77 Steps
There it stood,
stalwart! St Mark’s Cathedral looked back at him. It was as if it had been
waiting for this day. Waiting for him! It towered over him, daring him,
intimidating. Yet he was not afraid. He was angry, very angry. He was ready to
hit back. The grey building had brightly coloured narrow windows, which made
the building come alive. Without them, the cathedral would have just been
another ugly structure in an affluent neighbourhood. He swept his eyes all the
way to the roof. It did not appear as attractive as before. The huge cross
right at the top of the building looked like it was about to ascend into the
clouds. ‘Golgotha,’ he thought, and winced… Mabvuto’s mouth tightened. He
clenched his teeth. His feelings towards the building went beyond the huge oak
doors. They penetrated the thick walls to what was carefully hidden inside. He
held the building responsible for causing him so much pain. His mother had
called him ‘Mabvuto, meaning troubles’, and he had lived true to the reputation
of his name. He had driven past St Mark’s every morning on his way to work.
Each time, its huge oak doors were shut. They were resolute...
DESOLATE ALTARS
…Just then she felt someone waking her up. It was Shadreck; she had
not heard him come in. She looked at the clock; it was three in the morning.
She sat up and looked at him, still confused by her dream. Shadreck stood in
front of his wife, gazing at her expressionless. From the look of things, he
was just arriving or had he been standing there for a while?
He threw some papers at her and said, “I don’t expect you to contest
that. “He hesitated and then added, “I want you out of my life; you are like an
obnoxious weed. Felicia and the kids will be moving in soon. Don’t do anything
to delay the process.” With that he walked out of the room, without giving
Luombe an opportunity to respond…
o
Businesswomen (An extract from the
story, ‘Kabwata Market’)
The days
dragged to my next hair appointment. My mind filled with ideas about how girls
like Melinda can be helped. I am incensed by the lack of political will by
government to provide opportunities for girls like her. Whatever the
circumstances, they are victims of a government that hardly creates
opportunities for the youths. What a society! I sigh as I grudgingly accept
Mwape’s hands in my hair. Where is Angela? I can’t see Melinda either. Today is
not very busy but customers are coming slowly, perhaps in my eagerness to hear
more about Melinda I came too early. We are joined by a middle aged woman; her
skin was once bleached with creams, when she stopped using the creams, it was
as though thunder and lightning had struck her and the Sun had not been merciful
either.
“Ah
business iyi”, she has a very hoarse
voice and no one responds, maybe we are waiting to hear what business she means
and what could have happened. She pulls out a bottle of beer and I stare,
‘isn’t it too early for that madam? But
let us hear about your business’. Just as she is about to continue with her
complaint, she receives a phone call.
“Eh, nili ku salon”, she listens, “pa Kabwata”. She listens again, “bwela chabe naiwe mwana”. She has
invited whoever is on the other side of the line to join her at the salon.
Good! I fidget in my seat. The more the merrier, I think; now we will get to
hear all the gory details of this woman’s business. The friend arrives a few
minutes later. She is equally middle aged with ‘toasted’ skin too. She has a
bottle of mosi...
‘Ok,
this is going to be a great story’, I think almost aloud.
“Mwana – uyu mulandu ukoselako che” the
first one starts.
“Iwe, nina ku uza, ati tiye ku ng’anga- ija
yaku Kafue ili na mpavu”. This must be a serious business gone wrong, for
them to have wanted to seek a witchdoctor’s intervention?
“Awe mwandi, you are right.”
“But I
think that DPP – tika mu dyesa mo che,
you think it can’t be wash out?” the first one asks.
“Mmmm”,
murmurs her friend. “The problem is that Mr. Kabwe has been transferred- you
know that one used to literally ‘feed’ from my palm and I could tell him to do
anything for me”.
“But mwana I told you when we arrived in
Thailand to be careful with Carol. That one has minyama too much!” They are now both on the fourth bottles of alcohol
and clearly getting tipsy and forgetting that they are in public and I could
be... what? A patriot? With so much corruption in the country, there are very
few good citizens who would sum the courage to report such deeds to the police.
‘Thailand’,
can only spell one kind of business. Oh, the trouble you are in women.
“I was
careful mwandi”, the first one is red
eyed now and adds, “I just don’t know how that stuff was loaded into my
container”.
Too bad
I grimace. Just then, Angela brightens up my morning. She has been at the
clinic, “malaria she complains”.
“I’m
sorry”, I say. Perhaps I can hear what I really came for…
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