Black Panther
ReshapingPerceptions
Defying Body Standards
Clapping
Back Body Shaming
“Embrace you..”
That Nose Does Whistle
TheChildless Chronicles
Bridging the Digital Divide
Internet Access in Zambian Secondary Schools
Child Marraige
End The Plague
Dr. Sam Phiri
Championing Creative Writing for Positive Change
Black Panther
A film about or of Africa?
ReshapingPerceptions
Defying Body Standards
Clapping Back Body Shaming
“Embrace you..”
Written By Keith Hamusute
TheChildless Chronicles
On Transition and Self-Recreation
The path to Human Welbeing
Alot has been done
to curb child marriage but its remnants still ring hallow and continue to rob millions of girls of their childhood, education, and future prospects. Dened as the legal marriage or informal union of individuals under the age of 18, child marriage persists as a signicant impediment to the
realization of human rights and development goals worldwide. One often-overlooked aspect of child marriage is the profound impact it has on stiing the creativity and intellect of young girls. These forced unions deprive them of the opportunity to explore their full potential during the critical years of adolescence. Child
marriage robs girls of their rightful childhood, a time when curiosity and imagination should ourish.
It strips them of the chance to explore their creative talents, pursue their interests, and develop their intellects. Instead of classrooms and books, they nd themselves thrust into
roles as wives and mothers, often unprepared for the responsibilities and challenges that lie ahead. Every girl has dreams, aspirations, and ambitions. Child marriage shatters these dreams into fragments.
Instead of envisioning careers, higher education, and opportunities to make a difference in their communities, these young brides are conned to households, with their hopes and ambitions sacriced on the altar of tradition and nancial gain. One of the most signicant casualties of child marriage is education. Girls who are married off at a tender age often abandon their studies. Education, which should be a beacon of hope and a pathway to a brighter future, becomes an unattainable dream. This lack of education perpetuates a cycle of ignorance and poverty, limiting not only the individual but also the potential development of their communities and nations.
There are many reasons why girls are forced in early marriages and one of them is that many families marry off their young daughters in exchange for dowry payments, providing them with much-needed nancial relief. On the other hand, orphans and stepchildren are particularly vulnerable, often being married off to reduce the family's nancial burden.
mistreatment. What’s worse is that some parents mistakenly believe that marrying their daughters at a young age will ensure they engage in sexual activity only within the connes of marriage, preserving the family's honor.
All those reasons hold no justication whatsoever, because child marriage perpetuates a cycle of intergenerational poverty, as girls who are married young often forego further education. This leads to increased childbearing at an early age, resulting in a higher number of child mortalities. Moreover, it heightens the risk of gender-based violence (GBV), subjecting girls to physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. Zambia has done a lot on the legal front such as this:
Ÿ The Constitution denes the age of a child as 18.
Ÿ The Children’s Code Act consolidates the law relating to children.
Ÿ The Marriage Act species the minimum age for marriage.
Ÿ The Adoption (Amendment) Act protects the rights of adopted children regarding marriage.
Ÿ The Education Act prohibits the marriage of child learners.
Ÿ These legal instruments serve as a foundation for addressing child marriage and promoting the rights of children in Zambia.
Vulnerable children may also perceive marriage as an escape from
But more should be put in a societal movement that will impact the very movers on the ground to ght the plague of child marriage.
President Hakainde Hichilema
ofcially ushered in a new era of connectivity in Zambia by agging off Internet Connectivity to Secondary Schools on August 29th, 2023. The ceremony, imbued with a sense of hope and progress, was held at the prestigious Munali Girls Secondary School in the heart of Lusaka. The presence of key gures, including Technology and Science Minister Hon. Felix Mutati, Education Minister Hon. Douglas Syakalima, and Youth, Sport, and Arts Minister Hon. Elvis Nkandu, underscored the gravity of this transformational initiative.
This momentous occasion marked a long-overdue milestone in the history of Zambia. The launch of internet connectivity in secondary schools promises to catalyze progress and innovation across the nation. The signicance of this development cannot be overstated, as it stands to revolutionize the landscape of education and information sharing in Zambia. Internet connectivity is the lifeblood
of the modern world. It is the conduit through which knowledge ows, ideas take root, and innovation thrives. For too long, Zambia has grappled with limited access to this invaluable resource. But with the launch of internet connectivity in secondary schools, a new dawn is breaking, illuminating the path towards progress and enlightenment.
The importance of this initiative for the educational sector cannot be emphasized enough. The absence of
internet connectivity has long hampered the quality of education in Zambia, leaving students and teachers with limited access to a world of knowledge and resources. Now, with the digital door swung wide open, Zambian students have the opportunity to explore a treasure trove of information from around the globe.
Education Minister Hon. Douglas Syakalima expressed his optimism, stating, "This is a giant leap for our educational system. Our students will now be able to access a wealth of educational
materials, conduct research, and interact with their peers worldwide. This initiative will bridge the educational divide and empower our youth to compete on a global scale.” Beyond the classroom, the advent of internet connectivity in secondary schools holds the promise of nurturing a generation of innovators and entrepreneurs. Technology and Science Minister Hon. Felix Mutati noted, "Connectivity is the cornerstone of innovation. By providing our youth with access to the internet, we are sowing the seeds of future technological advancements and economic growth.”
With the world at their ngertips, young Zambians can explore their entrepreneurial spirit, tap into global markets, and contribute to the economic prosperity of their nation. The benets of internet connectivity extend far beyond education and
commerce. It is a potent tool for social change and civic engagement. Youth, Sport, and Arts Minister Hon. Elvis Nkandu remarked, "The internet is a platform for amplifying voices, advocating for change, and fostering a sense of unity and belonging. It empowers our youth to become active participants in shaping the future of Zambia.”
The launch of internet connectivity in secondary schools heralds a new era of democratic discourse, allowing Zambians to engage in meaningful discussions, advocate for their rights, and hold their leaders accountable. In the digital age, access to the internet is not a luxury but a fundamental right.
Zambia's move to provide internet connectivity to secondary schools is not only timely but long
overdue. It is a declaration of commitment to the empowerment of its citizens, the advancement of education, and the acceleration of progress in all spheres of life.
As the digital highway weaves its way through Zambia's secondary schools, it carries with it the promise of transformation, enlightenment, and empowerment.
It is a moment to celebrate, for Zambia has taken a giant leap into the future, embracing the power of connectivity to propel itself towards greater heights.
In the hallowed halls of the
University of Zambia, Dr. Sam Phiri, the venerable Head of the Mass Communication Department, emerges as a fervent proponent of the extraordinary potential that creative writing holds for national and societal development. In a candid conversation with Literary Express Zambia (LEZ), Dr. Phiri expounded on the profound impact of creative writing, urging individuals to transcend their comfort zones and contribute meaningfully through their literary endeavors.
Dr. Phiri, an erudite scholar and wordsmith in his own right, dismisses the paralyzing dread often associated with the notorious "writer's block." For him, creative writing stands as an arena where fear has no dominion, and growth ourishes through unwavering dedication. With a spirited nod to the celebrated authors of our time, he underscores that their literary odysseys embarked with modest beginnings, evolving into masterpieces through relentless practice.
However, Dr. Phiri goes beyond mere encouragement. He discerns creative writing as a distinct domain, diverging from the broader spectrum of writing. In his vision, creativity necessitates
the art of perceiving the world through an unconventional prism, allowing innovative viewpoints to emerge. His profound conviction lies in the transformative potential of this creative approach, believing it to be a catalyst for societal advancement by challenging entrenched norms and fostering diversity in perspectives.
Yet, Dr. Phiri's advocacy for creative writing takes on a pragmatic hue as he addresses the burgeoning role of articial intelligence (AI) in the creative process. He sounds a clarion warning against overdependence on AI, asserting that the very essence of creative writing resides in individual expression. To him, the act of presenting another's work as one's own not only transgresses ethical boundaries but also deprives writers of the opportunity to genuinely enrich literature and society.
In summation, Dr. Sam Phiri's insights stand as a compelling testament to the potential of creative writing as a potent agent of positive change. His clarion call for writers to courageously embrace their ideas, nurture their creative faculties, and champion their authenticity resounds with unwavering conviction. Through his guidance, he beckons a dynamic shift in mindset, urging individuals to explore unconventional perspectives and, one creatively written piece at a time, contribute to the betterment of both the nation and society. Dr. Phiri's words remind us that the power of the pen can indeed be mightier than the sword.
“Creativity, involves perceiving the world from an unconventional angle, allowing fresh perspectives to emerge.”
Dr. Sam Phiri
Black Panther is one Hollywood movie that Africa will celebrate for many years to come. Media reports indicate that moviegoers throughout the continent were gripped with emotion and excitement as they watched the movie.
The reception of Marvel Studio's blockbuster from different African countries such as Egypt, Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa, and Zambia has been marvelous. Essentially, these countries represent the diversity of the cast.
But the Black Panther enthusiasm is not conned to Africa. In China, the movie had a solid debut, becoming the rst Hollywood lm to top China's box ofce in 2018. In Saudi Arabia, it is revolutionizing the lm industry as the rst Western lm to show in cinemas in 35 years, in a country that had a cinema ban on Western media and culture.
Undoubtedly, the lm has assumed a global character and inuenced nations and individuals. In the US, this euphoria has precipitated a movement among African American moviegoers who have since created ideas of a life in Wakanda (an imaginary African country whose land is rich with extraordinary resources like the metal Vibranium), an imagined society where black people are in charge of their own affairs.
This semblance of a Wakanda society has resulted in an ideology dubbed the 'Vibranium culture' or 'Wakanda Forever,' with institutions such as the
First Published on May 11th, 2018
University of Wakanda, and everything Wakanda. At least, this was the atmosphere in April at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology during a symposium organized by the Directorate of Comparative Media Studies to discuss Black Panther: Culture and Identity.
During the discussion, a young African American female narrated her inspiration from Shuri (played
by Letitia Wright),a teen girl genius princess of Wakanda. Shuri, the mastermind of Wakanda's most astounding technological innovations, evokes the 'yes we can' consciousness among young black girls who thought the eld of science and technology was an attribute or privilege of white people.
Shuri is certainly a symbol of hope for most black girls. What is
for Africa? But there is a twist in the form of this excitement for Africa. As most media reports suggest, Black Panther audiences in Africa feel more 'humanized'. This is a lm that has dramatically changed the narrative of Western lms about Africa. Thus, to African audiences, Black Panther is a breath of fresh air in the global lm industry
The storyline has shifted from lms that perpetuate a clichéd view of Africa as a dark continent. Departing from popular and hegemonic lms such as Blood Diamond and Hotel Rwanda, which portray Africa as a continent struck by war, hunger, disease, and death, Black Panther shows an African country, Wakanda, which is resource-rich and in which black people control their own resources and run their own affairs.
However, in relation to lm studies
and cinematic fact, Black Panther also raises a lot of questions. For example, is it an African lm or just a lm about Africa? The reading or interpretation of the lm content provides contexts. A quick appraisal of the lm's content may establish that the word "America" or "American" is mentioned many times compared to the name Wakanda or Africa or indeed a name of any other African country
Hence, I raise the question; is Black Panther a lm about or of Africa? What constitutes an African lm? Some writers argue that most Hollywood movies about Africa are scarcely African. And most African lm production is scarcely African at all as a result of a lack of resources and a lack of access to service facilities.
African lmmakers, if not black, are considered 'foreign'. This kind of racial classication conveniently excludes on the basis of
geographical, racial criteria. In some of his works, Oswelled Ureke, a friend and African lm scholar, problematizes denitions of 'African' lm. He argues that the concept of African lm is based on content more than the techniques employed in the lm. Accordingly, the informational nature of the lm is seen to be its dening quality. However, the most common understanding is the fact that African lm is mostly based on African myth and orality. This is a result of Africa's general oral culture and traditions.
This is easily observable in Black Panther through the mythical portrayal of characters in a spiritual realm as they consult with the ancestors in the land of the dead. In the lm, body modications, language, art, dress, ghting styles, magic, and many other different symbolisms all demonstrate the African cultural traditions through a series of spiritual ceremonies.
However, what is also interesting in Black Panther is that it is rooted in Africa's traditions while, at the same time, assimilating foreign theatrical traditions of the West – U.S and Europe. For example, "vibranium" heals bullet wounds, but so does African magic through traditional African herbs. This intersection of sci- and African culture has been dubbed Afro-futurism – is steeped in ancient African traditions and black identity – it imagines a black Africa in a futuristic world which embraces both African tradition and Western modernity
Nonetheless, from an African perspective, a lot more questions
can be asked about this great Hollywood lm. Is Black Panther really about Africa or about the United States' geopolitical dominance? This is partly demonstrated through the apparent struggle by the lmmakers in portraying and clearly distinguishing between the virtuous qualities of the Hero and the Villain.
Even after my second viewing of the movie, I remained uncertain which character represented superhero virtues. And I keep wondering whether the supposed hero (T'Challa, the Black Panther) is, in fact, the villain or is the villain (Killmonger) the ostensible hero?
Erik Killmonger, an American-raised heir to the Wakandan throne and a former American black-ops soldier, is critical of the Wakanda tradition. Killmonger shows up in Wakanda to challenge for the throne, bearing the Western liberal ideology
Here, I ask the questions: Does this hero-villain struggle demonstrate geopolitical power between the US and Africa? Can a Hollywood lm easily portray a typically African character as a hero over the US raised, CIA operative character? Killmonger temporarily ascends to
the throne, in the process kills Zuri, the priest. Upon being installed and assuming the 'Panther Spirit' of the King of Wakanda, Killmonger burns down the medicine garden together with the traditional herb.
From the traditional African perspective, Killmonger's behavior raises further questions: Does the killing of the priest and the torching of the traditional medicine garden demonstrate the power of Western modernity over the perceived primitive African tradition?
“ Is Black Panther a film about or of Africa? What constitutes an African film? Some writers argue that most Hollywood movies about Africa are scarcely African. And most African film production is scarcely African at all as a result of a lack of resources and a lack of access to service facilities.”
Dr. Hamusokwe
Muntanga will always regret the day he tried to save
Lovemore. Not that it matters now, but he thinks back to the day with a wistful regret that makes his nose whistle even more. It was never supposed to be like that and it should never have been. If anything, nothing he had done that day pointed to any other ending apart from him being a hero.
It all started with a somewhat idyllic morning. He got out of bed way after his wife had gone to the garden to tend to her vegetables. She had left him a cold piece of Nshima, to be had with leftover scraps of dry meat and a leathery okra relish. Before settling on the food, he staggered outside, covered his eyes from the already erce October sun, picked a small metal cup and went and dipped it in yet another metal bucket out of which he emerged with water. He splashed the water on his face, scrubbed his face eagerly using his palm before inserting one of his ngers in his mouth, scrubbing his teeth and gums and then rinsing his mouth with the little water left in the cup. He used the same water to gurgle before spitting it out.
If Muntanga had taken a more keen interest in his surroundings, he
"My friend, thank you for coming.All these people want to see what will happen. They are wondering whether I have the courage to see it through. What has happened to Lovemore, they ask. Why does he want to take his own life?"
would have noticed that a sizeable crowd was gathering in Lovemore’s yard, to his left. He would have also noticed that the crowd was slowly becoming a motley assembly of different characters including t h o s e f r o m C h i k w e l a , a neighboring village. As it is, he obliviously went back into his house after performing the already described ablutions, to now sit and have his breakfast.
He was disturbed by the sound of a motor vehicle, something that rarely happened in Chishiko. He paused just as he was about to convey the rst st-full of food into his mouth. From the way the engine was raving the vehicle was moving fast. He heard the screech of the tyres as the vehicle came to a halt outside.
Muntanga left his meal, looked for a pair of battered sandals and made his way outside. He now noticed the crowd gathered by Lovemore’s homestead Something must be wrong, he thought to himself as he hurried towards Lovemore’s house. He walked briskly, as quick as his battered sandals would allow him, knocking little children to the ground on the way, brushing past buxom women, till he got to the entrance of the grass thatched fence that formed the perimeter to Lovemore’s house. He met a huge police woman who looked at him quizzically By now a number of people were craning to see inside the fence, just as two policemen were clearing the last of the watchers from inside the yard.
“Do you know this man?” asked the police woman, cocking her head to one side as a way of pointing towards Lovemore.
“Yes I do, he is my brother in law”, answered Muntanga now clearly scared and worried He felt his stomach groan and his mouth ll with saliva. “What is going on, is everything alright? I was with him last night, we drank and sang the night away”, offered Muntanga, his heart beating wildly
“hmmm, so you are the one he is calling for” replied another policeman, now clearly interested in Muntanga. Before Muntanga could answer, another vehicle zoomed into view, before making a violent stop next to the Police Car. Around ve people, all carrying cameras and microphones jumped out of the car and rushed towards Muntanga.
“Sir could you tell us why your friend wants to commit suicide?” asked one of them. Muntanga opened his mouth to ask what was going on but was immediately interrupted by another question and another question, till the place became a din of unanswered questions.
“all of you calm down!” shouted the burly policewoman now incensed. “Hey journalists, please stop taking pictures, we are handling a very serious situation. A man is in that house and is bent on committing suicide, please have some respect”.
Muntanga took all of this in with a stupor that made his mouth drool like a rabid dog “How could Lovemore want to commit suicide. He was so full of life and optimism only last night. We drank and dance and sang” he thought.
Almost immediately the potential of being a hero lled Muntanga with excitement. He knew that if there
was anyone Lovemore could listen to, it was going to be him. He thought to himself, if he could only speak to Lovemore. If he could only explain to him that whatever it was could be resolved and should not lead to him taking his life. It could be the key to the relevance he had been longing for in this village. Perhaps it would also propel his failed career as a village councillor
“Let me in and let me speak to him”, Muntanga said rather authoritatively
The police ofcer, opened the l i t t l e g a t e a n d a l l o w e d Muntanga into Lovemore’s homestead without saying a word. Muntanga walked in, already remotely rehearsing a speech in his head. This was his moment. Years of feeling insulted, disrespected and belittled would nally end in him heroically rescuing Lovemore from the throes of self induced death. He would nally get the opportunity to be respected by all.
Muntanga walked on. Once he reached Lovemore’s house, he pushed aside the rickety door made from some very old iron sheets. He peered into the semi darkness and allowed his eyes to adjust to the limited light. He was able to spot Lovemore, in the centre of the room. He was sitting on his haunches like someone examining a spot on the oor. In his hands was a bottle, which Muntanga immediately and rightly presumed contained poison.
M u n t a n g a a p p r o a c h e d Lovemore He cleared his
throat as if to say something but could not think of anything at the time. Finally after dgeting with his hands for what seemed like eternity, he managed to call out Lovemore’s name.
Lovemore looked up, saw Muntanga and smiled.
“My friend. Thank you for coming. All these people want to see what will happen. They are wondering whether I have the courage to see it through.WhathashappenedtoLovemore,they ask. Why does he want to take his own life?” Lovemore said and paused. He then carefully placedthebottleofpoisononthegroundinfront ofhimandstandingupsaidtoMuntanga.
“Comemyfriend.Helpmeout,liftmeoutofthis depressinghouse.Iamtired”
Muntangawasmomentarilytakenbysurpriseat how easy the whole thing was. He reached out to Lovemore, arms outstretched already thinkingofhowtheywouldlaterlaughaboutthe whole thing and how he had saved the day withoutevensayingsomuchasaword.
Whathappenednext,happenedsofastthatitis stillablurinMuntanga’smemory’seye,savefor the life altering evidence and marks he now bore. Lovemore sprang towards Muntanga like
a wild animal and in so doing uttering a blood curdling scream. He knocked Muntanga backwards who fell with a cracking thud to the ground. Lovemore sat on Muntanga’s chest andstarteddealinghimseveralnastyslaps.He then proceeded to sink his teeth into Muntanga’s nose, so hard that he tore off one nostril. It was some time before the police realised that something more than a saving missionwasobtaininginsidethehouse.Bythe time they managed to prize the now crazed Lovemore from Muntanga, much of the damagehadbeendone.
Muntanga had by then fainted several times. Bits and pieces of his nose, especially the left nostril were strewn on this floor. The police rushedhimtothenearesthospital.
Threedayslater,hewalkedoutofhospital,his leftnostrilwhistlingmildlyeachtimehetriedto breath.Itwashealingbutrippedoff,bitsoffluid splattering back and forth in tandem with his breathing.
“Thatnosedosewhistle”hiswifesaid.
Sauti Soul's 'Unconditionally Bae'
blasted from my car's stereo like I really cared, high on the Grande Americano from Vida, black, no sugar, and the empty paper cup stood still in the cup holder. I am driving out from the parking space at the parking lot at Pinnacle Mall, windows rolled down, as I sang along offkey
With my fake Ray-Ban sunglasses – okay, we cannot call them fake, maybe a paste which translates to the same thing. Wearing my Forever 21 mini owery dress, thrifted by the way, and mules I borrowed from my sister, showing my perfect pedicure. I knew I looked and smelled beautiful.
I am busy gyrating to Sauti Soul, thinking about Bien-Aimé (lead vocalist), getting myself distracted. In honest truth, I did not see the Black Jeep Wrangler coming
in from my right side as I tried to join the way that leads to Chindo road, just near the pizza restaurant. I stepped on my brakes just in time to slightly hit the Jeep on its left side.
Now, I am sweating, calculating costs to x the damage, cursing myself for not having put up comprehensive insurance for the car. I had just gotten paid my miserable government teacher's salary, though our new President had increased it. It was still miserable, well, to my standards. Now, how will my miserable pay pay for damaging this beautiful beast?
Thoughts are running wild in my head. When the driver came out of the car, my heart stopped for a few seconds. He was a very stunning fellow; I had to take off my Ray-Bans. My head quickly went back to a medley of thoughts –fear, anxiety, and now, add awe.
I am very glad we were at the mall, and there were no unnecessary onlookers with their worthless unsolicited advice. Only a few guards came, and the other motorists went on with their business.
I was still in my car as he walked to the driver's side of my car and asked if I could reverse so that he could see the damage to his car. He spoke with a drawl, which had an accent very familiar to the southern part of Zambia. He
looked rather irritated as he checked the extent of the damage. I quickly came out of my car after parking it and started to apologize profusely
He looked at me and looked at my Toyota IST. I do not know if it's the continued irritation or pity I saw on his face; I could not tell. I was now staring at him. He looked dapper in a black, grafti T-shirt, which looked like he had raided a teenager's wardrobe, showing his toned arms, blue True Religion straight-t washed jeans, and dark blue safari boots from Bata. I am thinking, do they make those shoes anymore in Zambia? Because my grandfather got them from one of his random relatives who lived in Kenya. Every time that relative visited him, and why is he dressed a cross between a teenager and an old man.
I could not gure out his age; he had his hair cut close to his scalp and had a pepper and salt stubble on his face and wore spectacles. I caught his eyes and felt embarrassed, and I sheepishly offered to have it xed; I could see it might just need a paint job. I had just damaged the car's aesthetics, praying hard that I do not have to sell one of my organs just to afford that paint job.
He said he was busy and reached into his jeans' pocket and took out a cardholder then changed his mind and asked for my number instead. Without haste, I got to my car and retrieved a notebook and a pen and scribbled my phone number, tore that particular page, and handed it to him; he said he would call me.
He got into his car and drove off, joining Chindo road, heading to Woodlands roundabout. All that while, the guards just looked on as if I expected them to do anything. I got into my car and headed home; I was no longer in the mood for Sauti Sol. I drove home in radio silence.
Everything happened on a Friday; I expected him to call during the weekend so that I could know my fate, but he did not. That was the most painful weekend because uncertainty was killing me.
Monday morning was better; I was very sure that maybe he had forgiven me and moved on, until I received a call from an unidentied number, and my heart skipped a beat. I answered it and yes, it was him with his drawling voice and heavy accent and sexy timbre.
He said he was calling because he wanted to tell me that I should not worry about xing his car; he had taken care of it, though I still owed him a favor which he said was a coffee date at a place of my choice that afternoon. I agreed; I mean who would say no to that voice. I told him I would text him the name of the venue for our date. Schools were on recess, so I had a lot of time to myself; I thought of a place.
We agreed to meet at 15 hours after conrming that he was fully vaccinated against COVID, by 13 hours I was already clad in my boyfriend jeans, white fake Airforce One sneakers, and a peach bandana top, which conveniently showed a tattoo on my midriff and a white sheer shirt that I left unbuttoned at the front. My hair was plaited in knotless braids, and I carried my tote bag, which had my phone, a book just in case he became boring, a charger, some cash, my debit card, and my favorite lip gloss from Shaarz called Mulo. I still could not believe I paid over a hundred kwacha for lip gloss that I would wear a
mask over, but being the lover of good things, I convinced myself that the gloss was necessary
I drove there early so I could see him come in, and this time I would appreciate him more. At 15 hours on the dot, I saw him come in; this time he wore a plain black T-shirt paired with blue Wrangler tting jeans and a pair of warm brown brogues, Police sunglasses, and a Philippe Patek on his arm. He stood at about 1.8 meters approximately and towered over me as I stood up to welcome him.
He sat down, and we ordered drinks because we opted out of the coffee; I had a tonic water, and he had a double Whiskey. I rst apologized for ruining his car; he assured me it was an accident and he casually asked what had me distracted, to which I answered Sauti Sol's song, and we both laughed. We talked about ourselves; he told me he has just retired from a job that had him globetrotting, and now he was settled in Choma, taking care of his farming business. But of course, the Philippe Patek showed the success, let alone the beautiful beast I scratched. I also discovered that we were both avid readers, and we talked about feminism and how the patriarchy was a problem. He spoke well and seemed to be a cultured man, far from being a bigamist, just how I liked my men.
He did not communicate with me for the rest of the week, and I was pretty sure my debt was paid. Until Friday evening, I received a text from him asking me if I could meet him for lunch at The Deli. I sounded hesitant, and he told me he had a business meeting at 14 hours and would like me to have a simple lunch with him. Since my Saturday was clear, I agreed;
he said lunch would be at 12 hours.
We met for lunch, and this time we were less formal; we actually hugged. And my word! The man smelled so good, the cologne he was wearing was a subtle mix of Teak and Mahogany, very masculine scents. My little black dress perfume from Avon just reminds me of how I should save for a proper bottle.
This time I am wearing a long, short-sleeved Chitenge Maxi dress with a slit on the left side that would make Tshala Muana jealous, and Masai slippers. My toenails are perfectly pedicured.
He is dressed in a rain cloud grey-colored suit, which I suppose is from Nkanda Yathu. I am glad he is supporting Zambian Designers, with a crisp white shirt, which has the rst two buttons unbuttoned, no tie, and Oxfords on his feet, which matched colors with his belt.
I had a steak done rare and mash with a garden salad, and he had quails with nshima. I had a mojito, and he had shots of his favorite Whiskey. We talked during the lunch; I asked if he had a wife and kids, he said he did not because his previous work demanded that he moved a lot, and he wanted to retire before forty so that he could grow his portfolio of businesses and probably settle down; that is where his time and energies went, but now, he was somewhat ready to rest.
I told him I was twenty-four, just gotten my rst teaching job, I had a Degree in English and African languages, he told me he was thirty-eight, and I was probably in grade 1 when he went to university, to which we laughed. The lunch had come to an end, and he said he had brought me a gift, which he went to collect from his car, a neatly sealed box. He asked me to open it, and I did; he had bought me all the books I had put on my to-beread list on Goodreads. I just gaped at him, which I realized was rude, and said thank you. I was elated, but what slightly puzzled me was that we had not even given each other our names. How did he nd my Goodreads account? Because I was sure the titles of the stack of books that lay in that box were certainly from my Goodreads account. I brushed it aside, thinking my chatterbox self could have mentioned my username.
I hugged him again to say thank you and goodbye and asked him to forgive my manners because I could not
remember his name. He told me his name was Mucende.
He walked me to the car park because he had to carry the box, put it in my car's boot, and handed me a few hundred-dollar bills, actually ve, hundred-dollar bills, which he said were for my fuel. I tried to refuse; he insisted, saying it was for my trouble. I collected the money and put it securely in my purse. I said to myself I have just bamba'd a big boy from Choma.
I drove straight to the bureau to change the dollars, and I was in a very good mood; I played Maxi Khoisan's 'Hello my Baby' as I drove. The most unbelievable thing is that I do not share what is happening with my squad, neither do I Google Mucende because I am notorious for that. I will make sure I nd as many details of you from the internet before the next date.
This begins a whirlwind of romance and wild sex staycations, gifts, wads of hard currency. For as long as the school was in recess and I was available, I was pampered like a Queen. I thought I was. He was perfect, perfect for me.
Towards the end of the school recess, I mentioned that I wanted to see a friend in Harare, and the following day I received a call from a travel agent that my return air ticket was ready for a four-day holiday in Zimbabwe.
Now I had to tell my friends about the big boy from Choma and my pending trip. Which I decided not to; I did not even tell my friend I was visiting who bought me the ticket. I actually lied that I had saved for it.
I came back from Harare, and I texted him that I was back; my text went undelivered. I assumed he was busy and thought he would communicate once he was free.
I, Pinky Zimba, was living my life; I was not even too worried about money anymore, and I totally agreed with the saying that men spend on what they like. And he lived up to the story that older men do really well in bed because I mean, they had lived long enough to practice the art, not so?
Four days passed; my WhatsApp message was still undelivered. Now curiosity got the best of me, and I googled him, and the rst result was an article about him dying in a freak road trafc accident about six weeks back. The day of the accident was the same day I scratched his car. The story said he tried to avoid hitting into a lady-driven IST and somehow managed to skip the trafc lights at Pinnacle Mall, and his car was hit by an oncoming car. He died on the spot and was buried at his farm in Choma.”
So, why don't you want children? If you are a Zambian
woman, child-free, and happy, raise your hand! I did. This is a safe space to say that loud and proud. We are a silenced minority that needs to be more open and vocal about our choice so that the next generation of childfree women can be shameless and vocal about it, just like parents are about their children.
The Collins Dictionary denes "child-free" as an adjective that means "making a positive choice not to have children."
As a thirty-something-year-old woman without a child, I often get asked why I don't have children. When my response is "I don't want children; never have, never will," people get really shocked, like I just said something heretical or incredible.
I knew I didn't want to be a mother even as a child, and I was very open about it. But my mother and anyone who would hear me say that would remark, "You are just a young girl; you will change your mind when you are older." They
said this as though choosing the child-free life was not an option for an adult; being a parent was the only way to be a normal grownup. Even in childhood, I thought children were a lot of work, and I did not have the physical, emotional, and mental strength to be responsible for them. So I decided I would never be a mother when I grew up. I am now in my thirties and haven't changed my mind about that. My dearest mother and everyone else were dead wrong.
Many people, especially in Africa, nd it unbelievable that a woman can choose to be child-free and go on to live a fullling, happy life. The idea that getting
married, having children, and raising them for the next eighteen to thirty years is the blueprint for a happy life for a woman is so entrenched even in 2023. But it doesn't have to be this way. There are many ways to be a productive and happy member of society, and being child-free is one of them. This shouldn't even be controversial.
The decision to be a child-free woman is often interpreted as selsh. "So you want to be selsh and live a carefree life without responsibility?" The answer is no. The truth is having children doesn't necessarily make one more giving and more responsible. Generosity and responsibility are values that you cultivate as an adult; they do not automatically become part of you when you become a parent. The fact that we have so many children in the streets and in our extended families who are neglected by their parents is enough proof that having children doesn't automatically make people responsible.
Things get even more complicated when it comes to dating as a child-free woman. It seems generally men think that every woman is nurturing and has a maternal instinct. When you mention that you have no desire or intention to be a mother, they are taken aback. Others even seem angry
about it. "How dare you refuse to be a mother. It's the best job in the world!" No, thank you, I will pass.
If you spend a lot of time around mothers in the workplace, at church, or even at social events, you know that they love to talk about their children. It can be a little too much to bear sometimes, but nobody shames or discourages them from sharing their parenting chronicles or the love for their children.
So why are we child-free people not allowed to gloat about our glorious lifestyle, which allows us to live an adventurous life, like the ability to go on random trips for fun or work without a single worry? Or indulging in shopping sprees impulsively because there are no school fees to worry about, for instance?
It is time our society evolved to a level where women who choose to be child-free will be considered ordinary, just like those who choose to have children. It's time to acknowledge that pressuring women to "t in" when it comes to procreating simply creates more harm than good for everyone involved.
On Transition and Self-Recreation
On a cold but bright
afternoon in August, visual artist Nukwase Tembo held an artist walkabout at The Quadruple Art Exhibition at Lechwe Trust Art Gallery in Lusaka, where she's one of the artists showcasing their work from August to September 2023. She explained the background to
each piece - how it came about and what it means, to an intimate crowd of ve women and one man. It was an enlightening session of exchanging thoughts on her various artworks consisting of paintings and collages, with the theme "Transition and SelfRecreation." All the pieces are captivating, beautiful, and brightly
colored, and they draw you to think about the different emotions and messages they might convey, but I will dwell on my four favorite ones.
There's "The Black Madonna," which shows a black woman dressed in red sitting uncomfortably on a bed of thorns,
“Nukwase is a surrealist. She has been making art since childhood”
surrounded by water, while two men on either side braid her white wings. Nukwase says it's a commentary on how women are put on a pedestal as righteous, moral, good, or pure even when they don't want to be regarded as such. They are forced to be models of virtue, leaving no room for mistakes or failings.
Then there's "Best Before," which shows a woman naked to the waist, standing in a bathroom facing the wall, with water owing from two taps on each side of the wall, lling the space up to her waist. She
explained that it signies pressure - a woman feeling the pressure rising to get married or settle down before a particular timeline generally set by society, usually thirty years old because once that time has passed, she will no longer be considered useful or beautiful.
"The trap" is another instantly captivating piece. But its implication is not straightforward at rst glance. It shows a man fully dressed in jeans and a longsleeved t-shirt laying on his back in between two breasts, with his legs apart. A welldressed woman in bright yellow pants, a white shirt, a
red hat, and red heels are walking in between the man's legs towards what looks like a trap. After the trap, on the man's chest, is a red heart with owers on it. Nukwase pointed out that it is a portrayal of an emotionally unavailable man. The woman is walking towards the trap between the man's legs, heading to getting trapped in a sexual relationship when what she truly wants is to get to his heart.
Finally, there is "Mama Waluse," which depicts a woman facing away from the viewer, and her face looking down at her arm. She's surrounded by a green background, and her right arm draped in a red cloth is slightly stretched sideways. On her bare back are a series of steps with two doors and two men at the end. One man is naked and going through a door, and the other is fully dressed in a suit, coming out of a door. "Mama Waluse" is a Bemba saying which has a double meaning; it can be a woman known for her generosity or a
loose woman, depending on context. The mixed media painting leans towards the second meaning. The implication is that Mama Waluse has been generous with her body with the two gures. It is not a judgment of the woman; it's merely a depiction of who she is.
Nukwase is a surrealist. She has been making art since childhood but started professionally creating work in 2014. She once enrolled for an art qualication at Zambia Open University but dropped out and never completed the program. Her art education has come from workshops, residencies, and through interacting and learning from other artists. She contends that going to formal art schools, especially those in Europe and the United States, kills creativity and leads to artists creating what is expected commercially and academically
Her rst solo exhibition, "The Gatekeepers of Morality," was in 2019, and it was followed by the second one in 2021 after the Covid19 pandemic. So far, her work has explored toxic societal norms, especially in relation to black women who have always been portrayed negatively in the media, but she hopes to explore more varied themes in the future.
The Quadruple Art Exhibition is on view at Lechwe Trust Art Gallery in Lusaka from 4th August to 3rd September 2023.
n today's fast-paced and Iinterconnected world, the moral decay of youth has become a pressing concern for societies around the globe. Zambia, as an African nation, has not remained immune to this growing issue. Have you ever visited some streets of Lusaka, even as early as 10 o'clock in the morning, and found a youth so drunk in Bauleni compound? Or have you gone to Lusaka's city market and Soweto, only to get robbed of your wallet or purse if you don't hold onto them tightly yourself? It is mysterious how a 12-year-old boy can make you kneel down and say, "bakamba sorry" (big man, I am sorry) when you happen to walk at night in Kanyama compound. These youths have been nicknamed 'junkies' in our neighborhoods, yet they are just the cream that is supposed to be pasted on the assets of Mother Zambia in the near future. Is the country safe? Are our homes safe? And are we generally safe? But let us look at the causes, consequences, and potential
remedies related to the moral decay observed among Zambian youth.
It is important to recognize that moral decay is a complex problem inuenced by several interwoven factors. One of the key causes is the breakdown of traditional values and social structures. Modernization and globalization have led to a dilution of cultural identity and the integration of foreign ideas, which sometimes clash with traditional ethics. This erosion of traditional values has weakened the moral compass of Zambian youth. Let's talk about the movies we watch and allow our children in homes to see, the Western culture of dealing in drugs, wrestling matches, violent content, and more. The very things you see in these movies are what most youths portray out there. Traditional practices that once held people away from some of these vices have disappeared in preference to the Western way of doing things.
Secondly, the lack of effective role models within society plays a signicant role. Many youths grow up without proper guidance or positive
inuence, resulting in their moral development being compromised. Absent or disengaged parents, insufcient attention from schools, and limited community support contribute to this void in mentorship. The absence of strong role models exacerbates the moral decay of Zambian youth. Shall we talk about some of our social media celebrities in Zambia? No, that is a story for another day. There are so many adults whose lives cannot positively impact a young one out there. The behavior being portrayed by people who are supposed to be role models leaves much to be desired. A teacher involved in a sexual relationship with a student they are supposed to mentor? Shame, and again I say shame!
And again, look at this: economic hardships and poverty create fertile ground for moral decay. Young people may turn to illegal activities, such as theft or drug abuse, or prostitution as a means to escape their difcult circumstances. Desperation for a better life can commonly lead to immoral acts that further perpetuate the decline of moral values. The young people at times are so desperate to impress people in their circles. Talk of a young lady who wants to impress her friends with things she doesn't have; a young man who wants to keep a girl by showering her with gifts he can't afford. Both these economically-stricken youths may indulge in illicit behaviors to get what they want. As economic hardships get tougher, so does the spirit of being not content with what one can afford.
However, the mysterious decay of these morals carries signicant consequences, both at an individual and societal level. Personal integrity is compromised, and you are nick-named out there because of what you do, leading to a breakdown in trust within communities. This erosion of trust hinders social cohesion, ultimately affecting the overall progress and development of the nation. Furthermore, a lack of moral values among the youth can result in increased crime rates, drug addiction, high dropout rates, and a general disregard for
social responsibilities. In fact, it cannot lead to the named vices, but it has led to these vices becoming routine as we watch. These consequences are perpetuating a vicious cycle, as a morally weakened youth population becomes less equipped to instill positive values in future generations. Cry for the future Zambia.
But what can we do? Shall we fold our arms and let this army worm of a lifestyle completely devour us?
Certainly not; there is nothing wrong in trying. Addressing the moral decay of Zambian youth requires multi-dimensional and collaborative efforts from various stakeholders. Here are some potential remedies: strengthening of family units, promoting the importance of parental involvement and the formation of supportive family environments plays a central role. Implementing parental education programs that focus on imparting moral values and strengthening the bond between parents and children can help combat moral decay.
Educating youth on ethical values: Schools should integrate moral education into their curriculum, ensuring that students are exposed to positive values from an early age. Teachers are somehow a bridge between parents and the youths in schools. Emphasizing the importance of empathy, respect, and responsibility can help counteract the moral decay.
In addition, encouraging community involvement: Providing opportunities for Zambian youth to participate in community service and engage in activities that promote ethical values fosters a sense of belonging and responsibility toward society. Furthermore, nurturing positive role models by encouraging successful individuals who embody moral values to actively engage in mentoring programs can effectively counteract the absence of inuential mentors for the youth. Lastly, collaboration with religious institutions could be of help. The moral decay of Zambian youth poses a signicant challenge, but with a concerted effort from society, it can be curtailed. Zambia can establish a society where ethical values are highly regarded and embraced. Only by rectifying this moral void can the nation hope to build a brighter future for its youth. Otherwise, we are decaying mysteriously.
A
JointArticle By Fatima Mawele&Immanuel Richie
There are several
social topics that are challenging to discuss, and if mishandled, they can make one appear ignorant. One of these topics is "Body Shaming." With the increasing importance of mental health concerns in public discourse in my country, it is worth examining this topic carefully because it is not only intriguing but also highly signicant.
Typically, when most people hear the phrases
"body shaming" or "fat shaming," what immediately comes to mind is the act of simply labeling overweight individuals in society as "fat." Even the term "overweight" should be used cautiously, as it can sound judgmental. However, the concept of body shaming is more complex than this, especially in the age of social media and the internet. You could be comfortably seated at home with your phone, sipping
coffee, and engaging in bodyshaming comments on platforms like Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram, directed at someone you don't even know. It's alarmingly easy, isn't it?
First and foremost, let's clarify our terms. Body shaming is essentially the act of degrading someone by using unattering or disparaging remarks about their appearance, whether it's related to being underweight, a
particular body part, or being overweight. This kind of degradation can also, in some cases, be self-inicted, where you criticize yourself or feel self-conscious about your weight or physical appearance. But at its core, that's essentially what body shaming entails.
Once, I came across a Facebook post featuring a lady with a curvy body in a swimsuit sitting by a pool, captioned with "I will celebrate my beauty." The comments ranged from positive to hurtful, creating a stark divide that was shallow on both extremes, unfortunately. Some comments read, "Keep eating your way to the grave," "You are amazing and don't need anyone's approval," "This isn't healthy, sister!" and "Beauty is subjective." The comments transitioned from confusion and shallow compliments to hurtful and excessively degrading remarks.
However, there's an important lesson to be drawn from these comments if we strip away the societal expectations, shallow euphemisms, and supercial judgments about what constitutes a healthy body. First, let me categorize the commenters into three groups:
Ÿ Those genuinely concerned about health.
Ÿ Those fighting against online body shaming.
Ÿ Those who believe they define beauty.
For those genuinely concerned about health, we must acknowledge their concerns. It's true that overweight or obese individuals are more prone to various serious health conditions, including hypertension, high cholesterol levels, type 2 diabetes, heart disease, stroke, gallbladder issues, cancer, clinical depression, and anxiety. Overweight pregnant women also face pregnancyrelated complications. However, it's one thing to genuinely care about someone's health and another to use health concerns as a veil for hurtful comments that are fundamentally body shaming.
How we communicate matters more than the facts or truths behind our statements. It's easy to be hurtful on social media, but if we realize the impact of our comments, we might choose to prioritize kindness over political correctness.
For those ghting against body shaming online, we should applaud their efforts. They understand how body shaming can be humiliating and detrimental to mental health. Anti-fat bias persists in society, even among health professionals who sometimes wonder why overweight individuals can't simply lose weight and adopt healthier lifestyles.
However, in their zeal to eradicate body shaming, some in this category end up endorsing and embracing all body types, struggling to draw the line between constructive feedback
and undue praise.
As for those who feel they dene beauty, this category is particularly problematic. Beauty is highly subjective and cannot be objectively measured. What one person nds attractive may differ drastically from another's perspective. Therefore, arguing for a universal standard of beauty is a futile endeavor.
In conclusion, words hold great power; they can either build or break. So, it's essential to think before speaking, especially when discussing sensitive topics. Take a moment to consider your comments before typing them out—you might be saving a life or simply protecting one.
Body shaming is essentially the act of degrading someone by using unflattering or disparaging remarks about their appearance
We live in a diverse world
where people come in various shapes, sizes, heights, and weights. While some may share similarities, each of us possesses a unique individual appearance that sets us apart from the rest.
Sadly, the proliferation of fashion trends and media portrayals of an ideal body size has eroded our ability to fully embrace our individual uniqueness.
For instance, the fashion industry predominantly favors skinny models, rarely acknowledging plus-size models. Consequently, this pressures 'non-skinny' individuals to pursue unhealthy habits in a bid to lose weight and t industry standards. Conversely, skinny people often face judgment about their health and are told to 'eat more,' causing them to overeat to conform to societal expectations.
Furthermore, there is an urban saying, "real women have curves," which leaves those who do not t into the 'curvy' category feeling like less of a woman. This drives some to resort to surgery to alter their bodies.
In today's world, one will nd a great number of people suffering from self-esteem issues due to relentless body-shaming, causing widespread unhappiness.
Writers VentTo those who might downplay the issue, this may seem trivial, but for those subjected to body-shaming – constantly told to gain or lose weight or criticized for not conforming to certain standards – this becomes a distressing issue.
Body-shaming has become so pervasive that it demands a comprehensive solution.
In her quest to shed more light on the topic, The Insider's Arielle Tschinkel explained that there are several other ways people get body-shamed, and most of these are subtle but often lead to the person on the receiving end feeling miserable.
"Joking or encouraging someone to eat because they appear too thin is a subtle form of body shaming because some people are thin for all kinds of reasons, others from their genetic makeup," she explained.
“In today's world, one will find a great number of people suffering from self-esteem issues due to relentless bodyshaming, causing widespread unhappiness.”
There are instances where some people may joke about their friends' weight with no intent to cause harm but end up hurting their friends' feelings.
Tamara Mfune, an advocate against bodyshaming, views it as an inappropriate negative statement and attitude towards others.
"There are many instances of body-shaming in
Zambia. We have fat people who are being shamed in schools; the shortest and the tallest, the thinnest are being accused of contracting diseases," she added.
However, not everyone remains indifferent to this issue. Some Zambians are taking steps to boost women's condence in their own skin.Kudos to Zebra Events and Design (ZED) for creating Miss Plus Size Zed, a pageant that promotes self-love, esteem, and condence within the plus-size community.
Reecting on a 2020 interview with Eunice Musonda, a member of ZED, the rationale behind the pageant was to: "celebrate the African woman, and nurture plus-size ambassadors who would help sensitize society about body condence and acceptance of different bodies regardless of size, age, or weight."
Three years since our last check on ZED, these efforts have offered hope that the world is moving towards a future where women can unite in their uniqueness and empower one another to embrace their true selves.
In the face of body-shaming, inspiration is drawn from Virginia Satir's words: "I am me. In all the world, there is no one exactly like me. Everything that comes out of me is authentically mine because I alone chose it. I own everything about me: my body, my feelings, my mouth, my voice, all my actions..."
This careful reminder urges us to recognize our uniqueness and be condent in it, for it will reveal that no one can be a better you than you are. Embrace your individuality; that's what makes you truly extraordinary.
Fatima is a communications specialist with experience working with diverse private sector players in the country. Outside work, she is passionate about mental health issues and film.
Almost immediately after
graduate school, I accepted an offer to work in Ethiopia.
I knew then – as I always do when I move to a new country – that I would be embarking on a stimulating journey. You cannot, after all, move to another country and remain the same. What I didn't know was how Ethiopia's profoundly rich culture and
history would remain seared on my memory. The Ethiopian civilization dates back thousands of years, making Ethiopia one of the oldest countries in Africa. It makes perfect sense then that Addis Ababa should take center stage as the political capital of Africa. For a signicant portion of its existence, Ethiopia was
presided over by the Solomonic dynasty—socalled because, according to folklore, King Solomon seduced the visiting Queen Bathsheba, siring Menelik who became Ethiopia's founder King of the Solomonic dynasty. Except for a few interruptions, Solomon's lineage ruled
Ethiopia until the deposition of Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974.
Given Ethiopia's connection to the Son of David – real or imagined – it is rather tting that Ethiopians were one of the earliest people to adopt Christianity, as far back as 1,700 years ago – a religion whose central archetypal hero is another of David's sons. It is conceivably owing to this connection with biblical heroes that God feels a little closer in Ethiopia. I do sometimes wonder how much of a role this air of godliness played in the Rastafarians' deication of Emperor Haile Selassie, who was proclaimed a god even before his death. Julius Caesar, who was
only elevated to a god after his death, would be positively envious of the Lion of Judah—or perhaps, more rightly put, is envious since gods must surely be immortal.
The aura of piousness permeates the air. Even your average peasant on the street draped in his Gabi (traditional Ethiopian scarf worn over the shoulder and upper body) exudes a monk-like air of holiness.
Ethiopia is deeply and profoundly in touch with her spiritual side. Nothing testies more to this spirituality than the arresting religious festivals that the country observes: Fasika (Easter);
Meskel (Finding of the True Cross; and perhaps the biggest of all – Timket (epiphany) – a two-day colorful celebration that commemorates the baptism of Jesus.
During Timket, streets come alive with priests clad in golden, sparkling vestments, under the protection of colorful, embroidered umbrellas. Escorted by a legion of worshippers donning their nest traditional dresses, the priests carry symbolic replicas of the tablets of law onto which the 10 commandments
were engraved by God himself. The climax is reached when the priest sprinkles the faithful with water, symbolizing a renewal of their baptismal vows. The procession is an eye-catching beauty to behold!
Looking in from the outside, it seems to me that the ability to enjoy Timket requires a great deal of patience – if not for anything else, due to the duration of the ceremony. And patience in my estimation is probably a fundamental characteristic trait of Ethiopian nationhood. This is not such a
stretch if you consider the fact that their staple food Injera – a fermented sour, pancake-like bread – takes 3 days to prepare. I am thoroughly convinced that it is this patience, plus a fair amount of resilience and tact that enabled the Ethiopians to defeat the imperial Italian aggressors twice, rst at the Battle of Adwa in 1896 – the ultimate middle nger gesture to the Berlin Conference resolutions – and secondly in 1935, enabling Ethiopia to achieve in the process, the enviable distinction of being the only African country to have never been colonized. A remarkable badge of honor no Ethiopian shies away from wearing.
While Ethiopians will readily take on a bully –as Mussolini no doubt discovered – they are by no means aggressive or combative. On the contrary, they are open and generous to a fault. I have lost count of the number of times people opened their doors to me and offered me Injera or coffee. Injera is an acquired taste, it is true, but people who offer you their food and fellowship are in essence offering their hearts to you. So if Injera is initially not to your taste, try it again, with Doro wot chicken, if you must; and again, perhaps with Tibs (stirfried meat and vegetables) this time. Oh, never mind that you might get some food poisoning in your rst week of eating out. That's part of the damn experience – a foreigner's rite of passage of sorts. And if you eat Injera long enough, it will eventually grow on you. And maybe, you will even crave it, as I nd myself doing, every so often.
Ethiopians understand that while God might rest in reason, he moves in passion, which is to say a healthy person incorporates the impulse for adventure and the instinct towards conservatism in a healthy combination. Ethiopians do not belong to that strange group of people that are so heavenly minded that they are of no earthly utility. They understand that too much reason is deadening. It takes
away the avor of life. But too much passion can be devouring. That is why they party and pray in equal measure.
One other thing that catches your attention is the sense in which living in Ethiopia might disconcertingly feel like time traveling. Stroll In one street and you are surrounded by a block of imposing, ultra-modern, super-opulent vethousand-dollar-a-month apartments. Wander in another, and you will meet a khat-chewing peasant shepherding a ock of meek sheep, trying his best not to get run over by a barely puttogether eet of fty-year-old VW beetles that proliferate the streets of Ethiopia. In a moment, you have just traveled from the 21st century back to the pre-industrial period.
Ethiopia is a refreshingly original country and truly one of my favorites. If you ever nd yourself there, please watch some live music; make some Ethiopian friends; visit the museum; drink some coffee; eat raw meat; venture outside Addis Ababa; travel to Lalibela; visit some of the rockhewn churches – they stand shoulder to shoulder with the St Paul's Basilicas of this world; attend Ethiopia's colorful traditional ceremonies; dance the Eskita – the famous Ethiopian shoulder dance; learn some Amharic; and for God's sake, take a bloody moment to appreciate the irrepressible beauty of Ethiopian women. Or are you so arrogant to presume you know better than the wisest man that ever lived?
“Ethiopia is deeply and profoundly in touch with her spiritual side. Nothing testifies more to this spirituality than the arresting religious festivals that the country observes.”
Kampamba Mubanga
In the waning years of my
adolescence, I left the safety of familiarity and belonging and moved to Russia. And so began an adventure of a lifetime, complete with all the highs and lows that come with any adventure. I would spend six of my formative years in this large, multiethnic country, where I transitioned from boyhood to manhood.
By far the hardest period was the rst 6 months. I was constantly homesick, not only because for the rst time in my life, I was completely away from everyone else that I had known up until that point, but also because of the difculty of having to so quickly adjust to the notorious Russian winters with prolonged periods of little or no sunshine. And then there was
the racism — in many ways, a direct challenge to my humanity, which when overt would express itself in an unfriendly shove from a random person in the street. It was a rude and abrupt transition, for which I was ill-prepared. More than once, I considered getting back home.
In hindsight, part of why I decided against the impulse to leave was my curiosity and the lurking promise to rise above the provincialism of my limited worldview, and in turn replace it with one more cosmopolitan in nature. Moreover, having a legitimate claim to being an instrumental player in some of the most important global events of the 20th century – whether it was in liberating the world from the
“As a student, I was thrust into a community of idealistic young people from over 60 countries of the world. “
shackles of Nazism; or in its contribution to pioneering space exploration through the rightly immortalized Yuri Gagarin – the promise of understanding what makes Russia tick was an irresistible invitation to go on an adventure of a lifetime.
As a student, I was thrust into a community of idealistic young people from over 60 countries of the world. For someone who generally likes people and feeds off conversations, this was a goldmine, and was, in fact, enough of a counter against the less laudable realities around me. I instinctively understood the potential to educate myself on the innitely vast cultures and worldviews of the different people around me without necessarily having to travel so far and wide. I had a tiny glimpse into the
cultures and traditions of over 60 countries, right from the comfort of my hostel. I could not think of a ner or cheaper way to be trained in the high arts of cosmopolitanism. And so, in spite of my misgivings, I stayed on.
Being a multi-ethnic country, Russia is not free of the burdens that plague most multi-ethnic countries, and the tensions and mutual resentments every so often nd expression. One thing that doubtlessly brings all Russians together despite their tribalism is vodka. There is something almost sacrosanct about the relationship that Russians have with their vodka. It is almost as if in this little bottle is contained all the collective aspirations and happy memories of a people, and sipping from it
becomes an afrmation of all that is possible and good and beautiful about the country: at weddings, it is customary to take a shot of vodka as you toast to a happy marriage; when you get a new job or a promotion, you celebrate by taking shots of vodka with your close friends and family; and while men do not typically use it on a rst date — preferring the more romantic wine — they still use it to calm the nerves before that date. In a word, vodka is an integral part of the culture, traditions, and daily life of Russia. I would go so far as to say that there is simply no Russia without vodka.
The galvanizing power of vodka is so strong that Vladimir Zhirinovsky – a Russian
politician – once marketed his own brand of vodka, and did in fact promise cheaper vodka in a legitimate bid to get more votes. Zhirinovsky was once a serious contender for the Russian Presidency, coming in third with a respectable 6 million votes in the 1991 elections. It went downhill from there, and he eventually ended up a clown in the Russian Duma. He merits a little more coverage because he was in many ways a typical Russian: outspoken and patriotic; not shy to engage in a stght when his pride is hurt –even if he has to throw a few of those punches right in parliament; brash, and undiplomatic.
If you would understand Zhirinovsky, you would probably uncover half the enigma that is Russia.
There is another category of Russians that would help you uncover the remaining half of the Russian enigma. The Russian Babushka – grandmother: She hears everything. She observes everything. She loves everyone. She is highly nostalgic – as perhaps all old people everywhere tend to be. And she belongs to a group of other loyal grandmothers, forming a unit, not unlike a pride of tight-knit lions – the ultimate support system. This group of grandmothers typically meets in the park just before dusk and entertains themselves with neighborhood gossip while snacking on roasted sunower seeds. But this babushka club is not entirely a closed club. It is open to taking on new members, even of a younger, darker chocolate avor. The Russian babushka is by far the most open-minded Russian alive – talk about irony. Being who I am, I developed an easy friendship with some Russian grandmothers who doted on me as they would their
grandchildren. They regaled me with stories, some sad, some happy, others just nostalgic. The most memorable story revolved around the law of unintended consequences. Essentially, following an inux of African students to the Soviet Union on academic scholarships, the more conservative parents, trying to prevent interracial marriages, warned their daughters to stay away from the Africans who were subhumans and even had tails veiled by their suits. What they didn’t realize was that they had just sparked their daughters’ curiosity, eventually leading to an explosion of mixed-race babies. I have no way of verifying this particular story. At any rate, I doubt it is true. It was at best highly exaggerated, a hyperbole meant to convey a deeper, fundamental truth: as sure as the
sun pierces through the veil of darkness, so too does truth, through lies. People are fundamentally meant for freedom. Any injunction that limits freedom will only elicit a yearning for more. Just ask Adam and Eve.
Since we spoke of the sun, my favorite period in Russia was summer. Not only because the sun is much more suited to my existence than the long, depressing winters; not only because the streets were teeming with the fatally seductive Russian damsels; but also because summer is the ultimate metaphor for happiness.
In the end, Russia was all that it promised to be from the beginning. An unadulterated adventure.
The pilot’s voice comes over
the intercom. He offers his obligatory greetings, obligatory weather updates, and nally lets you know that you’ll be touching down in a matter of minutes. You get off the plane, make it through customs (with little to no hassle), reach the checkout, and nally it dawns on you.
You’re in Cape Town!
And it is beautiful and unlike anything you have ever seen. Dubbed the best place to visit in
2014 by The New York Times, the locals call it the Mother City. It is a vibrant, cultural hodgepodge of food, people, infrastructure, art, and music. Cape Town is a port city located on South Africa’s southwest coast in the South African province of the Western Cape.
Now that we’re done with the introductions, let me just say, Cape Town is a personal favorite place to visit for me. If you’re looking for a truly memorable experience in a port city with
bright lights, chilled citizens, beautiful women (and men! We don’t discriminate), and beautiful architectural symbols, well, then Cape Town is for you. Capetonians, a term referring to citizens of the city, are some of the most laidback people you’ll ever meet in any port city. And even to their chilled vibes, there are layers that are dependent on the area occupied.
If you’re looking to experience all the touristy stuff a tourist will want to experience, then the
town center is where you need to be. Here, you’ll nd a ood of touristaimed hotels, motels, restaurants, and souvenir stores with their hiked prices and cordial but manufactured hospitality.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, “I want the full beautiful and immersive experience of the city,” and I can safely offer three areas that will pander to that very desire, with my observations and inclinations.
Firstly, we have Sea Point, the area closest to the city’s shores. With its beautiful homes and infrastructure, Sea Point is where you want to stay if you want to be closer to the sea and enjoy life at a leisurely pace, with even the store owners adopting laidback attitudes to business, transactions, and interactions and the unfortunate care of their dogs’ uh… remainders. When I was in Cape Town with my mother and siblings, one of our daily activities was exercise (when you come from a family of tness junkies, exercise is a holiday activity too). We stayed at this apartment that was just a ve-minute walk from the promenade; a great path for jogging, taking strolls, and romantic walks (we’ll save it for another article post). On this path, you come across a slew of “promenadians,” some small, some big, some old, and some young, some t and others… not so t with their masters, their dogs— well-trained of course— almost identical to their owners. Sea Point is something I noticed as a "Ba Pamwamba" area. Like Kabulonga in Lusaka, Zambia, or The Upper Eastside of New York, America. Except none of these places have the beautiful scenery of an open sea right next to them. Sea Point takes it a step further, with the restaurants, the juice shops, and the Cookies and Cream icecream sandwich shop that my sister, for all her hard work at resisting sugary temptations, still cannot resist.
At night, Sea Point kicks its intensity from zero to one hundred, as you come face to face with the terribly infectious excitement of the locals’ enjoyment. Enjoyment found in places like The Mojo Market. This hub of food and drink served by restaurants with increasingly quirky and fun marketing gimmicks also offers live music, friendly partygoers with seemingly limitless tanks to hold all their liquor, and the occasional irty eye that is just itching for you to make a move (I wouldn’t exactly know, but my little brother verbally notes— quite often— when I’m being glanced at with interest).
Secondly, comes the hippieooded Observatory (a local’s words not mine). This area of Cape Town looks and feels like it belongs in New Orleans as part of its unusual streets. Obz, as it is affectionately nicknamed, caters to the young people, the collegebound, the college grad students, and the university students. Obz by day is the sloth’s spirit animal. Amusingly slow and comfortable. The proof is in the pudding— or in this case, the Asian man with the knee-length Kanye West-type shirt with a cloth-less back held together by two cotton ties. Obz has several little thrift stores for all your unique style needs, and antique shops with some of the coolest stuff I’ve ever seen and a tattoo store by a corner run and owned by an actual long-haired bearded biker.
By night, it becomes the playground of the students, lively, colorful, and freeing, even as night winds barrel down the slopes from The Devil’s Peak, which might I add, are great if
you’re trying to get some leg workouts in while having fun.
Unfortunately, as with most South African suburban neighborhoods, Observatory is prone to petty thievery such as mugging and burglary. It has improved greatly since the introduction of the area’s neighborhood watch but just to be safe, don’t forget to be alert.
And third, we have Claremont, a suburb with commercial and residential infrastructure. A place as close to refreshing as possible for someone needing the hassle and bustle of their normal life outside of the vacation currently being lived. Claremont with its quietness offers a more casual look at the everyday Cape Town, the beauty and glamour of the tourism crowd stripped away to a bare minimum. Here you can nd a number of foreign African settlers and their shops selling goods like beautiful Brazilian wigs and hair, and all that other stuff and services like crochet-style dreadlocks (speaking of which, when you’re in the area and looking for a place to get your dreads done, look out for Blacksta Dreads City—tell them I sent you).
It’s true Cape Town is a great tourist spot, but as a visitor, looking for the true face of a destination, city, place, etc., one must visit the aforementioned target destinations to truly engage with the beautiful city of Cape Town and enjoy what it has to offer in return.