We were trying to enjoy our sleep after some back-breaking work in our garden during the day when the shrill sound of my sikolokolo (cheap) handset drilled our ears. Who could be calling at such an awkward hour? I tried to ignore it. Now that we were half awake, the noise was even much louder. The phone wouldn’t stop ringing……it kept perforating our ears, annoyingly!
“Why don’t you answer your damn phone?” my wife snapped at me. “Suppose it’s something urgent….”
It was pitch dark. I languorously reached for my phone on the sideboard, careful not to open the mosquito net wide enough lest I inadvertently invited in a flurry of mosquitoes hovering around relishing to come in and feast on us! There was already one bothersome vampire in the net we were having a challenge ridding of. One moment, I’d literally be slapping myself hoping I had trapped it…. shortly, my wife would be doing the same and before we knew it, it was mockingly humming in our ears up in a corner where we couldn’t easily reach it.
“Hello….hello…” a familiar deep voice echoed in the mobile phone. “Abena Kopala, mulishani hmm? Ba Prince……”
Wait a minute……was I dreaming or hallucinating? I was dumbfounded……I was talking to the President of the Republic of Zambia, Mr. Hakainde Hichilema!
“Good evening boss…. Sir” I stammered….. clueless about the right choice of words when talking to such a dignitary. “Your Excellency…….”
The President went on to explain that his government was overly impressed with the work we were doing with street kids. He was desirous to find out what his administration could do to make the lives of children, unfortunate enough to find themselves eking a living on the streets, much better – away from perpetual begging or eating from the rubbish bins.
“First and foremost, Sir, these children need counselling and mentoring….” I was trembling, spasmodically. “As opposed to imposing ideas on them, we must start engaging them like our own children to find out what they really want to do with their lives. Your Excellency, you may be keen to learn that not all of them want to be plumbers or carpenters…. making coffins. They aspire to be like Yo Maps or Chanda na Kay of this world; they itch to take to the pitch and showcase their skills on the global stage like Barbra Banda; they envy to be seen cruising around as Yango drivers….”
He asked me to briefly pause to allow Levy Ngoma to record whatever I was saying.
“And the junkies….” he abruptly changed the topic. “What do you think my government must do about it to ameliorate their plight?”
“I was coming to that, Sir….” I exclaimed.
I observed that randomly rounding-them up and detaining them once in a while isn’t a practical solution….and neither is treating them with kid’s gloves. I prayed that authorities should consider taking the junkies to places like Chilubi Island far away from undue influence, and where they can’t easily be making daring escapes from time to time to go back to their way. I proposed that Gen. Solochi’s men and women in green uniforms can then take charge ‘panel beating them’….. nay straightening them up while imparting knowledge and vocational skills in them……I was whacking my brain trying to recall everything I had learnt about this segment of society over the years.
“Carry on please, we’re listening….” he encouraged.
I further submitted that most of the junkies are suffering from addiction of substances of one sort or another – ifinyelele (cough syrup), Chavuma water (highly potent alcoholic beverages) and of course, fwaka yachi Ngoni (marijuana).
“Once these people have been turned into useful citizens,” I was desperately trying to find the right words. “They can be out to work growing maize to feed our people or better still producing marijuana in large numbers for export purposes…..”
Suddenly, there was pin drop silence on the other end of the line. Did I say anything wrong to offend the head of state?
“Mr. President……Sir,” I bawled in the handset. “Are you still there, Your Excellency….Sir”
I became aware of my wife shaking my body at that particular moment.
“Stop competing with the dead and dreaming,” her soft voice rung in my ears. “It’s time for you to wake up and do some work….”
Say what! Readers won’t imagine the disappointment.
Until next time…..
Prince Bill M. Kaping’a
Political/Social Analyst
Always a dreamer dreaming even when crossing streets.
Bill is a dreamer of wild dreams. He has tried unfruitfully to be near the thingliness of the thing on the president’s side. This phone call fantasy is the closest he ever can be and this writeup is an advertisement for a flesh and bones meetup. Wishful thinking.