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Superiority of the Seasons

The sun has no superiority over the rainy season, the same way the cold has no hold over the summer.

The rainy season
It doesn’t play. When the sun tries to shine, the grey clouds quickly appear
Casting a dark cloud over the horizon
Rain quickly pours, extinguishing any chance there ever was of the sun’s warmth.

The clouds gather and thunder roars.
Lightning cutting across the sky leaving a trail of blazing light that no fireworks could match.

Then comes Winter
The cold is lethal. It stings and hurts. Deep in the bones.
Should the Sun’s rays attempt to break through, the grey clouds quickly rush to formation,
Vanquishing any rays that may have escaped it’s grip.

Should the rays stand firm and break through, they’re left devoid of any heat to warm the earth.
Its strength is made visible in the heavily clad humans, with layers upon layers of clothing
And heaters ablaze wherever they be gathered.

Here comes the Sun
In summer, the sun reigns supreme.

It’s power can be seen in the melting of the ice cream, and the constant need to rehydrate one’s body.
The sweat that drips from one’s face and neck,
The urgent need to sit under the shed and cool off,
To keep that aircon on in the car and sit under the fan in the house.

Yes, the power of the sun is made manifest in the urge to take a dive in the pool,
Put on a vest and shorts in the scorching heat.

The rain and the cold stand no chance against the heat.
Should some rain drops escape the sun and fall to the earth, they’re evaporated as soon as they hit the ground.

Each season gives its best, its whole and full measure. A little lesson to mankind.



Tears and more tears

Tears clean your eyes to see clearer

They cleanse your heart to beat better

They take away the ache and pain of those who hurt

They clear the brain of those clouded by emotions of love and hate

Of despair and anguish

They never run dry until they accomplish

And like a river endlessly flowing

They will only stop when their job is done.

Cry on until you heal

Happy Women’s Day

9 March 2019


Sitting in a random chair, in a random place, waiting for a not so random person.

My thoughts drift…. to random musings about a woman.

A seemingly complex being.. could be, it’s all in the hormones 😂
Labeled a descendant of Mars, or a neanderthal being.. She’s non of that
She’s a ball of emotions, and oftentimes scars.. I cry for this one

Hidden in well crafted make up and hairstyle.. you don’t have to hide
She can be aggressive and talkative… can’t deal
Or gentle and mild tempered.. She’s awesome

She’s as interesting as she’s amazing… I agree

I’ve seen her have her self esteem stripped… my heart broke

Her happiness eroded and her pride extinguished… I’m sorry I couldn’t help

Yet she smiles to the world, a facade she wears along with her clothes.. she will heal

I love me some women

Tall or short, or medium height

Slender or voluptuous, but mostly voluptuous 😉

Light or dark, short or long hair, but mostly long 😁

I love women for various reasons:

She’s good looking 😍 its subjective

She’s a good mother, or sister or aunt, no two ways about it

She’s a good friend, genuine and sincere… I can read that

She’s a beloved loving wife, girlfriend or fiancée, not debatable

She’s got a good heart; kind and friendly and smart… we can all learn to be

For all its worth, Happy Women’s Day to the good woman.

I am Me

Friday, 11 May 2018. I spent a few minutes making conversation with the receptionist as we did the formalities, being an introvert and not wanting to be seen as anti social. It’s become easier the older I get. A quick glance at the number of people seated in the waiting room made me consider rescheduling. The nurses said to hang on.

I sat in the hospital waiting room to see the specialist doctor, arriving a few minutes before my appointment at 2pm. After a quick chat with a friend who came in earlier than me, I found myself a seat in the corner. I had already been warned that even with an appointment, it was first come first served, but I did not realise how last I would be until the third patient took forever to come out from the doctor’s office. The pattern continued as the clock wound up. That clock.

It then occurred to me that I’d be there for a long time. I might as well make myself comfortable.

Comfort. The cold metal seat was not kind to my not-so-fleshy self, but I found distraction in my phone – reading blogs and playing games, occasionally attending to calls, WhatsApp and text messages.

It was already 4pm and the number of people, mostly ladies, was still quite a lot. I’d thought about rescheduling my appointment the moment I arrived but since I was already there, I might as well stick around.

With my phone battery at 10%, I decided to save power by engaging in some writing. I had a pen quite alright, but paper? I searched my bag and found a payslip. Good enough.

I glanced at the wall clock for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t so much the time that bothered me. It was the angle at which the clock hang that didn’t sit well with me.

I’m not perfect. I just like a level of perfection.

Through my four and half hours of sitting there, I’d glanced up a million times, wishing someone could straighten the wall clock. I felt like getting up several times to do it myself. I had the same urge I get when I walk into a room and see a clock that’s not working. I feel the urge to change the battery.

I was so distressed about the clock that the only thing stopping me from getting up to put it straight was the fear that it might fall off the wall. I was already paying through my nose for consultation and whatever lab tests lay in store.

Let me just disclaim that I don’t have OCD.

I probably just have strong feelings to put things right. Explains why I can’t stand chipped nail polish. How about removing it or putting a fresh coat. I do get chipped nails and I’m flustered half the time. I can’t eat till I clean; I clean the stove as I cook; I can’t stand tooth picks! Just floss as you brush. Don’t lick your finger to open a page. No. I admire those who can sit in an untidy room and not fuss; or those who go to bath at 4pm and can go to the mall with a night hair-sock or unkempt hair.

My restaurant visits are plagued with a prying eye on clean cutlery and crockery. My bed mate often gives me the eye, a wry smile and a shake of the head, but he understands. My nausea is on another level. I’d puke at my own puke, babies puke and animal droppings. I don’t like public toilets.

I love the sun and a well manicured lawn.

I partly blame my mom for being a clean freak. Growing up in her house, we cleaned before all else, and I mean all corners, crooks and crannies. Now I’m careful of door handles, hotel towels and bedding.

18:45. Finally, my name was called. I was the last one. It was dark outside and quiet inside. As I made my way to the doctor’s office, I took one last look at the clock, feeling upset at the angle and the time. 18:46

I did care for that wall clock. I’m not perfect but I love deeply, I care immensely and I’m fiercely loyal.

That should count for something.
On my next appointment in June, I’ll put that clock right.

I am me.

Long Time




They took me away from writing without instruction, an activity I love with all my heart. 

I wrote anyway, just that I was instructed to, was required to do so by my lecturers. 

As I wait to graduate, I’m anxious. Anxious as to how I performed amidst the pressures of life, of being a wife, a mother, an employee, a daughter, a friend:

a wife whose husband demands my time, attention and affection;

a mother whose children require my time, attention and care; 

an employee whose employer demands  my time and dedication; 

a daughter whose parents require some level of attention, to let them know I’m here and I’m well; 

a sister whose siblings demand an ear and a shoulder; 

a friend whose buddies demand my acquaintance and friendship;

Out of love and sometimes out of need, I give, because out of love and sometimes out of need, I receive.

At the end of it all, I go back often times to the giver of life and sustainer of it. Because by my own strength I could not, cannot and will not be able.

Mourning Summer

​I spend the rainy season and winter mourning summer.

I love summer for so many reasons.  

Yes it’s hot and can get really hot and sometimes unbearable, but I’d rather that than grey skies and heavy pouring rain.

I’d rather that than endless cups of hot beverages and constant trips to the bathroom. 

I’d rather that than layer after layer of warm clothes.

I’d rather that than heavy bedding on my body when I go to sleep.

I’d rather that than the heater that often times results in headaches.   

I’d rather that than negotiating the muddy pools while ducking the rain on the streets.

Because an umbrella is much nice to carry when it’s sunny than in the rain.

I like my umbrella fancy and sweet. 

Light enough to shield me from the sun than the heavy rain drops.

I’d rather the ice in my juice and a large brim hat over my head.

I’d rather the fan and aircon while I nap.

I’d rather the shed from the tree in my garden than being holed up in the house waiting for the rain to die down.

But Summer’s gone and the rainy season’s here. 

A promise of gloomy skies. 

Clouds pregnant with rain at every opportunity. 

Grey skies filling my world with depression and helplessness when it should be sunny and bright. 

I’d rather the smiling sun than the frowning grey skies.

Until then I will mourn summer. 

Please come back soon.

Ps.  I love you.


​We met at manda hill in the most unfortunate way. It was at the foot of an escalator, the most discomfiting episode of my existence. If life had an edit button, I would’ve cropped out that part of our encounter. You see,  I wasn’t a town girl, more like bush mouse goes to town, for the first time. 

The famous escalator was my downfall. I wasn’t going to go back to the village without using it. I needed to tell my grand mother about it, and my village girls needed to hear my great story of a holiday well spent in Lusaka city. But life as I’ve come to know it, dishes out embarrassment in kilos and tonnes….

I had escorted one of my cousins to Manda Hill, only because she insisted. I was so scared of venturing out because I had never been anywhere outside the comfort of my village, but since I was in the big city I needed something exciting to tell the people back home. So I agreed to go along with her. 

While at Manda Hill my cousin met her friend and decided that I hang around the mall while she and her male friend discussed some important issue. We agreed to meet at the the spot where we parted near Hungry Lion in an hour or so.

I Have never been so scared in my life, not even the time I met a very strange looking animal while drawing water at the well one night. Indecided that if I was to impress my people back home, I better start acting like I was born and bred in town. So I  put on my sunglasses given by one of my cousins. They were dark, a bit scratched and I couldnt see properly in them but they were sunglasses nevertheless.  
There I was walking slowly from Shoprite all the way to game Stores and back,  eyeing how people got on and off the escalator. If my math is anything to go by, I think I may have reached town and back on foot counting the number of times I walked back and forth.

On my fifteenth back and forth, a cleaning lady known as a cleaner in a blue uniform asked me in vernacular if I was alright.  I nearly answered yes in Nsenga but decided it was best I pretend I didn’t understand the language. I needed to fit in.

“Pardon? ” I answered, trying to sound polished like my town cousins while peering down from glasses the way learned old men do. The cleaner looked me over as if not believing I didn’t  understand what she said. She shook her head and continued mopping the floor.

I decided now’s the right time to go up the escalator. I pushed my sunglasses back in place and joined the people who were at the foot of the escalator. I shouldn’t have because before I knew it I was grabbing a man’s sleeve and holding on to dear life. He looked at his sleeve, then at me and pulled his arm away. He probably thought I was going to rob him. Once I was stable although still shaking in my legs, I apologised for holding on to him.  He wasn’t one of those nice classy men so he muttered something and quickly climbed two steps up. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when I realised the escalator had reached the top in time for me to get off. Too late.

It was clear I hadn’t learnt anything from watching all those people going up and down the escalator. The word itself was difficult enough for me to pronounce. Who was I kidding that I could confidently get on and off it without a fuss.

The escalator literally ejected me, tossing me into a group of boys waiting to get into Freshview cinema. They looked like rich kids I concluded, looking at their sneakers and boots from that position. I was so into the sneakers and boots I forgot why I was down there in the first place.

“Careful now”, one of the boys said in an accent that seemed more made up than real. He put out his hand for me to hold and helped me up. I said thanks while getting up and without looking back I headed right for the escalator to go down. I could hear whispers about my fall and muffled laughter behind me but I wasn’t going to be defeated. I had a story to tell my village friends and this minor setback wasn’t going to ruin my awesome experience. 

Touching my painful face, I realised my no-brand name sunglasses were not there. Good riddance I thought. They were probably the reason why I fell. Without them I’d be able to see better and ride the escalator confidently. After this I’d get on the lift.  That glass box looked so beautiful gliding down smoothly from where I was standing. It should definitely be part of my story. 

Thank goodness there were few people going down. I stepped hesitantly on the escalator, holding on to the rail with one hand. Not bad, I thought. My legs wobbled but I planted my feet firmly and looked around with pride. Great mistake. 

That last step that hurled me off the escalator on my way up hurtled me down. This time, I let out a scream as I hit into none other than the cleaner. “Mayo!” I cried. (that’s for mum in English). I could see the wry smile on the cleaner’s lips. “Mayo?” she asked mockingly. “I thought you don’t speak vernacular?” she added. Right then I wished the ground would open and swallow me, or that I lost consciousness and rather came to in hospital. But in real life, no such things happen. You’re made to face embarrassment live and in high definition. 

“Isn’t this the same girl who fell off the escalator up there?” I heard someone ask loudly.  The cleaner told me to get up and that’s when I realised I only had one shoe on. A number of people stood by wondering what was going on. I could hear ‘sorrys’ and ‘not normal’ being uttered. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to go home barely dressed going by how quickly I was losing my things. Firstly it was those silly sunglasses, and now my shoe. My confidence almost deserted me but then someone handed me my shoe.I mumbled a thank you, put on my shoe and headed for the lift.

I may not have conquered the escalator, but I was surely going to take on the lift in style and with ease. All I needed to do was wait for the door to open like I had observed, casually walk in and let it take me up. I would come down the same way and wait for my cousin at the agreed spot. I noticed that people were going about their business already, my embarrassing moments all forgotten. I like these town people, they mind their own business. Had it been back in the village, the crowd would’ve still been there, asking me to explain how I fell, why I fell, and even suggesting that someone may have done some magic on me. 

I saw the lift come down and gently halt. The doors opened and the three people in it rushed out. I wondered why anyone would want to rush out of such a beautiful innovation. I was going to be the last one to enter after the five people in front of me. I strolled in, literally in slow motion much to the annoyance of the lady pressing one of the buttons keeping the door open. She let go before I could completely move my hand from the door. 
I cannot describe the pain that shot through my arm. If at first I screamed ‘mayo’ when I fell earlier, this time I added ‘nafwa’ (I’m dead) for effect. It wasn’t intentional but came out naturally from the pain I felt. Some in the lift asked if was ok. I shook my head, almost running out of the lift when it stopped and the door finally opened to let us out. At this moment, I really wished I had on my useless sunglasses.  One thing I was sure of though, I wasn’t going back down in that horrible thing. Besides, it seemed there was no one else using it at that moment to go down to the ground floor and I wasn’t going to risk being alone in it.
My heart willed me to try the escalator one more time. I defiantly stepped on it, this time fixing my eyes in the direction I was going. If I told you that my feet wouldn’t move when we reached the ground, you’d think I’m lying. Maybe the village stories were true after all. Someone must’ve done some magic on me because with my feet stuck on that step, let’s just say my fall was memorable. 
I landed, thankfully in the arms of a man right at the foot of the escalator. He was kind, not like that escalator man who yanked his arm away from me. I was about to say thank you when my eyes opened. I closed them and opened them again just to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.  My husband was standing right in front of me, except it wasn’t at the foot of the escalator. It was at the foot of the bed and he was telling me it was 6:45 and time to prepare for work. Aaaarrgg!!  
Ps. This was the most intense dream I’ve had in a while.  I’m so sad because I won’t be able to tell my grandma and village friends about my experience. I tried to go back to sleep to see if I could continue the dream but alas, it didn’t happen. Oh well… (gets out of bed)  till next time,

Thanks for reading.