Breaking The Circle

CHAPTER ONE Beyond the slip It has just rained heavily,leaving the yard of Maambo's hut slumbered in the unimaginable slimmy mixture of soil and water.The water eventually escapes the compound ,but it is still slippery. Maambo is sitted on the hut's small veranda capable only of accommodating him and his son. One can tell that the man's Head is miles away from it's body as he dumbly surrenders his hands above an empty brazier. He has been taken hostage by the the thoughts and concerns most poor parents have for their children. Will my son ever lead a different face and uplift the family? Will he ever be successful enough to afford for his children what I failed for him? His head is retrieved from the future by the disturbing heavy footsteps of his son. Maambo's eyes are now fixed on his son Mwenda who misses a step and slips, hitting the ground with a splat like a bag of sweet potatoes. Mwenda remained on the ground for a few seconds,enjoying a brief vacation from gravity. His father could do no less but burst into laughter ... Mwenda looks up at his father with a mix of embarrassment and hurt, and Maambo's laughter dies down, replaced by a warm smile. "Awe, Mwenda, are you okay?" he asks,with a bit of pretence. Mwenda brushes himself off, grinning sheepishly. "Yes, I'm fine." Maambo quickly changes the topic. "Did you manage to buy the things I told you? Maambo asks. Mwenda:"Not all of them. I only managed to buy the candles and a bottle of cooking oil. I couldn't find salt in any of the three shops, it's like those guys are no longer restocking." The Village of Mukabe is about 90 kilometers from the main town. It's infrastructure can be recognized only by three tuntembas(mini shops),a so-called tarven tharched with grass in traditional style and mukabe primary school, which only has three teachers but the school goes up to grade nine. Mwenda quickly enters the hut and brings out some already cut pumpkin leaves. He then cooks the veggies and begins to warm the left over nshima In preparation for lunch. "Naisa panono fye(I'll be back within a minute)."Mwenda tells his son as he disappears into the thick bushes. He wonders through the bush like one searching for a unicorn. His growing concerns for his son's future has now reigned dominion over his mind . Maambo's expression turns somber, his eyes clouding over as he gazes out at the soggy thicket. His mind begins to wander, consumed by the doubts and fears that have been lurking in the shadows. "Will Mwenda ever find his footing?" he wonders. "Will he be able to break free from the cycle of poverty that seems to trap so many of our people?" Maambo's thoughts are a jumble of questions, each one twisting the knot in his stomach tighter and tighter. He thinks about the sacrifices he's made for Mwenda, the late nights and early mornings, the scrimping and saving... all for this moment, all for his son's future. But what if it's not enough? "Will my son be able to complete his education in this primitive Godforsaken village" His mind snaps back to reality as he gazes at a flush of mushrooms. "This is better than pumpkin leaves." Maambo soliloquized, as he picked the mushrooms. He then returns home and gives his son the mushrooms to prepare. The mushrooms symbolize hope and resilience. Just like how Maambo picks them from the soggy thicket, he hopes Mwenda will emerge stronger from life's challenges. The mushrooms growing in tough conditions represent Mwenda's potential to thrive despite adversity. Maambo giving the mushrooms to Mwenda to prepare symbolize him passing on wisdom and resources to his son, trusting he'll make the most of them. *Fast Forward* They had their supper and sat quietly on the small veranda. Maambo:"Son, Do you recall your ironic fall this afternoon?" Mwenda (confused and embarrassed): Yes father. "That is life.It will throw you some slippery moments, but it's how you respond that matters. You can either laugh and get back up, or let it bring you down."Maambo tells his son. Then a short moment of silence breaks loose, the only sound is the dripping of water from the eaves, as Maambo's words hang in the air, filled with the weight of his own unspoken fears and hopes for Mwenda's future. Maambo continues again, "Two years ago you failed your exams, yes, you were young and those pathetic drunkards [teachers] were not serious with their job, but that's not something to cry about. But instead learn from it and pass your exams this year " The two later concluded their conversation and went to bed. A month went by and Mwenda has finally wrote the exams,for the second time. Both the Father and the son are curious to know if the results are different compared to the last ones. On his way home from the shops, Mwenda meets Mrs Nsomba, the only female teacher and also headmistress of his school. Mwenda: "Good afternoon Madam?" Mrs Nsomba: "Good afternoon?How are you doing? " Mwenda:"Am ok thank you." "Do you know that the results came out yesterday? you and Bwalya were the only students that did us proud."Said Mrs Nsomba. CHAPTER TWO Seeds of hope Mwenda's face lit up as he ran back home and shared the news with Maambo. "I passed! Mrs. Nsomba said I did well!" Maambo's eyes welled up with tears of joy, and he hugged his son tightly. But as they celebrated, Maambo's mind began to race. Secondary school fees were due soon, and he hadn't saved enough. The thought dampened his excitement. "We need to talk about school fees, Mwenda," he said, his voice tinged with worry. Mwenda's grin faltered. "What about them, Dad?" he asked, a hint of concern creeping in. Maambo explained the situation. Mwenda's eyes dropped, and silence hung between them. Suddenly, he looked up. "Maybe I can help. I can work part-time at Mr Kulya's katemba(shop) or farm with Uncle Chisenga." Maambo's heart swelled with pride, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. As they discussed options, a knock came from the door. Mrs. Nsomba stood outside, a warm smile on her face. "I have brought your results. I also want to discuss Mwenda's scholarship possibilities." Mrs. Nsomba entered, her eyes shining with encouragement. "Mwenda's results were outstanding. We have a small scholarship fund at the school, but it'll cover only half the fees." Maambo's face lit up with hope. "That's a big help, thank you!" Mrs. Nsomba continued, "There's a condition: Mwenda must maintain good grades and help with school projects. And... there's another option. A local businessman, Mr. Chisenga, sponsors promising students. But he's selective, and Mwenda would need to impress him." Mwenda's eyes widened. "How do I meet him?" "He's visiting the school next week. Prepare a short presentation about your goals," Mrs. Nsomba said, handing Mwenda a note with the details. Maambo's expression turned determined. "We'll make it work. You focus on your presentation."Maambo assured his son. Mwenda's heart raced as he practiced his presentation in front of the cracked mirror. The dim koloboi(a traditional lamp in the rural areas of Zambia) besides him cast shadows on his face, like the doubts creeping in. But he focused on the flickering candle beside him – a symbol of hope. Next week arrived, and Mwenda stood before Mr. Chisenga, a stern-looking man with piercing eyes. The room smelled of old books and possibility. Mwenda took a breath and began: "My name is Mwenda. I want to break the cycle of poverty, just like the river breaks through rock – slowly, but unstoppably." Mr. Chisenga raised an eyebrow. "Go on." Mwenda's words flowed like the river: "I see myself building a clinic in Mukabe, where my mother could've gotten better care. I want to bring change, not just escape it." The room fell silent. Mr. Chisenga leaned forward. "Why should I sponsor you?" Mwenda locked eyes with him. "Because I'm not just a product of Mukabe – I'm its future." The old man's expression softened, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I'll sponsor you, Mwenda. But remember: with opportunity comes responsibility." As Mwenda walked out, the sunlight felt brighter, like a door had swung open. Mwenda's acceptance letter arrived on a rainy day, the paper soggy but the words crisp: "Congratulations, you've secured a place at Serenje Boys Secondary School." Maambo beamed, tears mixing with raindrops on his face. Preparations began, and Mwenda's small room became a whirlwind of packed boxes and dreams. The night before departure, he and Maambo sat by the fire, shadows dancing like the future itself. Maambo handed Mwenda a worn envelope. "For emergencies only." Inside was a photo of Mwenda's mother taken just a week before she died, and a five hundred kwacha that he had been saving." The next morning, Mwenda Mwenda was escorted to the 90 kilometers away station by his father and three of his cousins all on bicycles, each one carrying a lagage. At last they arrive at the road side Drained and sweaty. After hours of waiting, Mwenda finally boards a bus. Mukabe shrinking in the dust. As the city lights swallowed him, he stared out, heart pounding like the bus's engine. Mukabe's dusty paths buzzed with whispers: "Mwenda's gone to Serenje!" At the tuntembas, old men nodded, sipping chibuku (local brew). "He'll make it. That one has fire." At Maambo's hut, neighbors dropped by, offering veggies and words of pride. "You'll be seeing him on TV one day!" Mrs. Banda, the tarven owner, chuckled. But whispers also drifted: "Can he help his father now?" Maambo, busy with chores, smiled quietly. "He'll do what he can." The village school buzzed too. Bwalya, Mwenda's classmate, grinned. "I’ll follow his path next year!" Mukabe watched, curious, as Mwenda’s story unfolded elsewhere. Serenje Boys was a maze of concrete and possibilities. Mwenda navigated classes, new faces, and the pressure to represent Mukabe. But the river's flow he'd spoken of? It wasn't just a metaphor – it was his drive. MWENDA'S EARLY DAYS BOYS Mwenda stepped off the bus in Serenje, the bustling town a world away from Mukabe's quiet Though not that big of a town, to Mwenda Serenje was New York City. The school's imposing buildings loomed ahead, and he clugged his bag tighter and moved with uncertainty. "Hey, you must be new!" a tall boy said, grinning. "I'm Temba. Welcome to Serenje." Mwenda smiled, feeling a spark of relief. "Thanks, I'm Mwenda. Am heading to Serenje Boys and am not sure whether to go left or right. Can you kindly direct me?" "Just follow the road on your left until you find a T-junction,then head south. You'll have to walk for at least 60 minutes before reaching the school. But you can get a taxi, it's K60."Temba said. Mwenda: "I'll just get a taxi I can't walk with all these lagages." "Before the two could separate,a taxi drove by. Where are you heading boss?"the driver asked. "SEBOTECH.(short for Serenje Boys Technical School) "Temba replied on behalf of Mwenda. Driver: "Get in."As he quickly loaded the lagages into the cab. Mwenda quickly said good byes to Temba as the car drove off. He is now in school and Classes have began, and Mwenda navigated unfamiliar subjects and accents. Math was a struggle, but English lit was a breeze. Mrs. Phiri, the stern English teacher, raised an eyebrow at his Mukabe dialect but nodded approval at his essays. Dorm life was a riot. Roommates teased him about his nshima-eating skills. "If nshima had a fan club, you would be the president." one laughed. Mwenda chuckled. But nights were quiet. Mukabe's darkness felt like a memory away. Mwenda missed Maambo's fireside talks. But he new for sure that being in Serenje was the only way to change the face of his school and village. © prince Henry Chisenga