Mankhokwe...

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..

Something cripples you somewhere, oftentimes these days it is when you least expect it. It is the reality. A reminder of your vulnerability. Your being human. Mortality. Its ugliness, its hard flesh, is inadmissible. It is more than an imagination. It is solid. Real. Stony. A reality. One can feel it. One feels it. Like a lump. The throat is blocked. Sanity, sometimes or just all the time, leaves. At first, disbelief. You see the face. The smile. The laughter. You hear the voice. Once, it is whispering...then, louder but soft. Gentler. You hear and feel it. You imagine it condensing into flesh. The friend, loved one, must be alive. Somewhere. You start to think it is a dream. It is night in your mind. Moonless, cloudy night. A few patches of stars in it. It never is the reality. To whoever has told you the message, you start to doubt them. They like drinking, sometimes you think, they must be drunk. It is a bad and tasteless joke, another line hits you.  You assure yourse