Mankhokwe...

We are sitting in the terraces of the Nanzikambe Arts Café. Before us is the stage. No tables, no decorations, no whatever – just a plain stage. It is evening. Earlier in the day it had rained and I had had my fears that the rain might continue and mar an otherwise looked-forward-to show. But now, the skies are clear. If not for their female shyness, I am certain, the stars could have been in the skies. But now, they are not there. The sky is just plain, and clear. We are awaiting for the staging of the South African movie, Sarafina – its stage version. Chancellor College first year students, so I gather, are the ones who will be on stage tonight. I remember my first year days. First year days are fun, almost. They are certainly confusing, to some extent. First year days leave you with little choice than to listen to those of years ahead of you. You listen to the ways of survival. You listen to whom, amongst the lecturers you have encountered, is worse than the

You started by drowsing while in some conversations on the social networking Whatsapp. Before you knew it, you were fully asleep. Conquered by the mighty power of sleep, your journey into the valley of the shadow of death started. Then, morning came. God had been merciful to you, he had let you see the other day of the new year. Among those in whom life had slipped out of, you were not one of them. Among those who were still relying on heresies on what is in the other life, you were there. You reached for your phone having remembered the conversations unfinished of last night. You expected the phone to display something like ‘3 Whatsapp messages’ or something more than that. You had been pregnant with expectation yet when you touched the phone, all expectations dissolved. They were shattered. The screen was blank – a dry blankness. It is the battery, you had comforted yourself. You tried to play on the switch yet the phone refused to respond. You changed batte