bwalya acimona apita pa mupaapa apa, akubula kupapa, nga ali  apapa! Shi Mumbo ni Cinkanda, pantu atemwa ukutobela cikanda. Filya batila ‘ukusosha uwashinka ku mwakanya,’ ba mwakanya akanani nga akanya. Nalimo cipumbu? Awe, iyo! ‘Umupumbu ni ulya atila, ‘Lesa takwaba,’ uku napunamina uko aaba! Nalimo ni co ‘amano uli weka, tayashinguluka ikoshi?     Yalashinguluka!   Mukacite ifi: Mwasenda uwabula mano, mwa mutwala pa kapanga, kwati muleimba kapanga. Mwasomona ulupanga, mwa mutoba pa kapanga! Nga yati lobolobo! Akapanuna amenso nga kakoshi! Mukamona amano mwi ‘koshi. Ifi efyo bafundile na Kapaanga, umwine wa kalya kene kapanga. Ilyo aleepanga ifya kupangapanga, uku alepaanga ukuicite imfumu. Afwi

THE UNSUNG MYSTERIES OF SAMFYA TOWN As we were about to approach Samfya, Richard gave me a push so I can wake up and see an “endless mass of water.” He was coming to Samfya in Luapula province of Zambia for the first time. I have been here on many occasions but not visited some interesting places. The white sugar sand dune on which the car perched before slopping down to the beautiful beach revealed an aura of warm fresh air and made the sky look bare as if the clouds were just evaporating from the water. We were about to have a panorama of a memorable picturesque of the lake from a vintage point. We were looking at Lake Bangweulu!   As we approached the shore, we saw a wonderfully built, artistic, grass - thatched chalets on the upper boulder of the beach that complemented the beauty of the white sandy beach. “Does this lake really end somewhere? I can only see clouds touching the lake?”   Richard asked amazingly. “Yes, it does. The no-end view portrayed by the lake from afa