Mankhokwe...

Two neighbours, in Africa, make interesting news lately. While next door President Nkuruzinza hangs almost by a thread as he crushes his people to fit into his power hungry plans, in the other house President Kagame almost could have rubbed off his citizens the wrong way if he had accepted the term limits of the constitution. The Rwandan constitution, like most other African constitutions, apparently suggests that a President should have a maximum of two seven-year (others it's five) term limits. Now, the curtains appear to be drawing on Kagame as his two term limits come to an end in less than two years' time. But, his people, have said not yet. In the wake of the Parliament endorsing Kagame's plans to hold on, the voices of reason or confusion (depending on the part you are sitting on) have arisen again. Kagame, the hero whom most of Africa has come to hold with a regard they could only offer Mandela, has suddenly slumped into a villain. The most brutal actually ar...

Somebody took her. You did not know until today. A few hours ago. She left, five years ago. You moved on. She moved on too. At first you had thought you would not but when you kept calling and hit voicemail and she never called back, you gave up. You said you would try forgetting her for a week. It worked. Two weeks. It worked. Before you knew it, her number was deleted. You met her once, in the supermarket. She was with a friend. Female. She smiled, a thin smile, and said 'hi'. Then quickly faced away. You said 'hi' back. You wanted to make a long conversation. You stopped. She walked on. Laughing. Hard and louder. Not into the ears of her friend. Into the vacuum she must have been sure you were occupying. You felt bad, again, after a long time. Because of her. "I only wanted to be kind," you had later told a friend. Seriously,  you just wanted to be kind. You just wanted to catch up  with an old friend. Exchange a greeting and all.  You never wante...

Two years is a long time. In politics, it is an eternity. In life, it is a long time. The lessons we learnt, two years ago, tend to be forgotten. In December 2013, in Balaka, a football fan died. There was a fracas. Police fired teargas and, on the way to save his life, 31 year old Lemiyasi Josita lost it. Mighty Wanderers and Silver Strikers, the two teams playing that day, were condemned. They were punished as well. In 2013. As of 2014, there still was a hangover of the punishment. The comments that spread across social media were sensible. The anger was rational. And justified. Even the football teams said little, if anything, in their defense. As a nation, Malawi, we joined hands and condemned hooliganism in football. Some of us, on Facebook, wondered why all the nonsense we call football in Malawi should be worth a death. But then, it appears, it was as good as writing nothing. Nobody read. Nobody heard. Or, if they did, two years is a long time. In football. In 2015, hard...

There was a country. There was a Malawi. To pass such an indictment on a population of 16 million plus people, to address them in the past, is one of the least experiences a person like me cherish in. But, there are events that happen. These events shock and shake you. They make you question anything. And everything. Sometimes, they push you to the extreme: you deny the presence of reality. It is a sad place to be in. A dangerous seat to sit in. To have to self-anoint oneself as a judge over a people smacks of hypocrisy. Sadly, it is the place I am in. It is the place I have chosen to be in, this moment. Today, I thought of writing a eulogy to the versatile writer and journalist who surrendered his ghost on one of the roads in Malawi: Ralph Tenthani . I wanted to write an eulogy. To deny the brilliant argument made by my friend, Wana Kalua, that Tenthani was the only person worthy to write his own eulogy. Owing to his brilliant skills at writing. I wanted to. Until Beaton wrote ....

Dictators ought to be flattered…unless you want death. There are a few ‘unlesses’ when it comes to flattering dictators with most of them, however, centering around death. You have to flatter them, unless you want death or unless they are dead. Today, 14 May, is a holiday in Malawi. Malawians today have been forced to stay at home; most of them for a reason they do not understand. Others, for a reason they are confused about. Yet some are mistaken to think it is for a good cause. A struggling economy lost a productive day, today, to honour the life of a dictator: Hastings Kamuzu Banda. For 31 years, Banda sat at the helm of Malawi he had turned into a personal estate: detaining, exiling and killing – people! Yet, today, the country saves a day on the calendar to celebrate him. On the false premise that Banda fought colonialism and brought independence to Malawi.  It is such a mistaken attitude that, up to date, others call Banda with a title he erroneously award...

Something is falling apart, once again, in Burundi. Or, something seems to be falling apart in Burundi. This morning, I posted on the video that has emerged of the protests in Burundi. It was, now it appears, a premonition. The news, at this point, is that a coup has been declared in Burundi. Pierre Nkurunziza, who at the time of the coup was the President, is in Tanzania. It is said he went to meet with other African leaders to discuss a solution to the problem he has created in Burundi. Or, to be a little crude and patronising, to discuss the problem he is to Burundi. Back at home. The ending has began. An army general, Godefroid Niyombareh, has declared him an illegal President. He has claimed that a committee has been set up to run the government. If successful, Nkurunziza will go like Compaore . Once hailed. Now a memory. All for a little hangover of power. However, it is too early to declare now. The world media is watching. And expecting. Praying that something happen...

I have seen the video . At first, anger. Moments - milliseconds actually - later, justification. In a few seconds, he emerges. Within a short space, he is wiped out. The camera, of a phone most likely, focuses on other things: the commotion, the madness. None of the journalists and the news sites so far has picked up that aspect. The angle they have chosen is the violence. Its entire humiliating act is unnerving but, as well, is commercial. News is business. I am yet to see anybody focus on that 3 seconds as captured by the camera of an angry, even excited, protester. In the sparsely tarmacked road of Bujumbura, most likely. First is the slap you notice. The screams of the frightened officer muted by an angry mob are the soundtrack. A woman in a grey uniform is surrounded. All the vengeance, the justified madness, is falling on her. Yet as some resort to hands and fists to execute their judgement, one emerges with a knife. He appears poised to strike. A knife meant to scare...

At first, it was when the Malawian football player died.  His death, widely attracting attention, was what spurred the thoughts. Douglas Chirambo, for that was his name, died a pauper. His health failure was talked about on social media while the traditional media kept feeding us news of the fights going on in the club he had played for. In other words, his plight was the footnote in the debates of football administrators. You can doubt they even talked about him. You can be sure they never did. The day he died, the tongues started wagging in the corridors of football power in Malawi. The day he was to have his body transferred to be laid to rest in his home village in the rural parts of Malawi was the day football administrators started talking about the plight of Malawian football players. Before that, nothing. Silence. It was enough the football players made them money. Enough they provided entertainment. Enough they, the administrators, were basking in glory. Chiram...

This moment, she might be tearing silently. Putting asunder the flesh of the night. Her cries, soft and deep, can only be felt. By her alone. She is shrieking. She is grieving. The ideas, the dreams, the expectations, the hopes, have all congregated into this: nothingness. When the camera zoomed into her face, it was not with the smiles that have come to parade on social media with the caption 'selfie'. The smiles, in those pictures, are unreal. The blankness, on her face, was real. No actor can get that. Only reality can bring that. Perhaps, she was thinking. I am sure, she was thinking. I saw it. I saw it. I am sure, I saw it. There was fear on her face. There was uncertainty. There was disbelief. There was shock. This was no theater. This was no statistic. This was her world - crumbling, falling apart. The caption underneath said nothing about her. I am not even sure she was the target of the photographer. But, her face, blank and emotional in an emotionless way is...

President Peter Mutharika, whom I voted for on May 20, 2014, was in the commercial city of Blantyre not long ago. His agenda was visiting old buildings that exist in the city. Buildings that are used for business yet from a drone camera look of them one would be understood to think are ruins of an ancient kingdom excavated after millions of years buried under the labyrinth of chaos. The President indicated the buildings need to be demolished so that new ones are built. Did he indicate any deadline for the excuse? No! He just said it and apparently expects the owners to follow his orders. But, for those of us at least old enough and rational enough, we know the buildings will still stand. They will not be felled. Not renovated. Business will go on as usual. Probably, the closest they can come to being renovated is having white lime sprinkled on them. For one hour, after the lime paint sprinkling, the buildings will shine and thereafter they will go back to the state they were in.....