Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Bingu's Victory: Dreams, aspirations and the future
2009 POLLS: DREAMS, ASPIRATIONS AND THE FUTURE
Patrick Achitabwino
The will of the people is the will of God, so the wise says. The will of God has come out; Dr. Bingu wa Mutharika will lead the nation in the next five years, implementing the vision of nation-building and national development. The enthusiasm that drove millions of Malawians to cast ballots defying apathy fears and the perceived too-close-to-calls-results’ comments of our political analysts and scientists is a complete manifestation of the dreams, hopes and aspirations of the people of the land. Top at the agenda of the minds of Malawians has been continued socio-economic transformation.
Malawi as a country has wholeheartedly given Dr. Mutharika and his DPP government the mandate to advance socio-economic recovery policies. We are reminded by even the African National Congress (ANC) Freedom Charter that no government can claim authority unless it is based on the will of the people. Dr. Mutharika and the DPP government therefore wear robes of authority as per the mandate of the development-conscious Malawians.
The 2009 polls can be best described as a victory for democracy in the country. Several previously perceived political benchmarks have crashed. The pattern through which we have voted manifests that our democracy has matured beyond comprehension. We have broken the boundaries of perceived traditional African democracy that offer support to contesting presidential candidates along tribal or regional lines. Dr. Mutharika’s triumph is a symbol manifesting that gone is the chapter of politics of tribalism, regionalism, personalities, god-fatherhood, sycophancy, parrotry and pull-down syndrome. Ushered in is a new era of politics of issues and national development.
The perspective through which people have voted out some previously perceived political untouchables out of the national assembly demonstrates that Malawians now have redeemed their capacity to utilize the authority that belongs to them. It is no harm to express that every irresponsible and electorates-wishes inconsiderate behavior portrayed by some former lawmakers in the national assembly disfranchised millions of people they were representing. However, while the disfranchisement could have killed the people’s trust in politics, it served as a springboard for launching their power to remove underperforming parliamentarians from the august house.
As the political dust is settling down, Dr. Mutharika and his government are highly challenged by the electorates to deliver on the promises made. The president and his distinguished honourables in the national assembly have to be mindful that they silently signatured on the hearts of Malawians a binding contract on development issues to be carried out. Now the time has come to transform rhetoric into action. From the campaign promises articulated in the manifesto must grow a strong determination to satisfy the aspirations of Malawians. It is good to note that our votes are a sum total of our aspirations and our ballots mirror the future of Malawi we crave for. Our votes manifests our dream to wage a fierce war against poverty. Our dream echo the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr: “The curse of poverty has no justification in our age. It is socially as cruel and blind as the practice of cannibalism at the dawn of civilization, when men ate each other because they had not yet learned to take food from the soil or to consume the abundant animal life around them. The time has come for us to civilize ourselves by the total, direct and immediate abolition of poverty.”
Our voting pattern has consolidated our nascent democracy. We are reminded by Georges Nzongola-Ntalaja that democracy is a moral imperative, a social process, and in particular a type of political practice appealable to all human societies.
The best means to safeguarding this admirable new chapter of politics is only through delivery of promises made. It is worthy putting at the back of minds that democracy is meaningless to people without economic and social rights. Democracy means nothing to people who cannot eat properly, have no roof over their heads, are jobless, unable to send children to schools, and have no access to a minimum of descent health care. Our people will celebrate and sustain this admirable democracy if food security keeps being maintained, the K2 billion loan to the youth is disbursed, our pregnant women access maternal services without the fear of dying out of maternal complications, among several core fundamental needs. Our people need water, electricity and other essential amenities. We are proud that our dreams are well entrenched in the Malawi Growth and Development Strategy (MGDS). Let the document be the guiding factor to national development.
In his David Anderson Address entitled: Challenges of pluralism, democracy, governance and development, renowned developmental economics Professor Adebayo Adedeji reminds us that democracy is more than just ballot baxes, the political parties and all the institutional trappings. It is a way of life, a culture and a lifestyle at all levels of society and in all spheres of human endeavors. Through our votes we have placed ourselves on the avenue of democratic progress that has to become a part of our life and living. Politicians will no longer take the trust of the masses for granted.
It is now the hope of the country that through Dr. Mutharika’s second five-year term, millions of Malawians will benefit from socio-economic policies that will fish them out from meshes of excruciating poverty, the people of the land would share in the wealth of their country. Thousands of people in the country are miserably paid, earning far less than what their labour befits. The votes of the economically-disadvantaged were a cry for the establishment of an atmosphere that restores their human dignity through the abolition of the exploitation of man by man perpetrated by some employers who pay their employees money too little to sustain a living. We borrow the words of Oliver Tambo, one of South Africa’s political icons: ‘it is unconceivable that some Africans should achieve happiness on the basis of the tears and grief of other Africans.’
The eyes of Malawians are now fixed at the national assembly. It is the hope of the people of Malawi that the DPP majority will work for the betterment of the people of the country. We anticipate the passing of national development bills and the appropriate scrutinization of budgets in the light of providing masses appropriate essential services. This is the time that lawmakers bring sanity in the national assembly then convince us that the august house is indeed the house for deliberating the wishes of the people. We are not far away from 2014 when we will use our prerogative rights again to hire or fire lawmakers. The miserable loss of previously outspoken lawmakers is enough wake up call to now parliamentarians.
Whereas African countries have and continue to be perceived as retrogressive in democratic ideals and fundamentals, Malawi has proved to have embraced democracy in totality: peaceful and transparent elections. We have finally extolled virtues of multi-ethnicism and have now embraced it as a tool for nation-building and national development. Now is the best moment to do away with feelings of political bitterness that characterized the campaign period. All the politics, all the campaigning, all the manifestos were all means of finding best solutions to healing socio-economic ills dogging the development of the country. At the end of the day, the best considered formula to socio-economic progress that Bingu unveiled to the masses won the peoples’ hearts hence the renewal of Dr. Bingu wa Mutharika’s tenancy at the state house. We congratulate you Mr. President.
Patrick Achitabwino
The will of the people is the will of God, so the wise says. The will of God has come out; Dr. Bingu wa Mutharika will lead the nation in the next five years, implementing the vision of nation-building and national development. The enthusiasm that drove millions of Malawians to cast ballots defying apathy fears and the perceived too-close-to-calls-results’ comments of our political analysts and scientists is a complete manifestation of the dreams, hopes and aspirations of the people of the land. Top at the agenda of the minds of Malawians has been continued socio-economic transformation.
Malawi as a country has wholeheartedly given Dr. Mutharika and his DPP government the mandate to advance socio-economic recovery policies. We are reminded by even the African National Congress (ANC) Freedom Charter that no government can claim authority unless it is based on the will of the people. Dr. Mutharika and the DPP government therefore wear robes of authority as per the mandate of the development-conscious Malawians.
The 2009 polls can be best described as a victory for democracy in the country. Several previously perceived political benchmarks have crashed. The pattern through which we have voted manifests that our democracy has matured beyond comprehension. We have broken the boundaries of perceived traditional African democracy that offer support to contesting presidential candidates along tribal or regional lines. Dr. Mutharika’s triumph is a symbol manifesting that gone is the chapter of politics of tribalism, regionalism, personalities, god-fatherhood, sycophancy, parrotry and pull-down syndrome. Ushered in is a new era of politics of issues and national development.
The perspective through which people have voted out some previously perceived political untouchables out of the national assembly demonstrates that Malawians now have redeemed their capacity to utilize the authority that belongs to them. It is no harm to express that every irresponsible and electorates-wishes inconsiderate behavior portrayed by some former lawmakers in the national assembly disfranchised millions of people they were representing. However, while the disfranchisement could have killed the people’s trust in politics, it served as a springboard for launching their power to remove underperforming parliamentarians from the august house.
As the political dust is settling down, Dr. Mutharika and his government are highly challenged by the electorates to deliver on the promises made. The president and his distinguished honourables in the national assembly have to be mindful that they silently signatured on the hearts of Malawians a binding contract on development issues to be carried out. Now the time has come to transform rhetoric into action. From the campaign promises articulated in the manifesto must grow a strong determination to satisfy the aspirations of Malawians. It is good to note that our votes are a sum total of our aspirations and our ballots mirror the future of Malawi we crave for. Our votes manifests our dream to wage a fierce war against poverty. Our dream echo the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr: “The curse of poverty has no justification in our age. It is socially as cruel and blind as the practice of cannibalism at the dawn of civilization, when men ate each other because they had not yet learned to take food from the soil or to consume the abundant animal life around them. The time has come for us to civilize ourselves by the total, direct and immediate abolition of poverty.”
Our voting pattern has consolidated our nascent democracy. We are reminded by Georges Nzongola-Ntalaja that democracy is a moral imperative, a social process, and in particular a type of political practice appealable to all human societies.
The best means to safeguarding this admirable new chapter of politics is only through delivery of promises made. It is worthy putting at the back of minds that democracy is meaningless to people without economic and social rights. Democracy means nothing to people who cannot eat properly, have no roof over their heads, are jobless, unable to send children to schools, and have no access to a minimum of descent health care. Our people will celebrate and sustain this admirable democracy if food security keeps being maintained, the K2 billion loan to the youth is disbursed, our pregnant women access maternal services without the fear of dying out of maternal complications, among several core fundamental needs. Our people need water, electricity and other essential amenities. We are proud that our dreams are well entrenched in the Malawi Growth and Development Strategy (MGDS). Let the document be the guiding factor to national development.
In his David Anderson Address entitled: Challenges of pluralism, democracy, governance and development, renowned developmental economics Professor Adebayo Adedeji reminds us that democracy is more than just ballot baxes, the political parties and all the institutional trappings. It is a way of life, a culture and a lifestyle at all levels of society and in all spheres of human endeavors. Through our votes we have placed ourselves on the avenue of democratic progress that has to become a part of our life and living. Politicians will no longer take the trust of the masses for granted.
It is now the hope of the country that through Dr. Mutharika’s second five-year term, millions of Malawians will benefit from socio-economic policies that will fish them out from meshes of excruciating poverty, the people of the land would share in the wealth of their country. Thousands of people in the country are miserably paid, earning far less than what their labour befits. The votes of the economically-disadvantaged were a cry for the establishment of an atmosphere that restores their human dignity through the abolition of the exploitation of man by man perpetrated by some employers who pay their employees money too little to sustain a living. We borrow the words of Oliver Tambo, one of South Africa’s political icons: ‘it is unconceivable that some Africans should achieve happiness on the basis of the tears and grief of other Africans.’
The eyes of Malawians are now fixed at the national assembly. It is the hope of the people of Malawi that the DPP majority will work for the betterment of the people of the country. We anticipate the passing of national development bills and the appropriate scrutinization of budgets in the light of providing masses appropriate essential services. This is the time that lawmakers bring sanity in the national assembly then convince us that the august house is indeed the house for deliberating the wishes of the people. We are not far away from 2014 when we will use our prerogative rights again to hire or fire lawmakers. The miserable loss of previously outspoken lawmakers is enough wake up call to now parliamentarians.
Whereas African countries have and continue to be perceived as retrogressive in democratic ideals and fundamentals, Malawi has proved to have embraced democracy in totality: peaceful and transparent elections. We have finally extolled virtues of multi-ethnicism and have now embraced it as a tool for nation-building and national development. Now is the best moment to do away with feelings of political bitterness that characterized the campaign period. All the politics, all the campaigning, all the manifestos were all means of finding best solutions to healing socio-economic ills dogging the development of the country. At the end of the day, the best considered formula to socio-economic progress that Bingu unveiled to the masses won the peoples’ hearts hence the renewal of Dr. Bingu wa Mutharika’s tenancy at the state house. We congratulate you Mr. President.
Beyond the Horizon
BEYOND THE HORIZON
Patrick Achitabwino
To you, my lady, I sing madrigals
Through the silent strings of the wind though
For the ears of the heart of love
Hear the whispers of the silent wind.
Oh, mistress your love if I have to prize
Gold is nothing. Silver is nothing.
My heart mantled in waiting robes
Patiently for you and you alone can wait
For as long as eternity itself.
If distance was but to arrow hope dead
Loneliness plunder bricks of love to rubbles
The rose flower in me could have withered
But no waiting in love is too long
No loneliness in silent love is fatal.
As the chariot of time flies by
So does it at its tail carry closer and closer
Love that knows no borders
Till you come, oh mistress, I will wait.
Patrick Achitabwino
To you, my lady, I sing madrigals
Through the silent strings of the wind though
For the ears of the heart of love
Hear the whispers of the silent wind.
Oh, mistress your love if I have to prize
Gold is nothing. Silver is nothing.
My heart mantled in waiting robes
Patiently for you and you alone can wait
For as long as eternity itself.
If distance was but to arrow hope dead
Loneliness plunder bricks of love to rubbles
The rose flower in me could have withered
But no waiting in love is too long
No loneliness in silent love is fatal.
As the chariot of time flies by
So does it at its tail carry closer and closer
Love that knows no borders
Till you come, oh mistress, I will wait.
Economics Journalism Handbook - Book review
ECONOMICS JOURNALISM HANDBOOK
For the Malawi Media
Author: Nixon K. Kariithi
Economics journalism in Africa is one of the branches of media that most people classify as having a strong appeal to elitist orientation. Most business and economic stories lack the spark to ignite public interest as they are characterized with jargon and issues that affect large corporate bodies. The Economics Journalism Handbook for the Malawi Media by Professor Nixon Kariithi seems a timely intervention in the empowerment of economic journalists to broaden their outreach so too reinforcing their writing skills.
The handbook consists of 7 chapters and appendices of glossary of national budget terms and copy editing marks. Chapter 1 provides an insight into the state of business and economic journalism in Africa. It clarifies that reporting on business and economic issues in Africa has become of significant importance as a result of the realization that most of Africa’s major problems – war, poverty, dictatorship, and ethnic hostilities – have an economic dimension worthy reporting on. Not only that, the increasing trade in business interaction between African countries has also lead to the growth of economic reporting.
On the state of business and economic reporting in Africa the chapter highlights some problems that hinder progressive reporting, among them, reporters inability to distinguish between personalities and issues, nor developing links between related macroeconomic events; and reluctance of government sources to provide data.
The second chapter narrates what the author calls: ‘Writing as a way of life.’ It is in this chapter that economics’ reporters are reminded that in journalism effective writing is measured on the barometer of effective communication. Journalism has to narrow at reporting persuasively, interestingly, powerfully and effectively. Another beauty of this chapter is that it gives economic reporters a good dose of putting parts of speech into good use. With examples, it further clarifies how best to use punctuation.
Reporters who have been having headaches in newsgathering will find relief in chapters 3 and 4 as they give tips on newsgathering techniques. Kariithi challenges journalists to source all stories clearly and exciplictly to enable their audience to form their own judgement of a story’s credibility, and to protect the newsrooms’ reputation if stories are challenged. The handbook cautions that though press releases are sources of information, journalists should be handling them with skepticism. Press releases are intended to promote the interests and favourable reputation of the individuals and organisations that disseminate them. Reporters should have the edge to unearth circumstances leading to the issuing of the press releases.
Business and economics can not survive without numbers. It is in this regard that chapter 5 takes an intrinsic look into the significant importance of statistics in news stories. Chapter 6 attempts to reinforce the understanding and covering of national budget. National budget coverage should encompass the whole budget cycle that covers the following stages: preparation/formulation; approval/enactment; implementation/execution; monitoring and evaluation; and audit and reviews
The handbook says: “Journalists should report on the budget issues throughout the year.”
Among the essential documents that the Handbook encourages economic reporters to refer to when reporting national budget issues include: the budget statement, the annual economic report, the financial statement, draft estimates of expenditure on recurrent and capital account and supplementary estimates of expenditure on recurrent and capital accounts.
The final chapter of the book is entitled: “Improving economics news writing and reporting.” The chapter emphasizes on the power of writing strong news’ introductions. It also offers some practical ways of improving news reporting.
The handbook has great relevance to the Malawi setting as most of the examples illustrated in it are reprints of paragraphs of news stories published in newspapers in the country. Kariithi, an associate professor of Journalism and Media Studies at the University of Witwatersrand in South Africa did a fair job of research. The handbook, as the author emphasizes, is a critical addition to resources available to African journalists as they endeavour to accurately and effectively report their national economies. The handbook can also be used for academic studies in journalism.
The author however could have done much justice to the book if there had been balanced coverage of print and broadcasting illustrations used as examples. Almost all illustrations are from print media. Probably this has been the case as most broadcasters do not keep records of news they air. On 3 occasions, the term ‘to’ had been referred to as ‘co’ and in another sentence ‘days’ was spelled as ‘clays.’ However, these few errors do not undervalue the content of this vital resource.
For the Malawi Media
Author: Nixon K. Kariithi
Economics journalism in Africa is one of the branches of media that most people classify as having a strong appeal to elitist orientation. Most business and economic stories lack the spark to ignite public interest as they are characterized with jargon and issues that affect large corporate bodies. The Economics Journalism Handbook for the Malawi Media by Professor Nixon Kariithi seems a timely intervention in the empowerment of economic journalists to broaden their outreach so too reinforcing their writing skills.
The handbook consists of 7 chapters and appendices of glossary of national budget terms and copy editing marks. Chapter 1 provides an insight into the state of business and economic journalism in Africa. It clarifies that reporting on business and economic issues in Africa has become of significant importance as a result of the realization that most of Africa’s major problems – war, poverty, dictatorship, and ethnic hostilities – have an economic dimension worthy reporting on. Not only that, the increasing trade in business interaction between African countries has also lead to the growth of economic reporting.
On the state of business and economic reporting in Africa the chapter highlights some problems that hinder progressive reporting, among them, reporters inability to distinguish between personalities and issues, nor developing links between related macroeconomic events; and reluctance of government sources to provide data.
The second chapter narrates what the author calls: ‘Writing as a way of life.’ It is in this chapter that economics’ reporters are reminded that in journalism effective writing is measured on the barometer of effective communication. Journalism has to narrow at reporting persuasively, interestingly, powerfully and effectively. Another beauty of this chapter is that it gives economic reporters a good dose of putting parts of speech into good use. With examples, it further clarifies how best to use punctuation.
Reporters who have been having headaches in newsgathering will find relief in chapters 3 and 4 as they give tips on newsgathering techniques. Kariithi challenges journalists to source all stories clearly and exciplictly to enable their audience to form their own judgement of a story’s credibility, and to protect the newsrooms’ reputation if stories are challenged. The handbook cautions that though press releases are sources of information, journalists should be handling them with skepticism. Press releases are intended to promote the interests and favourable reputation of the individuals and organisations that disseminate them. Reporters should have the edge to unearth circumstances leading to the issuing of the press releases.
Business and economics can not survive without numbers. It is in this regard that chapter 5 takes an intrinsic look into the significant importance of statistics in news stories. Chapter 6 attempts to reinforce the understanding and covering of national budget. National budget coverage should encompass the whole budget cycle that covers the following stages: preparation/formulation; approval/enactment; implementation/execution; monitoring and evaluation; and audit and reviews
The handbook says: “Journalists should report on the budget issues throughout the year.”
Among the essential documents that the Handbook encourages economic reporters to refer to when reporting national budget issues include: the budget statement, the annual economic report, the financial statement, draft estimates of expenditure on recurrent and capital account and supplementary estimates of expenditure on recurrent and capital accounts.
The final chapter of the book is entitled: “Improving economics news writing and reporting.” The chapter emphasizes on the power of writing strong news’ introductions. It also offers some practical ways of improving news reporting.
The handbook has great relevance to the Malawi setting as most of the examples illustrated in it are reprints of paragraphs of news stories published in newspapers in the country. Kariithi, an associate professor of Journalism and Media Studies at the University of Witwatersrand in South Africa did a fair job of research. The handbook, as the author emphasizes, is a critical addition to resources available to African journalists as they endeavour to accurately and effectively report their national economies. The handbook can also be used for academic studies in journalism.
The author however could have done much justice to the book if there had been balanced coverage of print and broadcasting illustrations used as examples. Almost all illustrations are from print media. Probably this has been the case as most broadcasters do not keep records of news they air. On 3 occasions, the term ‘to’ had been referred to as ‘co’ and in another sentence ‘days’ was spelled as ‘clays.’ However, these few errors do not undervalue the content of this vital resource.
Living the Dr. Livingstone Dream
LIVING THE LIVINGSTONE DREAM
Patrick Achitabwino
“And if my disclosures regarding the terrible ujijian slavery should lead to the suppression of the East Coast slave trade, I shall regard that as a greater matter by far than the discovery of all the Nile sources together,” Dr. David Livingstone in a letter to the editor of the New York Herald
If central Africa carries history of renowned figures who initiated what could be termed as the renaissance of Central Africa, then one, Dr. David Livingstone stands tall in that remarkable history. Dr. Livingstone made geographical discoveries for European knowledge, inspired abolitionists of slave trade, explorers and missionaries, opened up central Africa to missionaries who initiated the education and health care for Africans and trade by the African Lakes Company. The Livingstone impact undoubtedly played a crucial role in the struggle for national independence in different central African states. Africans educated in mission schools founded by people inspired by Livingstone were at the forefront of national independence movements in central, eastern and southern Africa.
Over a century later, we are yet to realize the full dream of Dr. Livingstone. Transportation of goods is confined to roads, unable to develop the cheaper water routes. Over a century later we are dreaming of the Shire-Zambezi waterway as one means of enhancing trade in the Sub Sahara part of Africa. We are yet to benefit greatly from trade. At best, we can only afford to export primary products, thus reaping too little from our sweat. In the words of Dr. Patrick Lumumba, an eminent academician and law professor, Africans remain the hewers of wood and drawers of water for larger economies.
Dr. Livingstone believed that Christianity, commerce and civilization would deliver Africa from slavery and barbarism. Over a century later, can we claim that we are a civilized nation? Civilization is enhanced by increased levels of literacy rate. Millions of our civilians could not break beyond the standard eight mark. Only about a thousand out of a population of twelve million people can be admitted into the university every year. Our esteemed mothers travel long distances to access water. Electricity reaches less than 2 percent of the entire population of the country. We are yet to reach the peak of civilization in totality.
We could claim that we are civilized because we are a democratic society. But embroiled in many political maneuvers, manipulation, regional-based political support, is our democracy a civilized democracy? The answer is absolutely no.
We haven’t done that badly though. Our nation has enjoyed relative peace for decades. We have a generation growing up without seeing rebels brandishing guns. We transformed from autocratic regime to democracy peacefully. We have achieved food security. Those are remarkable steps made towards absolute civilization.
In trying to live the Livingstone dream, we have as a nation to embark on an economic and social revolution. The nation has to ensure that its citizens earn what can keep them alive for thirty working days. We can hardly expect tangible progress on the socio-economic front when millions of our people are paid as low as K3, 000.00 a month. We are proud to live in a generation that has seen no slave trade. But isn’t poverty worse than slave trade. Millions of our people live on less than 2 United States Dollars a day. They are shrouded in the bondage of the slavery of poverty.
We can realize the Livingstone dream if we can say along Dr. Martin Luther King Jr that “I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits.”
It is impetrative that we develop the agriculture sector for secondary products exports to liberate from the meshes of poverty millions of Malawians who depend on farming. Let the government and the private sector establish cooperatives, equip them with appropriate resources, and challenge them to succeed. Malawi has good soil and plenty of water. If there is something Malawians know better then it is agriculture. If agriculture productivity is raised by thirty to fifty percent, it definitely can have a substantial increase on the GDP of the country.
We definitely have to revolutionize the way we do our trade. Our country has to start thinking big. I have the belief that the country can benefit a lot through selling cigarettes to international markets than tobacco leaf. Is it not possible for us to acquire loans from multilateral institutions and purchase machinery that could enable us process uranium and other mineral resources into finished products? Can’t we embark on exporting canned fish and beef? This can be the best means through which we can empower the fisherman along the lakeshore and the cattle herder from Nsanje or the northern part of Malawi to benefit from his trade. Is it not a setback to be importing tinned fish and canned beef, beans and other products when we have the capacity to produce our own and export?
One remarkable perspective in the Livingstone dream was his hardworking spirit. Perhaps one of the cancers eating productivity in Malawi is laisez faire attitude towards work. People report late for duties, knock early for lunch, return back late, and get more excuses to be out of office. The tendency of working for allowances is denting the spirit of hard working. It was hard work that saw Livingstone discovering Lake Ngami, Lake Malawi, Lake Bangweulu and Victoria Falls. As long us the mindset of our people has no drive to work for the development of mother Malawi, living the Livingstone dream would ever end up a dream. The public and private sector has much human potential capable of transforming this country. It only requires a little injection of dedication and patriotism to give out the best they can.
The country is awash with many professionals. They have the duty to lead the country towards the realization of the Livingstone dream. Health professionals must spearhead programmes meant to enhance delivery of health services to all the people; agriculturalists should champion the revolution of agriculture in the country; lawyers enhance the development and application of enabling laws that can preserve the dignity of every citizen; accountants ensure that financial resources are put to good use in the development of the nation. The list of professionals and what they can do in pursuit of fulfilling the Livingstone dream is endless. All, as citizens of our country, have the noble task of ensuring that the Livingstone dream is realized, no matter how long it may take.
Patrick Achitabwino
“And if my disclosures regarding the terrible ujijian slavery should lead to the suppression of the East Coast slave trade, I shall regard that as a greater matter by far than the discovery of all the Nile sources together,” Dr. David Livingstone in a letter to the editor of the New York Herald
If central Africa carries history of renowned figures who initiated what could be termed as the renaissance of Central Africa, then one, Dr. David Livingstone stands tall in that remarkable history. Dr. Livingstone made geographical discoveries for European knowledge, inspired abolitionists of slave trade, explorers and missionaries, opened up central Africa to missionaries who initiated the education and health care for Africans and trade by the African Lakes Company. The Livingstone impact undoubtedly played a crucial role in the struggle for national independence in different central African states. Africans educated in mission schools founded by people inspired by Livingstone were at the forefront of national independence movements in central, eastern and southern Africa.
Over a century later, we are yet to realize the full dream of Dr. Livingstone. Transportation of goods is confined to roads, unable to develop the cheaper water routes. Over a century later we are dreaming of the Shire-Zambezi waterway as one means of enhancing trade in the Sub Sahara part of Africa. We are yet to benefit greatly from trade. At best, we can only afford to export primary products, thus reaping too little from our sweat. In the words of Dr. Patrick Lumumba, an eminent academician and law professor, Africans remain the hewers of wood and drawers of water for larger economies.
Dr. Livingstone believed that Christianity, commerce and civilization would deliver Africa from slavery and barbarism. Over a century later, can we claim that we are a civilized nation? Civilization is enhanced by increased levels of literacy rate. Millions of our civilians could not break beyond the standard eight mark. Only about a thousand out of a population of twelve million people can be admitted into the university every year. Our esteemed mothers travel long distances to access water. Electricity reaches less than 2 percent of the entire population of the country. We are yet to reach the peak of civilization in totality.
We could claim that we are civilized because we are a democratic society. But embroiled in many political maneuvers, manipulation, regional-based political support, is our democracy a civilized democracy? The answer is absolutely no.
We haven’t done that badly though. Our nation has enjoyed relative peace for decades. We have a generation growing up without seeing rebels brandishing guns. We transformed from autocratic regime to democracy peacefully. We have achieved food security. Those are remarkable steps made towards absolute civilization.
In trying to live the Livingstone dream, we have as a nation to embark on an economic and social revolution. The nation has to ensure that its citizens earn what can keep them alive for thirty working days. We can hardly expect tangible progress on the socio-economic front when millions of our people are paid as low as K3, 000.00 a month. We are proud to live in a generation that has seen no slave trade. But isn’t poverty worse than slave trade. Millions of our people live on less than 2 United States Dollars a day. They are shrouded in the bondage of the slavery of poverty.
We can realize the Livingstone dream if we can say along Dr. Martin Luther King Jr that “I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits.”
It is impetrative that we develop the agriculture sector for secondary products exports to liberate from the meshes of poverty millions of Malawians who depend on farming. Let the government and the private sector establish cooperatives, equip them with appropriate resources, and challenge them to succeed. Malawi has good soil and plenty of water. If there is something Malawians know better then it is agriculture. If agriculture productivity is raised by thirty to fifty percent, it definitely can have a substantial increase on the GDP of the country.
We definitely have to revolutionize the way we do our trade. Our country has to start thinking big. I have the belief that the country can benefit a lot through selling cigarettes to international markets than tobacco leaf. Is it not possible for us to acquire loans from multilateral institutions and purchase machinery that could enable us process uranium and other mineral resources into finished products? Can’t we embark on exporting canned fish and beef? This can be the best means through which we can empower the fisherman along the lakeshore and the cattle herder from Nsanje or the northern part of Malawi to benefit from his trade. Is it not a setback to be importing tinned fish and canned beef, beans and other products when we have the capacity to produce our own and export?
One remarkable perspective in the Livingstone dream was his hardworking spirit. Perhaps one of the cancers eating productivity in Malawi is laisez faire attitude towards work. People report late for duties, knock early for lunch, return back late, and get more excuses to be out of office. The tendency of working for allowances is denting the spirit of hard working. It was hard work that saw Livingstone discovering Lake Ngami, Lake Malawi, Lake Bangweulu and Victoria Falls. As long us the mindset of our people has no drive to work for the development of mother Malawi, living the Livingstone dream would ever end up a dream. The public and private sector has much human potential capable of transforming this country. It only requires a little injection of dedication and patriotism to give out the best they can.
The country is awash with many professionals. They have the duty to lead the country towards the realization of the Livingstone dream. Health professionals must spearhead programmes meant to enhance delivery of health services to all the people; agriculturalists should champion the revolution of agriculture in the country; lawyers enhance the development and application of enabling laws that can preserve the dignity of every citizen; accountants ensure that financial resources are put to good use in the development of the nation. The list of professionals and what they can do in pursuit of fulfilling the Livingstone dream is endless. All, as citizens of our country, have the noble task of ensuring that the Livingstone dream is realized, no matter how long it may take.
Kamuzu's 'I am too bust to die' philosophy
KAMUZU’S “I AM TOO BUSY TO DIE” PHILOSOPHY
Patrick Achitabwino
Among the words of Wisdom attributed to Ngwazi Dr. Hastings Kamuzu Banda that can be accessed on the Bulawayo 1872.com is the quote: ‘I am too busy to die.’ The only missing link is that the website only caught Kamuzu with that word of wisdom but doesn’t provide further information as to where the Malawi’s former leader said that. Beneath the caught one can read the passion that the former head of state, the father and founder of Malawi, had over development. One can easily say that the sentence is of equal margin to Mahatma Gandhi’s quote: work as if there is no tomorrow.
It is the ‘I am too busy to die’ concept that led to significant infrastructural, economic, academic, and social development of the country during the reign of Dr. Banda. It is the drive of that sentiment that made Dr. Banda always dream for excellence in all undertakings. It was the same belief that gave the Ngwazi a vision for future. The former leader did set the development pace for the country, the political agenda meant to transform masses of Malawi civilians from the meshes of abject poverty. It is no wonder then that among necessities that Dr. Banda considered of great value to Malawians were food, housing and shelter.
The best way to the future is through the past, so says the wise. Fifteen years after the reign of Dr. Banda it is time the nation learns to adopt his social policies to spearhead socio-economic development for the country. The nation will be justified to take an intrinsic look into what Kamuzu did better for the nation then replicate such ideologies and implement them. Having been led by Mchikumbe number 1 for 31 years, it is high time that our agricultural policies reflect that of Kamuzu to ensure that food is available for all Malawians.
The development of Malawi requires putting into effect the “I am too busy to die’ philosophy. This country requires a public sector that is highly motivated and patriotic to serve its people. Kamuzu ensured that the civil service becomes the backbone of development. In this democratic dispensation, the civil service has lost that scope. In many government offices, the level of discharging duties is at best mediocre. A new laziness syndrome called ‘work as you earn’ has eroded the pride of the civil service. But civil servants were not being paid millions during the reign of Dr. Banda. Civil servants then were driven by the motivation, hunger and desire to be part and parcel of national development.
It was the element of keeping the young generation too busy to die that led to the success of the youth Malawi Young Pioneers programmes. The development that was meant to equip the young generation with skills to enable them grow into productive citizens of the country was probably one of the best youth policies to be run in Southern Africa. The current generation, as it struggles to create jobs and other initiatives that can ensure self-reliance among youngsters, should look at the positive side of the Malawi Young Pioneers programme, replicate it then rescue millions of youngsters from the potential of becoming vagabonds.
Probably Dr. Banda could as well be interpreted as having tried to mean that he was too busy with developing the academic sector before he dies. Almost 95 percent or beyond of professionals that are doing good work for the country passed through colleges built by the regime of Dr. Banda. He did set an academic pace that the country needs to spearhead forward. As Malawi needs more and more multi-talented professionals to be the fulcrum of socio-economic development, so too does it need a massive investment in the academic sector: primary, secondary schools, and colleges.
In the drive to add great value to the credentials of our graduates, we need to recruit and retain highly qualified human resource better suited to impart relevant and appropriate knowledge in our students. Colleges during Dr. Banda’s regime had lecturers with impeccable credentials. As globalization puts the whole world in close scrutiny, we need to safeguard our qualifications and endeavour to equate them with the best renowned international academic qualifications. Dr. Banda knew that the future of any country lies in the development of the education sector. That is the philosophy we have to advance as well.
We have to look to the future in the words of Dr. Banda: ‘there is a future in Africa for all of us, for the majority and minority races and tribes.’ That is a noble call to the civilians of the country that in a bid to implement development agendas for the country, oneness should remain the key not tribalism and regionalism. As we cast our eyes forward, we are encouraged by the spirit of Dr. Banda to work hard as if there will be no tomorrow.
To err is human, so it is said and believed. The errors of today are the lessons of tomorrow. As we are commemoration the heroics of Malawi father and founder it is imperative that we look at all his perceived wrongs with a forgiving heart then learn that we ourselves never fall into the trap of commiting such errors.
Patrick Achitabwino
Among the words of Wisdom attributed to Ngwazi Dr. Hastings Kamuzu Banda that can be accessed on the Bulawayo 1872.com is the quote: ‘I am too busy to die.’ The only missing link is that the website only caught Kamuzu with that word of wisdom but doesn’t provide further information as to where the Malawi’s former leader said that. Beneath the caught one can read the passion that the former head of state, the father and founder of Malawi, had over development. One can easily say that the sentence is of equal margin to Mahatma Gandhi’s quote: work as if there is no tomorrow.
It is the ‘I am too busy to die’ concept that led to significant infrastructural, economic, academic, and social development of the country during the reign of Dr. Banda. It is the drive of that sentiment that made Dr. Banda always dream for excellence in all undertakings. It was the same belief that gave the Ngwazi a vision for future. The former leader did set the development pace for the country, the political agenda meant to transform masses of Malawi civilians from the meshes of abject poverty. It is no wonder then that among necessities that Dr. Banda considered of great value to Malawians were food, housing and shelter.
The best way to the future is through the past, so says the wise. Fifteen years after the reign of Dr. Banda it is time the nation learns to adopt his social policies to spearhead socio-economic development for the country. The nation will be justified to take an intrinsic look into what Kamuzu did better for the nation then replicate such ideologies and implement them. Having been led by Mchikumbe number 1 for 31 years, it is high time that our agricultural policies reflect that of Kamuzu to ensure that food is available for all Malawians.
The development of Malawi requires putting into effect the “I am too busy to die’ philosophy. This country requires a public sector that is highly motivated and patriotic to serve its people. Kamuzu ensured that the civil service becomes the backbone of development. In this democratic dispensation, the civil service has lost that scope. In many government offices, the level of discharging duties is at best mediocre. A new laziness syndrome called ‘work as you earn’ has eroded the pride of the civil service. But civil servants were not being paid millions during the reign of Dr. Banda. Civil servants then were driven by the motivation, hunger and desire to be part and parcel of national development.
It was the element of keeping the young generation too busy to die that led to the success of the youth Malawi Young Pioneers programmes. The development that was meant to equip the young generation with skills to enable them grow into productive citizens of the country was probably one of the best youth policies to be run in Southern Africa. The current generation, as it struggles to create jobs and other initiatives that can ensure self-reliance among youngsters, should look at the positive side of the Malawi Young Pioneers programme, replicate it then rescue millions of youngsters from the potential of becoming vagabonds.
Probably Dr. Banda could as well be interpreted as having tried to mean that he was too busy with developing the academic sector before he dies. Almost 95 percent or beyond of professionals that are doing good work for the country passed through colleges built by the regime of Dr. Banda. He did set an academic pace that the country needs to spearhead forward. As Malawi needs more and more multi-talented professionals to be the fulcrum of socio-economic development, so too does it need a massive investment in the academic sector: primary, secondary schools, and colleges.
In the drive to add great value to the credentials of our graduates, we need to recruit and retain highly qualified human resource better suited to impart relevant and appropriate knowledge in our students. Colleges during Dr. Banda’s regime had lecturers with impeccable credentials. As globalization puts the whole world in close scrutiny, we need to safeguard our qualifications and endeavour to equate them with the best renowned international academic qualifications. Dr. Banda knew that the future of any country lies in the development of the education sector. That is the philosophy we have to advance as well.
We have to look to the future in the words of Dr. Banda: ‘there is a future in Africa for all of us, for the majority and minority races and tribes.’ That is a noble call to the civilians of the country that in a bid to implement development agendas for the country, oneness should remain the key not tribalism and regionalism. As we cast our eyes forward, we are encouraged by the spirit of Dr. Banda to work hard as if there will be no tomorrow.
To err is human, so it is said and believed. The errors of today are the lessons of tomorrow. As we are commemoration the heroics of Malawi father and founder it is imperative that we look at all his perceived wrongs with a forgiving heart then learn that we ourselves never fall into the trap of commiting such errors.
It's all over my love
IT’S ALL OVER MY LOVE
Patrick Achitabwino
Men, it has never pricked my embattled soul that one other moment shall dawn over my life when I will have to hate my home and seek solace in nearly the same environment that wrecked havoc over my soul: bottlestore.
Barman, give me a cold one and a round for these drunkards. Aaaah, mayiwathu, a plate of nyamayankhumba please. Just cut a K500 peace.
It is these mayiwathu guys, these beer carriers who keep our eyes busy with their tantalizing walks, balancing nyamayankhumba in one hand and bottles of beer in another, that have thrown spanners in the wheels of my love. They smile, yes the smiles that tease intoxicated minds of drunkards.
Men, I certainly believe that had you been in my shoes you could have totally agreed that what I am doing is sane. Just imagine, Towera, a sweet angel I have been dating for four years, all having been set to grace the altar in matrimony, has decided to abandon me.
Holy Christ, my zip has no discipline, Towera concluded deep in the marrows of her heart. I have no morals, no respect for love, and no thought over my future, Towera told me straight in the eye. Men, she boiled me in the hot pot of her anger. I tried to plead with her to give me a moment to explain but she was noncommittal. Immediately she called ankhoswe, bringing to a halt wedding preparations.
I have to clear the mist, lest you be deceived. I am mad guys because Towera is that type of ladies that can make guys crack their necks to breaking all just to cast a glimpse at her: dark in complexion, long-legged, hilly-hipped, after all what do you need in a beautiful woman.
So it is just a few minutes after 5am. How time flies, we have been imprisoning ourselves in this bottlestore since 10pm last night. Men, I have been trying to drink my sorrows down my stomach but they can sink no more. The more I try to forget them, the more Towera’s beaming visage ricochets in the walls of my brain.
Fellows, Towera has been my everything. There was a time my employers suspended me for two months. Reason? My bad habit of reporting for duties while drunk, and even sneaking out of office at times to guzzle a few bottles down the esophagus. During the period of my suspension on no pay, I survived because of Towera. She would bring to my house her pay slip and the whole pay itself then gave me the privilege of being the lord and master over her money.
Least your minds deceive you; Towera is not such a cheap monkey who roams on the street hunting for any drunkard. No, she is a respectable lady who drives her own Rav 4, daughter to a retired diplomat who resides in one of the posh flats in Namiwawa.
You see, this is the paradox of love. Despite all her well being she used to call me darling, one and only, sweet heart, you name it. She used to love me like I have never been loved before. I just recall that the first time we met was in the coachline on the way to Lilongwe. We shared seats. I stole a quick glance at her. She realized I was shy, then smiled.
You have never seen me stammering guys, no matter how drunk I am, but on that hour of grace I even stammered to mention my name. Towera loved calling me by my full name: Zondwayo Chiwalo. The way my name would dance at the tip of her tongue and scratch my eardrum, I can never tell.
Mayiwathu, yibwere nkhumba. Guys, I just think we are having a pork breakfast, isn’t it. Pork meat means no hangover. You can’t go wrong with pork meat and a few cold bottles. It is just like a strong wind that chases clouds away to provide a clear space through which the sun can light the earth.
Oh, thanks for driving me back to the right lane. Back to the issue, yes the issue at hand. This stupid Zondwayo told Towera Mulandu that he is a procurement clerk and was heading for Lilongwe to sort out arrangements for a board meeting scheduled to be held the next day.
Surprise men, surprise. Towera fished out a business card and handed it over to me. The card told me she was a brands manager for one of the car selling companies in the country. The designations written after her name were so many, call them. I…I…anyway, they are not relevant at this point in time. I just dipped my hand into my hip pocket, fish out a scrap paper then caricatured on it my phone number. She inserted it into her golden laced pace.
Men, this was the shortest journey I have ever traveled to Lilongwe. We finally said goodbye. We said we would meet again but little was I dreaming that we would ever meet again.
You should have seen how amazed I was a week later to see Towera snaking into my office. I nearly fainted. Actually, she said she had come to take me out for lunch at the hotel. Oh men, I took part in those so called business lunches at the hotel. I ate and ate and ate eeee. The way my tongue was licking the lips was more of a salivating dog. After all, I had earlier on escaped from the office to kill hangover with two bottles. Hunger was beating drums in my belly and the hotel food had to dance to the tunes.
The good thing I like with Towera is that she drinks a little. The moment that led to the beginning of our journey in love was the one that she took me to the sportsman’s bar for a few whisky glasses. It was right there, while whisky had knocked our brains down, that Towera told me that she was desperate for love. Actually she told me that she was ready to do anything to any man who would commit to live his life with her.
Men, who could not dream kutola nkhwangwa ndi mpini womwe. Call me a gold digger guys, call me what you want, but that was a once in a lifetime opportunity that poor Zondwayo, a resident of a rickety, roof-caving-in more of a toilet size bed-sitter in the impoverished Ntopwa in Bangwe, could not afford to slip through his fingers. You see guys, by then I had this other girlfriend, first born daughter to my landlord. Your guess is as well as mine; the following morning I lambasted the landlord’s daughter that she was not my type. After all, I had nothing to lose as Towera had to rent me a descent house in Nkolokosa a week later.
Men, what has made me mad, I say and please listen attentively, Towera told me that she wanted to have a feel of life at any of the bottlestores where I quench my beer thirst. I grabbed that an opportunity to take her to Mayi Nabanda pub down the stream down there. You see, I wanted those lunatics of girls who look you into the pocket with envy to see that I am not their type. You know them well guys, these worst robbers, mbava zoba powopseza ndi ntchafu.
That was a mistake guys, and I repeat, a worst mistake. No sooner had I alighted from the vehicle, hand in hand with Towera, than this other slim to the bone bitch pelted insults on me. Oh, guys, oh guys, she just yelled: Lero mwabwera ndi ena. Amwali alipiriretu ameneyo, kukonda ulele. I saw my heart flying out, my soul, my humanity, even my very self.
You should have thought it was a dream, another bitch bullied her buttocks in my front, yelling: lero ndipanga zainu. Ndikufuna zanga.
I looked at Towera. I looked at these night queens. I looked at myself then got lost into a sea of desperation. You see guys, Towera fished out K1000 from her purse, threw it at the …. forgive my tongue I am very angry, grabbed me by the neck and pulled me to the car. With anger written all over her face she told me that it was all over. Actually, with tears she told me: it’s all over my love.
I am lost guys as I am talking to you. Call me a fool; call me whatever you want, but that is what my stupidity has paid me. I just don’t know what I will tell my parents. I don’t know who is to pay my rent; I live in a house that is beyond my salary. Barman, beers please, more beers. I will just drink and die for I see no reason to remain alive in the absence of Towera.
Patrick Achitabwino
Men, it has never pricked my embattled soul that one other moment shall dawn over my life when I will have to hate my home and seek solace in nearly the same environment that wrecked havoc over my soul: bottlestore.
Barman, give me a cold one and a round for these drunkards. Aaaah, mayiwathu, a plate of nyamayankhumba please. Just cut a K500 peace.
It is these mayiwathu guys, these beer carriers who keep our eyes busy with their tantalizing walks, balancing nyamayankhumba in one hand and bottles of beer in another, that have thrown spanners in the wheels of my love. They smile, yes the smiles that tease intoxicated minds of drunkards.
Men, I certainly believe that had you been in my shoes you could have totally agreed that what I am doing is sane. Just imagine, Towera, a sweet angel I have been dating for four years, all having been set to grace the altar in matrimony, has decided to abandon me.
Holy Christ, my zip has no discipline, Towera concluded deep in the marrows of her heart. I have no morals, no respect for love, and no thought over my future, Towera told me straight in the eye. Men, she boiled me in the hot pot of her anger. I tried to plead with her to give me a moment to explain but she was noncommittal. Immediately she called ankhoswe, bringing to a halt wedding preparations.
I have to clear the mist, lest you be deceived. I am mad guys because Towera is that type of ladies that can make guys crack their necks to breaking all just to cast a glimpse at her: dark in complexion, long-legged, hilly-hipped, after all what do you need in a beautiful woman.
So it is just a few minutes after 5am. How time flies, we have been imprisoning ourselves in this bottlestore since 10pm last night. Men, I have been trying to drink my sorrows down my stomach but they can sink no more. The more I try to forget them, the more Towera’s beaming visage ricochets in the walls of my brain.
Fellows, Towera has been my everything. There was a time my employers suspended me for two months. Reason? My bad habit of reporting for duties while drunk, and even sneaking out of office at times to guzzle a few bottles down the esophagus. During the period of my suspension on no pay, I survived because of Towera. She would bring to my house her pay slip and the whole pay itself then gave me the privilege of being the lord and master over her money.
Least your minds deceive you; Towera is not such a cheap monkey who roams on the street hunting for any drunkard. No, she is a respectable lady who drives her own Rav 4, daughter to a retired diplomat who resides in one of the posh flats in Namiwawa.
You see, this is the paradox of love. Despite all her well being she used to call me darling, one and only, sweet heart, you name it. She used to love me like I have never been loved before. I just recall that the first time we met was in the coachline on the way to Lilongwe. We shared seats. I stole a quick glance at her. She realized I was shy, then smiled.
You have never seen me stammering guys, no matter how drunk I am, but on that hour of grace I even stammered to mention my name. Towera loved calling me by my full name: Zondwayo Chiwalo. The way my name would dance at the tip of her tongue and scratch my eardrum, I can never tell.
Mayiwathu, yibwere nkhumba. Guys, I just think we are having a pork breakfast, isn’t it. Pork meat means no hangover. You can’t go wrong with pork meat and a few cold bottles. It is just like a strong wind that chases clouds away to provide a clear space through which the sun can light the earth.
Oh, thanks for driving me back to the right lane. Back to the issue, yes the issue at hand. This stupid Zondwayo told Towera Mulandu that he is a procurement clerk and was heading for Lilongwe to sort out arrangements for a board meeting scheduled to be held the next day.
Surprise men, surprise. Towera fished out a business card and handed it over to me. The card told me she was a brands manager for one of the car selling companies in the country. The designations written after her name were so many, call them. I…I…anyway, they are not relevant at this point in time. I just dipped my hand into my hip pocket, fish out a scrap paper then caricatured on it my phone number. She inserted it into her golden laced pace.
Men, this was the shortest journey I have ever traveled to Lilongwe. We finally said goodbye. We said we would meet again but little was I dreaming that we would ever meet again.
You should have seen how amazed I was a week later to see Towera snaking into my office. I nearly fainted. Actually, she said she had come to take me out for lunch at the hotel. Oh men, I took part in those so called business lunches at the hotel. I ate and ate and ate eeee. The way my tongue was licking the lips was more of a salivating dog. After all, I had earlier on escaped from the office to kill hangover with two bottles. Hunger was beating drums in my belly and the hotel food had to dance to the tunes.
The good thing I like with Towera is that she drinks a little. The moment that led to the beginning of our journey in love was the one that she took me to the sportsman’s bar for a few whisky glasses. It was right there, while whisky had knocked our brains down, that Towera told me that she was desperate for love. Actually she told me that she was ready to do anything to any man who would commit to live his life with her.
Men, who could not dream kutola nkhwangwa ndi mpini womwe. Call me a gold digger guys, call me what you want, but that was a once in a lifetime opportunity that poor Zondwayo, a resident of a rickety, roof-caving-in more of a toilet size bed-sitter in the impoverished Ntopwa in Bangwe, could not afford to slip through his fingers. You see guys, by then I had this other girlfriend, first born daughter to my landlord. Your guess is as well as mine; the following morning I lambasted the landlord’s daughter that she was not my type. After all, I had nothing to lose as Towera had to rent me a descent house in Nkolokosa a week later.
Men, what has made me mad, I say and please listen attentively, Towera told me that she wanted to have a feel of life at any of the bottlestores where I quench my beer thirst. I grabbed that an opportunity to take her to Mayi Nabanda pub down the stream down there. You see, I wanted those lunatics of girls who look you into the pocket with envy to see that I am not their type. You know them well guys, these worst robbers, mbava zoba powopseza ndi ntchafu.
That was a mistake guys, and I repeat, a worst mistake. No sooner had I alighted from the vehicle, hand in hand with Towera, than this other slim to the bone bitch pelted insults on me. Oh, guys, oh guys, she just yelled: Lero mwabwera ndi ena. Amwali alipiriretu ameneyo, kukonda ulele. I saw my heart flying out, my soul, my humanity, even my very self.
You should have thought it was a dream, another bitch bullied her buttocks in my front, yelling: lero ndipanga zainu. Ndikufuna zanga.
I looked at Towera. I looked at these night queens. I looked at myself then got lost into a sea of desperation. You see guys, Towera fished out K1000 from her purse, threw it at the …. forgive my tongue I am very angry, grabbed me by the neck and pulled me to the car. With anger written all over her face she told me that it was all over. Actually, with tears she told me: it’s all over my love.
I am lost guys as I am talking to you. Call me a fool; call me whatever you want, but that is what my stupidity has paid me. I just don’t know what I will tell my parents. I don’t know who is to pay my rent; I live in a house that is beyond my salary. Barman, beers please, more beers. I will just drink and die for I see no reason to remain alive in the absence of Towera.
Goodbye my love
GOODBYE MY LOVE
Patrick Achitabwino
A thousand miles will tear us apart. We don’t know when we will meet again in a free world where love can be left to fly with its wings unsinged. The world is cruel Clara; we have seen the ugly face of it. Documentations have been written of innocent people leaving everything behind and get caged in tents in across-the-border countries as a result of war. People leave their impoverished countries and take the risks of staying in foreign lands illegally all just in a pursuit for economic survival. They are all refugees in one way or another. There is another worst and cruel type of refugeeing status the world is yet to document: leaving the land of your ancestors for a far away country where love can flourish.
The moment this bus ignites, whisking you away from my eyesight, hammering a distance inch by inch, I will be almost dead. Why me? Why you? Why us? Why has God closed his eyes on us? As I will be waving you goodbye I can see no tomorrow, for tomorrow I die, as my life without you is as well as dead. This moment then I have nothing to fear but unburden my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, painfully, how others have played god over our love life. What we have experienced, oh, dear Clara, I pray that this bus doesn’t leave soon, has terrified angels, tormented our souls, and even destroyed the essence of humanity in us.
“I have a passport,” I told you the day we hatched our plan. “I will find some ganyu in town, keep any coin that passes through my hands till I raise enough money for transport to Joburg. There I will find you and secure a job, then we will live happily forever.
I saw a spring of tears cascading down your cheeks. Your heart must have been submerged in a torrent of tears. You held me firmly on your chest, the pounding power of your heart beating my ribs. We have lived a life without a choice. This darkest moment had to come and the hand of the clock has finally struck the dot of the hour. I have to say goodbye to you through the window of a bus.
Cry no more Clara, I can never forget you. By the grave of my grandmother I solemnly swear that you will always be on my mind. Since the first day that you flitted my eyes I have been seeing you not just as a living and breathing Clara Yakaya, but as the Clara of my dreams; not as an object of love but the reincarnation of love itself. I swear Clara, or even if it has to mean that I die so that you live, I am ready to take such a privilege with great honour and pleasure, in total reverence to your unparalleled love and beauty.
How love begins Clara, how love begins, you can’t tell. Do you remember that the first time we crossed paths was at the Shoprite? I recall that somebody snatched your bag. I heard you yelling for help, then like a threatened snake ready to bite I chased the bag-snatcher, knocked him down with a left as he was attempting to cross the highway then rescue your bag.
“Thank you very much,” you told me as you were fishing out some banknotes from the rescued handbag. I said no. I said I did not rescue your bag to be paid; I did it just to help. Actually, I recall having said: “sister, no, thanks.”
You see, I couldn’t recognise you that other day we met. When you yelled my name: Patrick Sache, I shook. I stopped then you sped into my embrace like an arrow. When you invited me for lunch I just said in my heart that praised be God. Honestly, I didn’t have a coin for lunch. I followed you blindly to the restaurant like a lamb led to the slaughter.
I was nervous as we were seated. You stepped your foot on mine and I looked you in the eyes, oh, it was as if they were seeing me deep in the heart. When I stretched my open hand towards you, you caressed the palm with your hand and that did send me crazy. Crazy, I really mean crazy.
“Your boyfriend must be the luckiest man born of a woman,” I admired.
I nearly shed tears when you told me that your heart had been torn apart twice with promises of broken love. Firstly, your father had wanted you to marry his friend’s son as a means of strengthening their business interests. That never worked out.
“I think it was all for money. I hate money. I hate rich people. They think money is equal to love,” you startled me. I looked at you; the angelic touch of your hand sending my soul into paradise then wondered how could guys afford to lose such a beauty.
Honestly, I don’t know what forces pulled our lips closer to each other; we kissed.
“I think I am in love with you,” you said.
Oh, dear me, an icy chill then run through my spine, a sense of insufferable anxiety oppressed me; a consuming curiosity pervaded my soul; and then sinking on the chair I remained for some time, I think, breathless and motionless, my eyes fixed at your beaming countenance. Something in your eyes told me that you and me were for real, that you would never leave me no matter the circumstances. The touch of your hand made a silent vow with mine that you would catch me whenever I fall.
Disaster was looming, Clara, disaster. One weekend we were waiting for a minibus at the stage, tyres of a poshy Mercedes benz screeched to a halt. I saw you shivering as your father bullied out of the vehicle. The strong muscled figure faced me in the eye and in no time his meaty hand gave me a strong warning with a thunderous slap.
“Dad, he is just a friend,” you screamed as he was shovelling you into his car.
Your father was not yet through with me. Two weeks later I bumped shoulders with him in the corridors of our offices. I coiled like a threatened millipede. He was just shouting, I can hardly recall what he said.
I paid the price the week that followed. I received a letter that the company was undergoing a restructuring process such that my services as a messenger were no longer needed. You saw the letter Clara, we actually could see the silent anger of your father beneath every word in the letter. Poor though I was born, that was the moment I learnt the arrogance of the rich.
Sometimes when I sit I ask myself, how did your father know where I stay. Remember the time you quarrelled with your father then escaped to my house? Your father came to my house with an impi of police personnel, knocking the termites-ravaged door open then forcefully pulled you out into the car.
“My daughter cannot live in this toilet,” he shouted.
I never told you this. That was the time I asked myself whether we the poor and the rich are children of the same God. Are the rich children of a larger God and we the poor of a lesser God?
Anyway, finally we had a chance to meet. We agreed that you will go to South Africa. We talked to your uncle who stays there. He actually said that when two hearts merge into one, no one should have the power to separate them. Thank God that my terminal benefits were enough to buy you a bus ticket and a few food stuff to keep you alive on the tiresome journey. I don’t know how your father will react the moment he notices that you are nowhere to be seen.
Go in peace my Clara. I have made a resolution; I will go to the tobacco plantations and become a tenant until I raise enough to enable me travel to Joburg. We will meet Clara, shed tears no more, all this pain is temporal. Remember that it is only when it is dark enough that you can see brightening stars…
How time flies my dear. See, the driver has rolled the engine, the tyres are jealously slowly and slowly robbing you off my sight. Of course from my sight you will be gone but in my mind you will always remain. Goodbye my love, until we meet again, I remain yours, Patrick Sache.
Patrick Achitabwino
A thousand miles will tear us apart. We don’t know when we will meet again in a free world where love can be left to fly with its wings unsinged. The world is cruel Clara; we have seen the ugly face of it. Documentations have been written of innocent people leaving everything behind and get caged in tents in across-the-border countries as a result of war. People leave their impoverished countries and take the risks of staying in foreign lands illegally all just in a pursuit for economic survival. They are all refugees in one way or another. There is another worst and cruel type of refugeeing status the world is yet to document: leaving the land of your ancestors for a far away country where love can flourish.
The moment this bus ignites, whisking you away from my eyesight, hammering a distance inch by inch, I will be almost dead. Why me? Why you? Why us? Why has God closed his eyes on us? As I will be waving you goodbye I can see no tomorrow, for tomorrow I die, as my life without you is as well as dead. This moment then I have nothing to fear but unburden my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, painfully, how others have played god over our love life. What we have experienced, oh, dear Clara, I pray that this bus doesn’t leave soon, has terrified angels, tormented our souls, and even destroyed the essence of humanity in us.
“I have a passport,” I told you the day we hatched our plan. “I will find some ganyu in town, keep any coin that passes through my hands till I raise enough money for transport to Joburg. There I will find you and secure a job, then we will live happily forever.
I saw a spring of tears cascading down your cheeks. Your heart must have been submerged in a torrent of tears. You held me firmly on your chest, the pounding power of your heart beating my ribs. We have lived a life without a choice. This darkest moment had to come and the hand of the clock has finally struck the dot of the hour. I have to say goodbye to you through the window of a bus.
Cry no more Clara, I can never forget you. By the grave of my grandmother I solemnly swear that you will always be on my mind. Since the first day that you flitted my eyes I have been seeing you not just as a living and breathing Clara Yakaya, but as the Clara of my dreams; not as an object of love but the reincarnation of love itself. I swear Clara, or even if it has to mean that I die so that you live, I am ready to take such a privilege with great honour and pleasure, in total reverence to your unparalleled love and beauty.
How love begins Clara, how love begins, you can’t tell. Do you remember that the first time we crossed paths was at the Shoprite? I recall that somebody snatched your bag. I heard you yelling for help, then like a threatened snake ready to bite I chased the bag-snatcher, knocked him down with a left as he was attempting to cross the highway then rescue your bag.
“Thank you very much,” you told me as you were fishing out some banknotes from the rescued handbag. I said no. I said I did not rescue your bag to be paid; I did it just to help. Actually, I recall having said: “sister, no, thanks.”
You see, I couldn’t recognise you that other day we met. When you yelled my name: Patrick Sache, I shook. I stopped then you sped into my embrace like an arrow. When you invited me for lunch I just said in my heart that praised be God. Honestly, I didn’t have a coin for lunch. I followed you blindly to the restaurant like a lamb led to the slaughter.
I was nervous as we were seated. You stepped your foot on mine and I looked you in the eyes, oh, it was as if they were seeing me deep in the heart. When I stretched my open hand towards you, you caressed the palm with your hand and that did send me crazy. Crazy, I really mean crazy.
“Your boyfriend must be the luckiest man born of a woman,” I admired.
I nearly shed tears when you told me that your heart had been torn apart twice with promises of broken love. Firstly, your father had wanted you to marry his friend’s son as a means of strengthening their business interests. That never worked out.
“I think it was all for money. I hate money. I hate rich people. They think money is equal to love,” you startled me. I looked at you; the angelic touch of your hand sending my soul into paradise then wondered how could guys afford to lose such a beauty.
Honestly, I don’t know what forces pulled our lips closer to each other; we kissed.
“I think I am in love with you,” you said.
Oh, dear me, an icy chill then run through my spine, a sense of insufferable anxiety oppressed me; a consuming curiosity pervaded my soul; and then sinking on the chair I remained for some time, I think, breathless and motionless, my eyes fixed at your beaming countenance. Something in your eyes told me that you and me were for real, that you would never leave me no matter the circumstances. The touch of your hand made a silent vow with mine that you would catch me whenever I fall.
Disaster was looming, Clara, disaster. One weekend we were waiting for a minibus at the stage, tyres of a poshy Mercedes benz screeched to a halt. I saw you shivering as your father bullied out of the vehicle. The strong muscled figure faced me in the eye and in no time his meaty hand gave me a strong warning with a thunderous slap.
“Dad, he is just a friend,” you screamed as he was shovelling you into his car.
Your father was not yet through with me. Two weeks later I bumped shoulders with him in the corridors of our offices. I coiled like a threatened millipede. He was just shouting, I can hardly recall what he said.
I paid the price the week that followed. I received a letter that the company was undergoing a restructuring process such that my services as a messenger were no longer needed. You saw the letter Clara, we actually could see the silent anger of your father beneath every word in the letter. Poor though I was born, that was the moment I learnt the arrogance of the rich.
Sometimes when I sit I ask myself, how did your father know where I stay. Remember the time you quarrelled with your father then escaped to my house? Your father came to my house with an impi of police personnel, knocking the termites-ravaged door open then forcefully pulled you out into the car.
“My daughter cannot live in this toilet,” he shouted.
I never told you this. That was the time I asked myself whether we the poor and the rich are children of the same God. Are the rich children of a larger God and we the poor of a lesser God?
Anyway, finally we had a chance to meet. We agreed that you will go to South Africa. We talked to your uncle who stays there. He actually said that when two hearts merge into one, no one should have the power to separate them. Thank God that my terminal benefits were enough to buy you a bus ticket and a few food stuff to keep you alive on the tiresome journey. I don’t know how your father will react the moment he notices that you are nowhere to be seen.
Go in peace my Clara. I have made a resolution; I will go to the tobacco plantations and become a tenant until I raise enough to enable me travel to Joburg. We will meet Clara, shed tears no more, all this pain is temporal. Remember that it is only when it is dark enough that you can see brightening stars…
How time flies my dear. See, the driver has rolled the engine, the tyres are jealously slowly and slowly robbing you off my sight. Of course from my sight you will be gone but in my mind you will always remain. Goodbye my love, until we meet again, I remain yours, Patrick Sache.
Forgive me my love
FORGIVE ME MY LOVE
Patrick Achitabwino
Ciara my love, I humbly kneel before thee, though in this circumstance like a penitent before a priest shielded in a confession box. Ciara my love I know you can hear me; we are only curtained from each other by this wooden door. I can hear the pounding of your heart, smell the aroma of your Arabic scent, and see the flood of tears that is wiping away the debris of anger smeared over your heart.
Oh, thee my beloved, the only one God in his infinite wisdom saw worthy that I go to the altar with; I humbly say I am very sorry. I read the epoch of my shame in the newspaper, saw the severity of my infidelity on television, and to cap it all suspended at the office for giving wrong excuses for a wrong cause. Ciara, this is the moment that my life needs you most. You are the only shoulder that I can lean on.
Aaah, I have come back to my senses, please open the door to see the avalanche of tears cascading down my cheeks. Though I am walking on clutches, the distance from the stage to this your parental home could not erode my wish to talk to my beloved. See, Ciara, see; see the POP that has enveloped my foot up to the edge of the knee. I know it is a testimony of my betrayal.
Yes, a worst husband I have been. Yes, the worst of all the worst on earth. But Ciara in as much as I am evil to you my beloved, it doesn’t mean that my life cannot transform. Remember the story of the biblical Saul turned into Paul. Give me a chance I will turn into Paul, I swear, honestly, I swear. I have been on the road to Damascus like Saul. I have been blinded by scales like Saul. In my case the scales have been a road accident. I have changed Ciara, my life has changed, we need to go back home and live a happy life.
My rose flower you are the only one I can confess to. I am ready to tell you nothing but the truth. The girl you read about in the newspaper and even probably watch on TV being oxygenated has been my girlfriend for the past year and a half. Get me right when I say I confess, I really mean it. I am sorry that many a times I lied to you that I was going to this hotel or that for this workshop or that conference all just to have a license to escape from home and be with the girlfriend.
To begin the story from the very beginning, that is the beginning of the beginning, I firstly lied to my superiors at the office that I have to take three days leave to nurse my ailing father at the hospital. That having been granted I went on to inform you my beautiful wife that I would be out of home for three days attending a strategic plan workshop in Mangochi. I recall seeing your eyes going pale, not out of anger but love. I saw you and our beloved two little kids, Tinashe and Yolanda, waving me goodbye.
Ciara, it just happened that it was Towera’s birthday. Sorry, I didn’t tell you that her name is Towera Maweya. You see, we came across each other on the internet. You know, there are these many websites where people log in for online chats, seeking friends, and even partners. Let me make the point clear, I didn’t register on the site to hook up girls, no, absolutely not. Anyway, it just happened that I started having online chats with her, then next was exchanging phone numbers, oh, lord have mercy I ended inviting her for dinner at a hotel. What next? Your guess is as good as mine, we fell in love.
Sweetheart, I hope you can understand me and really understand me better. A man and a woman can’t be friends for long. You and I were at first just friends, then this other day, the magnetic forces of love pulled our lips together. It was that kiss that had the magic to whisk us to the alter four years later.
Anyway, back to the story. Some months later, I really can’t recall how many months later, and I pray that you understand me patiently and with a forgiving heart, Towera was pregnant. It didn’t matter whether I was responsible or not, what mattered is that I am a married man with two children. Actually she knows all that. She even knows the names and birth dates of our children. I know that sounds like giving too much, but no, I wanted her to appreciate that no matter her beauty, my life was committed to you and our two children. Ciara, I had no choice but to advise Towera to abort and she really did. In true sense, I didn’t want to have children outside our marriage.
Ciara, my journey with Towera started in Mulanje where we traced the banks of Likhubula river, swam in the Dziwelankhalamba dam. We then proceeded to Ntchentchere rock paintings where we admired rock marks inscribed by the akafula. Our next destination was Kasungu National Park. We did not reach it. The last thing I recall is that it was foggy and rainy in Dedza and the car started skidding.
“You will be okay,” a bald-headed spectacled doctor assured me. “You have had a blood transfusion and your foot is in POP. As for you wife she is in the intensive care with a deformed backbone. She will never be able to walk upright again.”
Ciara, I sighed a sigh of discomfiture. I thought of you and the children and what I would tell you. I called for newspapers next day morning only to see the car crash story making headlines. The worst visited me when I was trying to shift my attention from the story. I turned the TV on to listen to news, there the story was again, beaming with pictures of the damaged car, image of Towera being oxygenated and myself being stretchered into a hospital ward. You never came to see me. I reached home four days later only to find a deserted house and a note on which you said that you have suffered enough shame.
Ciara my beloved, Towera’s parents have sued me, my employers have suspended me for giving false reasons for my leave, and you have abandoned me. I can lose anything else but not you. Remember Ciara, remember, we have traveled from a distance in our love life. I know I have wounded your heart but whatever the case, no problem can tear apart the love that God blessed. Our children need our parental care. Ciara my love, please forgive me, forgive me my love. I have always been Mabvuto Chiwaya your husband and forever I will always be. Please just come out we have to go home. I have been kneeling on this door post for long, I am ready to remain kneeled for as long as it may take you to forgive me. Please, I can never leave this place without you.
Patrick Achitabwino
Ciara my love, I humbly kneel before thee, though in this circumstance like a penitent before a priest shielded in a confession box. Ciara my love I know you can hear me; we are only curtained from each other by this wooden door. I can hear the pounding of your heart, smell the aroma of your Arabic scent, and see the flood of tears that is wiping away the debris of anger smeared over your heart.
Oh, thee my beloved, the only one God in his infinite wisdom saw worthy that I go to the altar with; I humbly say I am very sorry. I read the epoch of my shame in the newspaper, saw the severity of my infidelity on television, and to cap it all suspended at the office for giving wrong excuses for a wrong cause. Ciara, this is the moment that my life needs you most. You are the only shoulder that I can lean on.
Aaah, I have come back to my senses, please open the door to see the avalanche of tears cascading down my cheeks. Though I am walking on clutches, the distance from the stage to this your parental home could not erode my wish to talk to my beloved. See, Ciara, see; see the POP that has enveloped my foot up to the edge of the knee. I know it is a testimony of my betrayal.
Yes, a worst husband I have been. Yes, the worst of all the worst on earth. But Ciara in as much as I am evil to you my beloved, it doesn’t mean that my life cannot transform. Remember the story of the biblical Saul turned into Paul. Give me a chance I will turn into Paul, I swear, honestly, I swear. I have been on the road to Damascus like Saul. I have been blinded by scales like Saul. In my case the scales have been a road accident. I have changed Ciara, my life has changed, we need to go back home and live a happy life.
My rose flower you are the only one I can confess to. I am ready to tell you nothing but the truth. The girl you read about in the newspaper and even probably watch on TV being oxygenated has been my girlfriend for the past year and a half. Get me right when I say I confess, I really mean it. I am sorry that many a times I lied to you that I was going to this hotel or that for this workshop or that conference all just to have a license to escape from home and be with the girlfriend.
To begin the story from the very beginning, that is the beginning of the beginning, I firstly lied to my superiors at the office that I have to take three days leave to nurse my ailing father at the hospital. That having been granted I went on to inform you my beautiful wife that I would be out of home for three days attending a strategic plan workshop in Mangochi. I recall seeing your eyes going pale, not out of anger but love. I saw you and our beloved two little kids, Tinashe and Yolanda, waving me goodbye.
Ciara, it just happened that it was Towera’s birthday. Sorry, I didn’t tell you that her name is Towera Maweya. You see, we came across each other on the internet. You know, there are these many websites where people log in for online chats, seeking friends, and even partners. Let me make the point clear, I didn’t register on the site to hook up girls, no, absolutely not. Anyway, it just happened that I started having online chats with her, then next was exchanging phone numbers, oh, lord have mercy I ended inviting her for dinner at a hotel. What next? Your guess is as good as mine, we fell in love.
Sweetheart, I hope you can understand me and really understand me better. A man and a woman can’t be friends for long. You and I were at first just friends, then this other day, the magnetic forces of love pulled our lips together. It was that kiss that had the magic to whisk us to the alter four years later.
Anyway, back to the story. Some months later, I really can’t recall how many months later, and I pray that you understand me patiently and with a forgiving heart, Towera was pregnant. It didn’t matter whether I was responsible or not, what mattered is that I am a married man with two children. Actually she knows all that. She even knows the names and birth dates of our children. I know that sounds like giving too much, but no, I wanted her to appreciate that no matter her beauty, my life was committed to you and our two children. Ciara, I had no choice but to advise Towera to abort and she really did. In true sense, I didn’t want to have children outside our marriage.
Ciara, my journey with Towera started in Mulanje where we traced the banks of Likhubula river, swam in the Dziwelankhalamba dam. We then proceeded to Ntchentchere rock paintings where we admired rock marks inscribed by the akafula. Our next destination was Kasungu National Park. We did not reach it. The last thing I recall is that it was foggy and rainy in Dedza and the car started skidding.
“You will be okay,” a bald-headed spectacled doctor assured me. “You have had a blood transfusion and your foot is in POP. As for you wife she is in the intensive care with a deformed backbone. She will never be able to walk upright again.”
Ciara, I sighed a sigh of discomfiture. I thought of you and the children and what I would tell you. I called for newspapers next day morning only to see the car crash story making headlines. The worst visited me when I was trying to shift my attention from the story. I turned the TV on to listen to news, there the story was again, beaming with pictures of the damaged car, image of Towera being oxygenated and myself being stretchered into a hospital ward. You never came to see me. I reached home four days later only to find a deserted house and a note on which you said that you have suffered enough shame.
Ciara my beloved, Towera’s parents have sued me, my employers have suspended me for giving false reasons for my leave, and you have abandoned me. I can lose anything else but not you. Remember Ciara, remember, we have traveled from a distance in our love life. I know I have wounded your heart but whatever the case, no problem can tear apart the love that God blessed. Our children need our parental care. Ciara my love, please forgive me, forgive me my love. I have always been Mabvuto Chiwaya your husband and forever I will always be. Please just come out we have to go home. I have been kneeling on this door post for long, I am ready to remain kneeled for as long as it may take you to forgive me. Please, I can never leave this place without you.
