For my People

Everything seems to have happened so fast. In a while i am a little boy and in another moment i am a grown up. I remember as a little boy playing and chasing grass hoppers in a play park right across the road which separated our home from the park. Now, twenty something years after, so much seems to have been lost.: A visit to my old neighbourhood proved more stressing than distressing. What i had hoped to find was all lost in the passing winds of time. And out of my mouth what kept on being uttered were words of a surviving veteran "That thing there was a...and that building there is were what was done... in that house at the corner lived such and such a family...." In the end all that was realised was sorrow by how much had been lost and nothing preserved or maintained. Interestingly enough, the house i was born and partly raised in was intact and well kept.

I trace my earliest childhood memories in a small mining town of the Copperbelt Province of Zambia called Luanshya. This town was profoundly known for the peace and tranquil suburbs. According to the town history, Luanshya was founded in the early part of the 20th century after a prospector/explorer, William Collier, who was hunting on the banks of the Luanshya River shot and killed a Roan Antelope. As reported by Collier, the antelope fell to the ground, its head resting on a rock which was an outcrop of a deep seated copper deposit. Eventually a mining company was formed to exploit Collier's discovery and it was named "Roan Antelope Copper Mines Ltd". From then moving forward, other supporting industries and factories were formed alongside the residential infrastructure which lead to the subsequent development of Luanshya town.

Luanshya is a planned town of limited size with broad streets and spacious layout, with trees and open spaces. It is surrounded by a residential suburb planned so as to provide a pleasant environment with low-density housing and open public land hence the name “garden town of the copper belt.” Luanshya city center, located in the first class residential area, is the services centre for the adjacent Roan Antelope Mine, the second class and third class residential areas. The town is connected to other copperbelt towns and has a rundown airfield.

Earlier planning of the town indicates that Luanshya was divided into three residential areas: first class, second class and third class. The first class residential area was built for White European settlers much earlier in the days before independence. Houses in this area are well spaced with vast spaces for the surroundings. The first class area is closer to the services center which allowed residents here to have easier access to all essential services such as Banks, Post Office, Supermarkets, Recreation and Sports Complexes.

Going south from the First Class is a much similar and closer residential area called The Second Class. This area was mostly occupied by Asian families, particularly Indians, who also run most of the big retail and wholesale businesses around this area. These businesses were family businesses: they were owned either by a single family or a partnership of two or more families. The roots of this business management system originated and developed in India where the joint family system was the pivot of the Indian social structure.

Beyond the Second Class residential area are mostly industries and factories which connect the Second Class Residential area and the Third Class residential area called Mikomfwa. This is a low class residential area where I was born and partly raised. Most houses here are small, at most, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a small living room, an indoor toilet and bathroom. Concrete blocks, sand and cement constituted materials used to build these houses. With a slightly plummeted asbestos roof placed above each house facilitated most houses in this area return the form of a house. Otherwise, these structures we called houses would be mere cargo container boxes and a number of such structures lined up along an avenue, street or boulevard, together, they looked like band wagons on a train about to take off.

The roof sheeting was made up of asbestos and supported by wooden rafters mounted at a slight tilt angle, suitable for rain to plummet easily on the roof sheeting. The end of each rafter leading right to the apex was joined by means of ridges. The roof sheeting spread on each tilt side, leaving a narrow gap which was covered using a couple of ridge flashing. The house we stayed in with my parents, the congregating section of the roof joined by ridges was supported by a high wall which separated the living room and one bedroom on one side and the kitchen, a toilet, bathroom and another bedroom on the other side. The house had two main entries, one by the kitchen and another one by the living room. Each room had a small widow, big enough for ventilation purposes.

Outside the house, a small portion was left in the back of the house for growing vegetables like onion, cabbage, and tomatoes while the space in the front of the house was left for a small grass lawn surrounded by beds of flowers. Our house was circumvented by a wire fence, leaving only a small portion for the metal gate, at least big enough for a car to pass. The gate was supported by a circular perpendicular metal beam which was sunk a few meters in the ground to help support the mass of the gate. The beam extended a few inches above the gate and a small metal cubical mail box rested right above it. This is the place I called my first home.

Regardless of the place my parents lived at the time of my birth, I am told that I was born during an affluent phase of my families fluctuating wealthy. My father had a small business which was doing well. He was buying and selling rough pieces of emeralds which, for a couple of years, allowed him to accumulate a considerable amount of money. From his small fortune he bought a car and the house we lived in. In those days it was rare for an African man to own a car, especially in the area we lived, I believe that was partly the reason why my family was considered wealthy at the time.

For a while my family lived happily in a home where both my mother and father were married and happy together. However this moment lasted only for a little while before the couple decided to go their separate ways. I was still a toddler at the time of my parents divorce and this meant that if my mother left, I was to leave with her too. Following the way things turned out, my mother and I left to go and live in a house she started renting. The house was within Mikomfwa but a little far from where we previously stayed. I only went to stay with my mother because of my age at the time and I was to stay with her until such a time when I was considered old enough to live with my father. My father remained in his house but from time to time he would visit us at my mother’s new home.

According to my mother, after her and my father separated, her life didn’t change much because she had a job and could afford to rent a home. Though she had to adjust from the extravagant life she previously enjoyed when she was with my father, this did not seem a great deal. All she did was to choose a simple but normal life, work hard and impress her employers, something my mother afforded to do because of conscientious attitude and love for her job as company secretary. During work days, she left home early at around 07:30 am and return at 17:30 pm. When she was away, as a toddler, I would remain in the care and custody of her young niece, Violet, who stayed with us for most part of the period I stayed with my mother.

Violet was a caring and hard working girl. When my mother was away, she took good care of the house and watched after me. One particular day, she went about her normal errands, making sure that the house was clean, and utensils were washed and packed before my mother returned from work. While she was busy attending to her chores, she left me alone to play in the house. But out of curiosity, I crawled out of the house and went out near a hot brazier with a boiling pot of water on top. Not aware of any danger, I continued to move towards the brazier until I reached near. I pushed the pot somehow and some of the hot boiling water spilt on my innocently beautiful looking face. Immediately I felt the burn I screamed out loud and when Violet came to my rescue my forehead was already sore and I had sustained a severe burn. Aware of my mother’s ferocity, I believe Violet probably started packing her belongings in readiness for an eviction. My mother never tolerated any form of mediocrity. Allegedly carelessness as was exhibited by Violet would never go unpunished by my mother, worse off, her only son, being a victim. As earlier anticipated of her, when my mother arrived home and head about my accident, Violet’s wardrobe was flung out of the house and was immediately asked to pack all her belongings and find a place elsewhere she could live. Such reaction was common from my mother. I guess partly i inherit that part of her genes.

Earlier after their divorce, I am told there was a serious dispute between my mother and father on who was going to take custody of me. At the end, they agreed in principle and I was to stay with my mother until such a time when I stopped breastfeeding, a situation that favoured my mother’s position. Now with my accident, when my father heard about it, the issue of who should remain custodian of the child resurfaced again. In her argument, my mother maintained that it was an accident and anywhere it could occur. This however, could not settle my father’s heart. Though I remained with my mother it wasn’t for long before he came unannounced to take me.

I must have been three or two years old. Me, my cousins and some other children, about my age, from within our neighbourhood, were busy playing in the twilight of the day in my mother’s living room and suddenly head the sound of a car engine roar outside the house. To me, It was a familiar sound, a sound I always head whenever my father visited.

The engine stopped and after a little while a knock was head on the door of my mother’s living room. The grown ups sat on their own, laughing out laud at the stories they shared. My mother was the most loquacious among the group: her female relatives and friends. As children, we were about our business, mostly rolling on the floor mat, moving small toys around and often talking to ourselves. Another knock was head. This time everyone was aware, acting as though some extraterrestrial being was about to enter and wipe us all dead. Quickly, the person who was seating near the door rose from the seat and opened the door responding to my mother’s request.

My father entered into the house together with his companion. My father wore no frivolous face that evening, he meant business and I was the business. He came to pick me. Prior arrangements about where I was to stay were already worked out. I was to stay with the man he came with, someone I later learnt was my Uncle. My father addressed him as “Chief,” a name that signified respect. His real name was Alphonse Ngizi. I didn’t know about this name until I stay with him for sometime.

Meanwhile, I didn’t see much of what transpired between my father and mother that evening. I only remember a part when I was seated, comfortably and animatedly in my father’s car, about to take off. The whole journey was a short one. We drove through the industrial area, passed the Second Class residential area and finally entered the First Class residential area where Uncle Ngizi’s house was located.

My new home was within the town center, near the Zambia National Commercial bank and opposite government office buildings. This part of Luanshya town was far more civilized compared to Mikomfwa. Houses were bigger and so was the one I was the one I was to call my new haven. Despite the sudden shift in environment, I did seem to be perplexed or existed by my new surrounding. I think it was more to do with my age, I was still very young to have a sense of distinction between the two environments: My new home and the previous home. This however meant that I did not find it difficult to blend in the new environment.

Meanwhile my father was still staying at his old house in Mikomfwa when I moved to stay with Uncle Ngizi. Much later when he joined us it didn’t seem much of a difference because he was often away for the most part of the week working in the bush where he bought and mined emeralds. His absence from home didn’t seem to affect me much because Uncle Ngizi and his wife took extra good care of me.

In our African culture your uncle is your father and his wife is your mother and their children your sisters and brothers. Therefore, in spite of the love and care shown to me by Mrs. Ngizi, it was natural for me to assume her as my mother. She called me son and I called her Mum. The same thing went on with Uncle Ngizi. He called me son and I called him Dad. Much of what I remember being raised Mr. and Mrs. Ngizi are the great moments with them. I don’t remember a single moment in that home when I was unfairly treated this does not mean uncle Ngizi spared a rod to stop me from going astray. It was always painful to receive a few strokes but it was those few stroke that shaped me in to a better person I grow to be.

I was about three years old when I started Pre-school. Uncle Ngizi took the trouble and responsibility of find me a better Pre-school and after meticulously scrutinizing Pre-schools which existed in our area, Saint George’s occurred to uncle Ngizi as the best Preschool for me. Saint George’s was managed by Mrs. Kachengele, a white British lady married to an African man, Mr. Kachengele. Her school was well kept and offered the best teaching for children of my age at the time. However, much of what I remember about that school are the moments I spent with other children playing on swings, slides and running around on the play ground. I also learnt a great deal of pre-requisite skills such as: counting, reading letters of the alphabet, learning colours and drawing images and shapes. This early stage of education equipped children with pre-requisite skills which made learning in grade one easier and faster for children so exposed. So after my three years of pre-school I was ready to enter primary school.

I started my Primary school at Mpelembe Primary in 1989 when I was about five years old. I was small compared to many other children and my guardians feared that I would be rejected based on that reason. Contrary to my guardians’ suspicions, authorities at Mpelembe accepted me and I was given a class. In a few weeks and months that followed my teacher was astonishingly with my cleverness and performance in class. Having had spent three years at kindergarten, my first year at my new school proved less challenging because of my head start at Pre-school. My teacher then, Mr. Chanda, called me clever boy. I was clever enough to know all the colors of the rainbow and could easily count numbers from one up to a thousand: one to ten; in tens from ten to hundred and in hundreds from hundred to a thousand. For a boy my age it was rare to exhibit such abilities hence the reason I was considered. However it wasn’t long before other children joined me in the high ranking and eventually surpassed me. By third grade through to fifth grade my performance was abysmal compared to most of the pupils in my class.

Somewhere in my first to second grade, my mother moved from her previous company to join a new company called Eagle Travel. She continued here as company secretary. As a practical matter, this company assisted clients travelling by air search for the lowest fare for the dates and cities that they were visiting, explain any airline rules and restrictions on their fare, issue their tickets, and answer any questions regarding their flights. If a client needed a hotel reservation or car rental, they will assist them with that. If they were leaving the country, Eagle Travels’ staffs explained the entry requirements for their destination and assist them in obtaining a passport and any visas that maybe required. Like many other towns in Zambia, Luanshya had offices too where my mother was working from.

I remember as a young boy, from school I would often pass through her office. My mother loved her job and every time I visited I often found her busy working on her typewriter. Her office had almost every office machine to aid her in her job. But among all the things in her office I was fascinated only by two things which I must admit gave me a certain pleasure every time I sat in her office: A swivel chair and a typewriter. Occasionally when my mother was not very busy with her work, she would allow me to play with her typewrite and her swivel chair. Because the chair would swing round, she would let me swing on it until I went woozy. On the contrary, I would invite friends from my class to come and show off my typing skills in my mother office: I would punch a few letters on the typewriter; skillfully pull out my piece of paper and show it to my friends, standing besides me and curiously observing whatever I was doing. With nothing really sensible on the paper, my friends would still marvel at my skill and the next morning in school my friends would announce to everyone in class about my skillfulness on the machine. This made me a hero.

Eagle Travels was located within the town center, much near Uncle Ngizi’s home where I stayed. Sharing the some avenue which was separated by a road, home was about two hundred meter from my mother’s work place. The some road from home, through my mother’s work place, continued up to the road leading up to my school. From home I could see my mother’s work place and because of the proximity, I found it convenient to visit her every time I knocked off from school.

Uncle Ngizi often spent time either in his workshop or in the field, usually at construction sites supervising his employees. A cigarette always in his hand and me as a small boy, I used to pick on cigarettes butts he tossed everywhere around him and pretend to smoke, an activity I used to enjoy mimicking him. On weekends if I am not with him in his workshop interacting with the employees who would often be busy smoothening, cutting and shaping pieces of timber or cutting and welding pieces of metal, I would be with him in the field where he supervised his workers.

For sometime I enjoyed the monopoly of being the only child at home until Charity was born, the first born daughter of Uncle Ngizi. Before I could realize that my place was being taken another child was born, the young sister to charity, Patience. Every thing happened so fast but I loved my two little sisters almost instantly. Occasionally I was asked to carry the little one and I used to enjoy this. Looking at this little baby made me feel like a giant and secretly i carefully analyzed her and wondered where such little creatures came from. As if my Aunt was reading my small brain, she would rejoin and make a comment like “We bought the baby from ZCBC” (ZCBC was one of the local supermarkets operated by the government). As a child I believed her.

In months that followed my father married my step mother. After a few months I was introduced to Gift my step sister, the first born daughter of my step mother. Gift was three years older than me automatically I assumed her as my elder sister. With time our relationship grew stronger and it became nature for me to have an elder sister. Our mother, my step mother, treated me like her own son. In some circumstances I received more favours than Gift. I remember one instance when my father gave her money to buy us some clothes. Because good quality clothes were hard to find in Luanshya she decided to take us to Ndola, another town in the Copperbelt which had far much better shops than Luanshya. When we got there she saw a very nice blue silk suit. She asked me to try it on and it fitted me perfectly. When she asked for the price the sales lady quoted a price far much high than what was suppose to be spent on my clothes. Because she loved the suit she decided to spend part of my sister’s money to get me that suit. She explained to my sister that the next time she had money to buy us clothes she was going to spend it on her clothes. She demonstrated one of the rarest actions among most step mothers. She treated us equally and raised us with equal opportunities.

My father was working hard and his business seemed to be doing well. For my family this meant a good life: From owning a single car we now had more than three cars in our premises and from eating from home, we started eating out to some of the expensive restaurants in the town. There is one place that remains particularly memorable to me and this place was called ‘Grill Real.’ This was one of the favourite restaurants my family enjoyed dinning from.

Whenever a special visitor came home, it became almost customary to take them for dinner at Grill Real Restaurant. Moreover, it was during such moments that I used to learn and assimilate some of the most essential dinner table etiquettes. I remember me and my sister asking question during family dinners: What do I do with my napkin? Which fork should I use? Which way should I pass? These pertinent questions were answered and explained using some basic “Do’s” and “Don’t” when dining out:

• First it is important to note that whether it is a family dinner without guests or a formal occasion, a man shows courtesy and breeding by waiting until the ladies have been seated. At a luncheon or dinner a woman waits politely until her hostess is seated, and a young girl does not take her place until each order woman has taken hers.
  
  

 Proper seat at table:

• One should sit erect, and neither lounge nor bend forward while eating. A seat drawn too closely throws out the elbows; one too far away crooks the back. The proper compromise is a position in which the waist or chest is about twenty centimeters from the table.
  

• While at the table it is not considered good manners to put one's elbows on the table, to trifle with the knives and forks, or to clink the glasses. When not occupied, the hands should lie quietly in the lap, for nothing so marks the well-bred gentleman or lady as repose at the table.
  
  

 Use of napkin

• This must not be spread out to its full extent over the lap or chest, and none but the vulgarian tucks his napkin in the top of his waistcoat. To unfold it once and lay it across the knees is sufficient. At the conclusion of a meal in a restaurant or at the table of a friend it is not necessary to diligently fold the square of linen in its original creases and lay it by the plate. Since the napkin will not be used again until it is washed, it is sufficient to place it unfolded on the table when arising. This rule is not followed when visiting for a few days in a friend's house. Then the guest should do as the host and hostess do, for not in every household is a fresh napkin supplied at every meal.
  
  

 Knife and fork

• The knife is invariably held in the right hand and is used exclusively for cutting and never for conveying food to the mouth. The fork is shifted to the right hand when the knife is laid aside, and saves for small vegetables, such as peas, beans, etc., it is not used spoon-wise for passing food to the mouth.
• It is an evidence of careless training in table manners or a luck of it altogether to mash food in between the prongs of the fork, to turn the concave side of the fork up and, loading it with selections from different foods on the plate, to lift the whole, shovel-wise, to the mouth.
• No less reprehensible is it to hold knife and fork together in the air when the plate is passed up to the host or hostess for another helping, or, when pausing in the process of eating, to rest the tip of the knife and fork on the plate's edge and their handles on the cloth. When not in active service both of these utensils must remain resting wholly on the plate, and at the conclusion of a course, they should be placed together, their points touching the center of the plate, their handles resting on the plate's edge.
• Not only fish, meats, vegetables and made dishes, melons and salads, as well, are eaten with a fork. Oysters and clams, lobster, crab and terrapin are fork foods. It is a conspicuous error in good manners to cut salad with a knife. Lettuce leaves are folded up with the fork and lifted to the mouth.

In summary some basic “Do’s” were outlined as follows:

• Once seated, unfold your napkin and use it for occasionally wiping your lips or fingers. At the end of dinner, leave the napkin tidily on the place setting.
  
  

• It is good dinner table etiquette to serve the lady sitting to the right of the host first, then the other ladies in a clockwise direction, and lastly the gentlemen.
  

• Hold the knife and fork with the handles in the palm of the hand, forefinger on top, and thumb underneath.
  

• Whilst eating, you may if you wish rest the knife and fork on either side of the plate between mouthfuls. When you have finished eating, place them side by side in the center of the plate.
  

• If the food presented to you is not to your liking, it is polite to at least make some attempt to eat a small amount of it. Or at the very least, cut it up a little, and move it around the plate!
  

• It is quite acceptable to leave some food to one side of your plate if you feel as though you have eaten enough. On the other hand, don’t attempt to leave your plate so clean that it looks as though you haven’t eaten in days!
• Desserts may be eaten with both a spoon and fork, or alternatively a fork alone if it is a cake or pastry style sweet.
• Should a lady wish to be excused for the bathroom, it is polite for the gentlemen to stand up as she leaves the table, sit down again, and then stand once more when she returns.
• Always make a point of thanking the host and hostess for their hospitality before leaving.
• It is good dinner table etiquette to send a personal thank you note to the host and hostess shortly afterwards.

Of course, I would have not learned all this knowledge about dinner table etiquettes had it not be for my keen step mother who relentlessly taught me and my sister during dinner. These essential skills did not seem much of a big deal to me at the time but much later in life when I was invited to dinners and occasions which required me to practice these table etiquettes then I realized how important it was for me to learn such.

On weekends my father would carry me in one of his cars, usually it would be a green Toyota Crown, a rare possession to most Zambians at the time. From home my father would make turns visiting other families, mostly his friends and business allies. As a little boy, I would sit in front with him, my rear window open and my small elbow pushed outside my window. This was fancy those days but for me it was about mimicking my father. Along the way I also enjoyed looking at trees which appeared as if they were in motion and not our car. Always I would wonder how that happened but along the way forgot and concentrated on enjoying the fun of the car moving on the road.

Obviously, some of the trips would be longer and other short but whatever was the case, I loved all the trips. If it was a local trip, in most cases we were either driving to buy something within the shops in town or to visit one of my father’s friends. There was one friend in particular that my father was fond of visiting. My father called him Chief but his real name was Kenema Tom. My father and Mr. Kanema Tom shared not only their common business interest but were also tribes men. They both spoke the some language and were both Lunda by tribe.

Lunda people are considered among the seven major tribes in Zambia. They are among several Bantu-speaking people scattered over wide areas of the southern part of the Democratic Republic of Congo, eastern Angola, and northern and northwestern Zambia where Mr. Kanema and my father originate from. The various regional groups-the Lunda of Musokantanda in Congo, Kazembe, Shinje, Kanongesha, Ndembu, Luvale (Luena, Balovale), Chokwe, Luchazi, Songo, and Mbunda-are all of Congo origin and broke away from the central Lunda kingdom in the southern Congo. Because of this connection my father and Mr. Kenama were very close and related more as consanguinities than just friends. This however was extended to me and Mr. Kanema’s children. In later years we also found a basis to relate easily with ourselves and eventually we became like a family.

In 1990 my immediate young brother, Paul Junior Kamba was born. The year of his birth coincided with a rising demand for change of government among the people of Zambia. Across the country there was a rise in revolutionary movements opposing the one-party state rule of the United National Independence Party (UNIP) headed by Kenneth Kaunda. In twenty seven years people hardly saw the staunch supporters of UNIP remain undecided when it came to choosing a side. Following the manner events were unfolding, it was clear, even to an eight year boy like me, that change was about to occur. My family also was a part of that group that was looking forward to that change.

In 1990 the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) assembled an increasingly impressive group of important Zambians, including prominent UNIP defectors and labour leaders. The movement moved on quickly to form a political party and choosing Fredrick Chiluba as their party President.In 1990 the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) assembled an increasingly impressive group of important Zambians, including prominent UNIP defectors and labour leaders. The movement moved on quickly to form a political party and choosing Fredrick Chiluba as their party President.In 1990 the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) assembled an increasingly impressive group of important Zambians, including prominent UNIP defectors and labour leaders. The movement moved on quickly to form a political party and choosing Fredrick Chiluba as their party President.

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Now when I look back in time, I am proud to stand on the mountain top and announce that I am a product of many gifted hands. Apart from my father and mother, from whom I inherited my genes, as nature construes, and some of the extraordinary traits and attributes through nurture, there is a long queue of people who line up in my past who are responsible for laying a single or countless stones on which I stepped on to reach this far. These individuals’ support and guidance coalesced together form what I call an enduring influence which has shaped my life. Most of these people entered my life either as friends or as consanguinities, but it is worth noting that it is their actions and influence on my life that counts. Finally telling my story without their inclusion will make it incomplete and insignificant.