Classroom copying, certificate forgery, shatter man’s presidential ambition
by Irvine Syazyombo

When Stevo was in Grade one at Kanyanna primary School five streams away from his village, he hated his uphill struggle of shaping letters and numbers.

When asked to write ‘9’, he would scribble a ‘p’.When asked by his teacher to write the letter ‘s’, he would write ‘2’.When asked to write ‘b’, he would write‘d’. As ‘7’, he would scribble ‘f’.

When his class was given an English test in Grade two, Stevo ended up copying his classmate’s name, Thomas, in his quest to copy answers.

In those days teachers would beat children like beasts pulling a plough in a field. Therefore for copying a name instead of writing a reasonable answer, Stevo made his teacher flare with madness.

Mr. Maambo violently lifted the ten year old boy shoulder high before hurling him onto the classroom table. The boy noisily collided with the hardwood piece of furniture.

The teacher, like someone killing a snake, violently caned Stevo across his buttocks.

After the flogging, the boy could not sit down for a week. From that time on, he made sure that he wore more than two pairs of shorts in class to mitigate caning.

When Stevo sat for Grade Seven examinations, an invigilator went round marking answers in all the candidates’ question papers thereby giving Stevo a chance to qualify to secondary school.

However when he reached Grade Nine at a secondary school, he failed completely so his parents sent him to a basic school.

After sitting for Grade Nine examinations again, Stevo managed a few bare passes but completely failed in mathematics, English, and science. Some of his school mates even went round humorously spreading rumors that he had had zeroes in those subjects.

His parents pleaded for a grade ten school place where he completed with a grade 8 in vernacular and 9f in the seven other subjects..

Wielding an emphatic line of 9f spanners on his statement of results, Stevo could not get a college place so his parents desperately bribed a tribesman college principal to enroll the young man in an accounts class.

During the three years at college, Stevo ensured that whenever he was given an assignment, someone else had to do it for him.

In some cases, he had to copy verbatim other students’ essays to avoid dropping out of college.

Unsurprisingly, Stevo failed three courses in his final year so he had to do something to avoid embarrassing his girlfriend and disappointing his parents, farmers, who had wasted their toiled for money.

Stevo made some unscrupulous individual in a shanty compound of the city forge an accounts diploma before he got employed by Lina bank. His ambition was to rise into politics and ultimately aspire for presidency.

But because of the peculiar professional errors he committed, which were highly unexpected of a ‘qualified accountant’ like Stevo, the branch manager visited the fraudster’s former college.

In the course, the scandal leaked to the press. A day later police picked up Stevo from his office ahead of detaining him.

Police charged him with forgery. The protracted legal battle ended when Stevo was sentenced to three years imprisonment with hard labour. The criminal record meant a death sentence to Stevo’s presidential ambition.

Guided by Stevo, police also arrested the individual who had been thriving on forging certificates for academic under-performers.

Africa poorer despite $2000 billion aid

by Irvine Syazyombo
People all over the globe strive every day in search of money. The world knows that money is the answer to most problems.

With money people can secure shelter, put food on the table and buy clothes. However in Africa the formula of making money has been elusive.

The continent is sinking into more and more poverty despite waterfalls of aid and loans from the first world.

According to the current Foundations For Farming (FFF) newsletter, in the past fifty years, Africa has received over $2000 billion aid yet the number of poor people is growing.

FFF which was founded in Zimbabwe a few years ago said in a newsletter that while world grain production has been increasing, Africa’s production has been stagnant.

The newsletter shows in a table that in 1961, the USA produced 4.5 tons per hectare before recording 10 tons per hectare in 2005.

The NGO which has tentacles in several Southern African countries also said Asia in the same period increased production from 2 to 4.5 tons per hectare.

The newsletter observed that in the same period, Africa was generally stagnant at 1 ton per hectare while Zimbabwe allegedly plunged from 1.5 to 0.5 per hectare.

The newsletter attributed Africa’s stagnation to the use of what it described as traditional farming methods which extract from the soil without protecting the natural resource.

“With the use of traditional methods Africa has seen a decrease in yields and an escalation of costs over many years…ploughed land is washed away and only a small amount of the available moisture is retained,” says the publication.

The newsletter said FFF had come up with principles to conserve the and ensure high yield.

The publication said according to the principles, there is no ploughing and that only holes are dug with a hoe.

The newsletter said on clearing land, trees are cut off at the roots , there is no burning and that purposeful mulching reduces soil erosion and retains ground moisture for plants.

“This greatly reduces soil erosion and captures and transfers the precious water effectively to the plants, reducing the risk from drought, pests and disease,” the publication further said.

“We have testimonies of farmers who, by adopting Foundations for Farming methods, have increased their yield over tenfold i.e. 0.3 tons to over 3 tons,” the newsletter further said.

The newsletter also advised farmers to plan, prepare well, be honest, honorable and start farming early in the rainy season.

The newsletter also advised farmers to utilize opportunities, be faithful and to conserve soil, sunlight, seed, nutrients, labor, and energy.

The advice from the FFF needs to be taken seriously if Africa is to pull itself out of poverty .With business as usual mentality, the continent will continue to sink into abject poverty despite cascades of international aid.

Prophets spare Mandela your demon inspired doom prophesy

by Irvine Syazyombo
As Mandela is ailing in hospital, all well meaning people all over the globe wish him a quick recovery because of what he did for the freedom of fellow humans.

Even Obama has visited South Africa to wish the African icon recovery. He even visited Robin Island to show solidarity with the people of South Africa.

This is the time people who worship God are supposed to dedicate more time to pray so that the Almighty God can intervene.

However, because of the desperate situation prophets could easily take advantage of the situation to cast spells onto the beloved Mandela.

For your own information dear reader, today’s prophets, whom Jesus described as ravenous wolves in sheep’s skin(Mathew 7 verse 15), are good at foretelling disasters which are fulfilled by the influence of demonic powers.

It would make sense if those self styled witch finders claiming to be prophets could predict disasters and prevent them from happening. Better still, after predicting a high profile death, they could bring the individual back to life like what Jesus did to Lazarus, (John 11 verses 38 to 45).

As they claim to work miracles in the name of Jesus, let them prove they are not servants of Satan disguising themselves as servants of Christ(2nd Corinthians 11 verse 14),by raising at least one person from the dead like what Peter did.

They merely predict disasters, like accidents, or even football results, so that after they have pulled strings using demonic powers, naive people believe and become followers. It is glory to false prophets, not God.

Please President Zuma, South Africans and well meaning people all over the globe, let us continue praying for the great man so that the almighty God can intervene and sustain the life of our beloved role model.

Please let us condemn all suggestions of prospective so called prophesy on Mandela which is in fact which finding inspired by demons.

If they are genuine prophets of God, let them heal their respective countries of HIV/AIDS and other chronic illnesses .

Beloved children of God, all well meaning people have a task to diligently pray for the recovery of Madiba. And as we pray, remember that somewhere a false prophet may be on standby to take advantage of our misery to predict disaster and be glorified by the masses when demons deliver ‘prophetic’ fulfillment.

To cite a few incidents, I remember a prophet who implicitly predicted the demise of a Southern African president. He died without the so called prophet’s intervention. I had expected him to revive him like Peter since he had foreseen the death, but he did not even attend the funeral!

There was also prediction about a train crash in Europe. The named prophet did nothing about preventing the disaster he had predicted, let alone warning the people on the train! Why? He caused the disaster himself.

The prophet also frivolously predicted the result of an Africa Cup final. He cast spells and a very unlikely football team won to suit his ‘prophecy’. The whole world marveled at the unbelievable victory.

Please, remember that as we pray for the recovery of the icon, we should not allow these doomed self styled prophets to say this and that on Madiba. They only predict doom because they are prophets of doom.

Van Persie's goal shatters fan's marriage

By Irvine Syazyombo

First it was a daring run by Ryan Giggs on the left wing. He dribbled the ball before playing it through a defender’s legs.

Before Old Trafford blinked, Robin van Persie curled the ball high inside the post into the roof of the net. At that moment, a woman who had been watching television with her husband in the sitting room sprung to her feet to celebrate while thumping her chest on the part her Man united Jersey read ‘Manchester United’ to the annoyance of her husband who was dressed in a Man City shirt.

The sub Saharan man felt bereaved as it was clear the league leaders would score again because of the barrage of attacking moves, splitting passes, crosses and shots on the Villa goal.

Excitement soon flared up when Wayne Rooney collected a pass near the centre line and looped the ball before Van Persie volleyed home his second goal of the night.

The woman could not handle her excitement any more. She leapt to the TV set and kissed it while Man U players were jubilantly running before they alternately hugged and patted Persie’s back .

The man could not hold back his bitterness any more. He could not bear seeing his wife ‘kiss another man’.

He jumped to his feet, charged and grabbed his wife by the neck before slapping her thrice in the face.

“Jessica, you cannot do such a foolish thing in my presence. I cannot bear such nonsense. It is no longer football. You are in love…”

“Shut up Jailos”, Jessica retorted. “How can you say such rubbish? How dare you? You slap me?”

He punched her in the belly and shoved her against the wall before she violently hit back.

“You have slapped me, Jessica. You have slapped my face. You have slapped the face of a manager. You have slapped the face that looks after so many workers,” Jailos said angrily.

“You have beaten me. You have beaten an angel! An angel! You do not realize how lucky you are to marry me. You bush mouse..!” Jessie screamed before scores of people converged after being attracted by a fracas from the two year old couple.

Suddenly Jailos hurried to the master bedroom. A few minutes later he emerged while wheeling a travel bag into the sitting room.

“I have packed all your clothes in this bag. Leave my house you barren bitch! I would rather be alone than tolerate your soccer antics. Get out!” Jailos shouted after shoving her into the night.
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As starving villagers eat grass,corrupt prof,CEO pockets $700 000

By Irvine Syazyombo
Unbearable congestion on the passenger train is normal. It is as hot as an oven inside the coaches. Because of overcrowding the vast majority of passengers have to stand along the isle.

The train is extremely dirty too. There is shit all the time on the toilet pans so the whole train reeks of a combination human waste, bad breath, shoes and sweat.

Passengers who are on long journeys of over 600 kilometers in that third world country have to endure the congestion and stench for four days because the diesel locomotive engine cannot zoom on the old fragile track.

If there is a derailed goods train ahead, the passenger train will ram into the wagons because of poor communication.

Meanwhile, passengers will have to spend a day or so before the derailed train is moved to have the track repaired.

Having seen problems of this nature,the new government employed a professor from a prestigious western university as CEO so that he corrects the situation.

The country with eighty percent of her citizens desperately poor also borrowed heavily so that when the railway system is changed into an electric one, doing business would be made cheaper, thereby boosting economic growth .

Little did authorities know that Professor Chilize had his own selfish ideas. He seized that opportunity to amass wealth.

Firstly, from a poor country awash with street kids, orphans begging in public places ,street venders earning half a dollar a day from selling little merchandize like sweets, vegetables and roasted cassava, and starving small scale farmers who have to eat grass to see another sunrise, Chilize demanded to be paid $600 000 per annum.

Professor Chilize also demanded that the railway company rent a house for him at $170000 annually. Clif Chilize also demanded ten air tickets per year to wonder with his wife anywhere on the globe.

Surprisingly, the company met all the crazy expenses before the CEO extended his greed to the capital he was supposed to use to change obsolete rail transport to electric trains.

Without caring what impact the loan would have on the tax payer, the learned man orchestrated frequent fraudulent board meetings which gobbled $150, 000 per month.

Two board members would meet at any of their increasing mistresses’ homes to frolic, dine and wine. After that they would inform the CEO who would readily pay hefty sitting allowances without any minutes to justify the expenses.

When the scandal reached the public domain, the CEO accused his board members of corruption. They in turn also smeared graft charges on him.

Disgusted, the government suspended Professor Chilize to give freedom to his board members to uncover his corruption misdeeds like the numerous air tickets the company bought for him to wonder with his wife from south to North Pole.

Authorities also need to find out how much of the borrowed money has been squandered by the irresponsible CEO and his board members.

For now, Passengers will have to cope with the increasingly congested slow train until the track is turned into an electric one. That is ,if Clif Chilize has not squandered all the money his government borrowed specifically for railway infrastructure.

Ritualistic bishop brutally murders taxi driver

By Irvine Syazyombo
Three men who were wearing blue suits and carrying a brief case each strolled into the shopping mall to hire a taxi.

As soon as they approached a taxi rank, twelve young men with car keys in their hands rushed and surrounded the trio with various offers to persuasively have their taxis hired.

The three middle aged men chose a slim young man, Mwenya, to whom they announced their destination.

“Take us to Kalindu Township,” one of them ordered.

The young taxi driver hastily slumped into the driver’s seat .The three passengers hurriedly boarded too before the car sped off.

After they had driven for about ten minutes through the third world city, the man in the front drivers’ seat suddenly drew a gun and pointed it to the head of the driver.

“Take us to the outskirts of the city,” Chandwe who was also a bishop of the Antiock Church Pentecostal Water Ministries, ordered.

Shocked, Mwenya had no option but to take them to their destination.

When they reached the destination, the bishop ordered Mwenya to walk into the bush with the revolver held to the back of his head.

When they were in the bush, Bishop Chandwe ordered his two disciples to tie the young man’s hands and legs ‘so that work for God’ could be carried out.

They also stuffed pieces of cloth into the victim’s mouth so that he could not be heard screaming.

The two muscular men firmly held the poor weak young man by the legs and arms while the bishop stripped the victim before slicing off his scrotum and penis which organs would mysteriously help him grow rich.

Overwhelmed with pain, Mwenya kicked helplessly but it was too late.He fainted before the three ‘holy men’ cut off the head, peeled off the facial skin and plucked the eyes from the sockets which could help the bishop ‘see through worshipers lives as prophesy’.

After the gruesome murder of the innocent man, ‘the man of God’ put the human parts in his briefcase before the murderers left the corpse to rot in the open.

It was after a month when a woman discovered the body in a decomposed state. Fellow taxi drivers only recognized the body because of the familiar clothes the deceased had won on the fateful day.

The next day was Sunday. Bishop Chandwe preached and healed congregants of chronic illnesses and paralysis. Cripples abandoned wheelchairs and crutches. The dumb talked. The deaf heard. The blind saw. To others he prophesied riches and prosperity.

To some ill people he gave ‘holy water’, mortuary waste after washing corpses, which contaminated liquid he had bought from a mortuary attendant.

With the ‘presence of the holy spirit’, numerous congregants became limp and dizzy before falling onto the floor with the support of the bishop’s henchmen.

It soon became a confusion of limp people staggering, reeling, rolling on the floor and screaming while the bishop prayed in incomprehensible tongues.

Having seen the miracles and experienced ‘God’s’ presence, hundreds of congregants filled a ten waste paper basket with cash. They would give more tithes and offerings next Sunday.

Corrupt adulterous policeman battered

By Irvine Syazyombo
Maggie had been at home the whole day waiting anxiously for her husband. He had gone to the bank for his salary in the morning.

She paced around the kitchen which had only three plates, two spoons and one handle less pot resting on an old coffee table.

The cooker was a only a coil resting on three stones ,yet connected with insulated wire to the cooker switch.

The floor had random pot holes because the house was one of the buildings which had been built by colonialists long before the country’s independence.

Sitting room furniture comprised a deformed twenty-liter plastic container and a broken stool in the middle of the room.

That was where she was, sitting on the container just after sunset, when Maggie heard some noise outside her house in a densely populated township.

Her house was located on the main road in a small town of a self styled christian third world country. About five hundred meters down the road was a shopping center where there was a tavern.

Maggie’s husband, Chola, a handsome tall slim high school teacher, had staggered out of the tavern half an hour earlier before a group of his pupils found him lying bare-chested and open- mouthed, like a corpse, at the road side.

Flies were frolicking, walking, flying and crawling in and out of his mouth like typical rash hour traffic in a developed city.

His trousers had been soiled after he had lain, rolled and crawled at the road side .Suddenly, in broad day light, darkness struck his eyes…On lookers, some of whom had been taught by the thirty five year old teacher, either pitied or laughed at the disgusting sight.

Concerned that they might lose their commerce teacher, the boys and girls borrowed a wheel barrow from a shop owner before they wheeled the drunken teacher home.

The dirty old wheel barrow which had earlier carried cement, garbage and bricks, loudly squeaked as the boys roughly pushed it into pot holes and onto stones on and off the road to toss the drunken man up, down left and right.

That time the group of pupils freely called him monkey, the nick name they had secretly given him, because he was incapable of punishing them in his unconscious state.

One of Chola’s senior secondary school classes had nicknamed him that because of his subhuman behavior whenever he drank beer.

When the boys arrived, Maggie could tell from the noise outside that everything had gone wrong. There was no need for the pupils to knock at the door to announce their arrival.

When the stout woman with a heavy behind and an attractive face opened the front door, she was not moved at the usual sight of her bare-chested husband on a filthy wheel barrow.

She was convinced that an illicit brewer must have grabbed his shirt for failing to pay for the beer he had gulped right at the month-end.

Whenever he drank beer, Maggie cursed the blind love that had made her marry him. She passionately hated the nasty alcoholism. No wonder each time he drunkenly misbehaved, she furiously manhandled him.

That moment was not an exception. She flared into a rage and grabbed the dirty dizzy hapless man who left a pool of ‘water ‘on the wheel barrow.

“It has rained on this wheelbarrow alone! There was a thunderstorm on the wheelbarrow!!” the boys and girls chanted.

The shouts further infuriated Maggie who hauled the drunkard into the house and locked the door before flogging him with a cane.

The man who had drunk a despicable abnormally portent illicit brew in the afternoon before boastfully sipping at a bottle of a reputable beer, only realized in the morning when he was staggering into the sitting room that his buttocks and calves were swollen and painful.

But when he asked his wife, who was resting on the plastic container after sweeping the house and yard, she was rudely unresponsive.

“I am asking you again. Who beat me like a dog yesterday?” he demanded.

“I am not your body guard to know who clobbered you like a donkey, mouse or dog where and how,” she retorted.

The teacher carefully sat on his right thigh on the stool next to his wife so that he could continue speculating what had made his buttocks and calves untouchably painful.

He had so many unanswered questions…Who brought him home? What time was it? Why was he beaten and by who? Who took away the whole of his salary?

Unfortunately no one, let alone his distressed and starving wife, would tell him what had happened the previous night.

Suddenly he felt hungry because he had only taken snacks since supper two days before.

“Give me food! I am hungry!” Chola demanded.

“You were paid only yesterday but you do not have even a single note on you. I searched all pockets of the urine smelling trousers you wore yesterday but I found nothing at all. Absolutely no money!” she said vehemently.

She was sure the alcoholism had been a result of devilish powers influencing his life.

“Only demons that guide you to pubs might know who ransacked your pockets when you were a twenty four carat idiot yesterday. Give me money for food first if you want to eat! Or else you will have to continue fasting,” she snarled.

Maggie could not bear the beer- reeking breath anymore, so she stood up to go outside for fresh air. Before she reached the door, her husband suddenly rose and hurled the only piece of furniture .The stool violently hit Maggie on the back.

The woman heavily crashed onto the floor but sprung up before seizing the man by the throat and wrestling with him.

She roughly laid him on his back and ‘crash-landed’ her heavy behind on his belly while raining punches on his torso and face.

He struggled and punched her on the nose and mouth so that she started bleeding. The blood from the nose and mouth stained her white blouse which further infuriated her.

“I will report you to the police so that they also add salt and pepper to the relish of discipline I have given you. It seems you need extra discipline!” she screamed.

The angry woman stormed out of the house but her husband ran and caught up with her at the road side where they violently exchanged blows, wrestled and rolled on the ground until passersby intervened.

Soon a growing mob that wielded sticks and stones grabbed and pummeled Chola before dragging him to the nearby police station where he was detained.

After the noisy mob had witnessed the drunkard getting detained in a police cell, they departed. Therefore Maggie was just left with the officer on duty, constable Sitali.

The short slim man suddenly smiled at Maggie barely a few minutes after he had viciously and repeatedly slapped her husband on the back and face before locking him behind bars like a beast.

She knew that so many men would hardly resist her beauty. And from his smile, she read that he would not be an excerption.

What the constable did not understand was that Maggie had absolutely read his mind through the tale-tell smile. By the time he opened his mouth to say something, she had already known what to expect. She was not caught off hand.

Of course she did not expect him to sing praises about her husband who was languishing in a police cell.

“You have seen what kind of beast you chose to marry. What was going on in your brain? You are outstandingly beautiful. It takes someone who does not deserve you to treat you like an animal,” he emphasized ‘animal’ with gestures.

“I do not know what made me fall prey to that idiot. I did not think twice. Moreover you cannot tell the book by its cover,” she said vehemently.

Constable Sitali went out of the inquiries room to the bench on which Maggie was so that he could sit close to her.

“Me, I truly love you. Forget the idiot in our police cell. I will marry you. The beast is going to prison. You drive me crazy,” Constable Sitali said seductively before handing her $50,part of the $100 bribe he had extorted from a desperate suspect.

Maggie smiled. It was particularly hard for her to reject the person who readily gave her money she desperately needed, who also could provide a potential respite from the antics of her drunken penniless husband.

It was stone hard to reject the person who was the only hope at the time her hubby had nothing to offer her apart from mental torture.

No wonder when the constable touched her hand, she did not resist at all. Apparently she had also expected the ‘good news’ from the policeman. Certainly it came on the very right day.

That was suitable because Chola who had been detained on Friday, would only be released on bond, on Monday. Therefore Sitali had all the time to go on a three night honey moon with Maggie.

Certainly, he spent three nights with the woman in her matrimonial bedroom. On Monday morning, the constable slept in.

Meanwhile, having been released on police bond at 08 00 hours, Chola ,who was visibly remorseful about his stupidity , hurried home so that he could apologize , plead for forgiveness and persuade his wife to withdraw the case from the police.

He would readily offer to be caned by her if she was still annoyed. What mattered was having the case withdrawn from the police.

When he reached his house, the front door was open. As he walked across the sitting room, he wondered how his wife would receive his heartfelt apology. Would she attack him? Would she pack her belongings and go back to her parents?

If she did…he could not finish his thought because by then he was walking into his bedroom where he suddenly saw the police constable who had detained him lying in his matrimonial bed.

Chola pounced on the policeman who was half naked in bed. The two men wrestled kicked, punched and elbowed each other. Suddenly they crashed onto the floor.


The constable landed head first on the rough floor and Chola who was comfortably on top of his opponent endlessly rained more punches on the head.


By the time Maggie entered the bedroom from the bathroom with only a bath towel around her waiste, both men were already bleeding from the nose and mouth. Soon a mob gathered outside.

Since the groaning, thuds, clicking and stamping noises increased inside the house, men burst into the bedroom to drag the fighters apart.

Because most of the men in the mob hated the policeman for sleeping with their wives, the mob dragged him outside and beat him with whatever object they laid hands on.

While the adulterer was being pummeled to unconsciousness by angry men, the bare-breasted adulteress escaped through the bedroom window.

By the time riot police arrived, the mob had sufficiently vented their anger on the adulterer. Therefore they did not fight the riot police. Instead they dispersed lest some should be arrested for battering the adulterous police constable.

Pregnant virgin marries Muswala

By Irvine Syazyombo
She knocked three times at the door and waited. No response. She nervously knocked harder until she heard some sounds…some movement…some foot falls… inside the house.

Josphine smiled shyly when Muswala opened the door to face her early one Sunday morning.

Josphine had meticulously swept the young man’s yard .Her next task was to hand him the special breakfast, a flask of tea and lunch box of butter coated bread.

Muswala was surprised to see the beautiful young teacher standing confidently on his door step. He ran out of words. It was an incredibly difficult encounter to understand.

“Josphine, how are you”, he said after biting his tongue at the beginning and end of the sentence.

“ I am fine .I just came to sweep your yard early in the morning .Just to help you I know it is very hard for men to sweep their yards. I have also brought your breakfast. I know you hardly cook,” she said smilingly.

“You can come in. Thank you,” Muswala said.

Inside the house, Josphine shyly stayed only for about five minutes before she left , claiming that she was going to prepare for church service.

Muswala had just been a month old employed as a clinical officer in Lusaka after graduating from college.

He had visited a Pentecostal church one Sunday where he met many people, including the beautiful young teacher, Josphine.

A week later he wondered why such an angel spent about an hour sweeping his yard instead of being at her own house preparing to go to church.

According to Muswala, whom friends popularly called Swala, the twenty three year old lady was unstoppably in love with him.

Friends in the neighborhood had consistently told him that Josphine was generally well behaved, saying Swala would not make any mistake by taking her for a wife.

Meanwhile at the clinic where he was working, a gorgeous young nurse, Ester, was also crazily passionate about marrying the twenty five year old young man.

Much as the ladies had excellent behavior and reputation generally, Swala had other personal values to consider, especially tribal fears, because Josephine was Ngoni from Eastern Zambia while Ester was Bemba from Northern Zambia.

Muswala, who belonged to the Luvale tribe of North Western Zambia, always remembered what his parents had told him about other tribes.

“Bemba women are disrespectful, quarrelsome, nagging and notorious for insulting their husbands in public,” his father would say with conviction.

Swala remembered that his parents had said Tongas were greedy people who individually ate hills of nshima (hard porridge) per meal and that one would have to buy mealie meal every week to satisfy such a wife.

His parents also told him that Lamba women were prostitutes so if he married one she would sleep with all the men in the neighborhood and his own relatives.

Swala’s parents also condemned Eastern Zambian women as harlots who would sleep with any man who whistled suggestively to attract their attention.

His mother charged that Lozi people from Western Province were selfish and stingy people who would not share money, food and other things with their in-laws.

So, when Swala considered all that his parents had lectured him on, he had to go to his village as his parents had wished, so that he could take for a wife a Luvale virgin who would be loving, respectful and worth marrying.

When he reached his village in Kabompo in the North Western Province of Zambia, he stayed there for a month before marrying a beautiful twenty year old girl whom his parents had believed was a well behaved virgin.

After the wedding the couple travelled to Lusaka where two weeks later Judith complained of abdominal pains which a doctor attributed to pregnancy.

Swala at that time was excited because he had proved to people who closely observed young couples for pregnancy signs, that he was not impotent.

Swala was suspicious when the virgin gave birth six months into the marriage, so he demanded a DNA test for the baby which proved that he was not the father.

He was unaware that actually Judith did not know the father of her baby because she had been sleeping with a local primary school teacher, a shopkeeper, a second hand clothes hawker and a grade twelve boy who had passionately been dreaming of marrying her.

But Swala ‘won the Afcon trophy’ of her heart because of his Lusaka residency. Her desire was to go back to Lusaka where she had left her baby with his father four years earlier after an unwanted pregnancy.

Meanwhile barely a week into the marriage, he observed appalling levels of poor personal hygiene.

Judith would only brush her teeth and have a bath after a week or so. Whenever he left dirty dishes on the dining table or in the sink, he would find the same mess in the evening after work.

She would sweep the house after a week. Since it was rainy season, the front and back yards had become game reserves for snakes, lizards and frogs because she would not weed the yard at all.

Before he took her back to village, he knocked off earlier from work that night so that he could prepare fully for the long trip.

But when he entered the house, he was startled as a half naked man who had hidden behind the open door fled into the night leaving a four year old boy who facially closely resembled Judith.

When he interrogated his wife, she revealed tearfully that the four year old boy was her son and the man who had run away had ‘brought his child to see his mother’.

Having dumped the ‘virgin’ in the village, Swala underwent VCT which was positive and had to be on ARVs in Lusaka just because tribal prejudice had blindfolded him into marrying a lady from his province without any HIV test.

Having suffered the mental torturing long illness in a Lusaka hospital, before Swala died, he disclosed to church mates, friends and relatives at his bedside that he was a naïve victim of tribal stereotypes. He also wished he had put logical thinking before thoughtless tribal prejudice which plunged him into the HIV positive quagmire.

He advised them that in reality people were just people regardless of tribe or color. Swala reasoned that it took small minds to judge others on tribal prejudice .He said those who sowed seeds of tribalism had trouble and regrets to reap in the future.