2020
CHABALA JACKSON
juniorchabby@gmail.com
Short-lived love
Prologue
Our journey started strangely; honestly Facebook is really cool this platform brought the love of
my life right before me. The first time I came across her stunning face was a Sunday, I just came
back from church tired.
On Sundays I never ate in the morning until evening, my friends laughed at this fact saying it's
the reason I was skinny, how mean? I used to call it fasting but they called it ‘starving oneself’
I went straight to the bedroom changed into more comfortable clothes. Later I took hold of my
phone after unceasing and disturbing notification sounds from both whatsApp and Facebook, the
social media is really addictive.
Top notifications came from sym, the community organization I was chairing. I lazily checked if
there were important announcements. Puzzling enough one strange girl had posted something,
who invited me to her page ‘The worshippers corner’ was the question, lately I had left a number
of media platforms because of obscene messages and pictures.
Guess what? This time I was impressed, Mercy was her name. I remember showing her picture
to my brothers and asked whether she looked Lamba or Zulu? We laughed that day.
Since then I started following her posts. I was touched and impressed by her way of thinking.
After working hours I could check for her inspirational messages. This continued for a good
number of days.
One fateful night I was forced to just rate her for the good work. I wanted to have nothing to do
with a woman; I was from some disappointment, so my message was straight forward. Her
response was overwhelming.
I think it all started there, after her humorous answer I started thinking about seeing her in
person. The discussion was online ‘Facebook’. We talked about empowering girls among other
things. And later decided to just meet in person and discuss at length.
My first date was a mess I kept her waiting, honestly I felt bad, but talking to her was a relief I
forgot making her to wait. After all it was not intentional I went for teacher’s day celebrations in
Chingola at Libonji creations so I arrived in Kitwe late.
Our discussion was educative, but I spent much of my time staring than listening to what she
said. She was really beautiful. Our discussion ended fast because it was already late. We
boarded home the same bus and sat together.
I usually meet girls once if I try meeting her the second time, believe me she has to be worth it
then. But before we could even begin talking I was already thinking about meeting her next. I
couldn’t show much interest I girls take advantage.
Meeting her for the second time I was more careful because last time I made her wait however
again I missed one thing I couldn’t secure a place to sit at the Unique park lodge, I walked
aimlessly like some and deep down I was like ‘hell I have failed again...’
She looked even more beautiful, maybe it's because I first saw her in the dark and I couldn't
really look at her match as it was our first meeting. We sat and talked about our futures, man the
girl was not merely stunning but wise too, one thought was conceived 'Chabala you have to get
to know this girl’ ‘what if someone else meets her’
This forced me to ask about her love life, her response gave me some hope. Guess what? My
friends showed up uninvited, her smile disappeared, fear in eyes was vivid, and she became so
uncomfortable. Before I could ask if she was comfortable
She said calmly, “I have to take my leave now.”
The only alternative was to walk her to the road and possibly get a taxi. God is merciful no
vehicle was seen so we kept on walking. My friends were already upset because I left them
behind.
I went back home thanking social media for introducing me to the girl that captured my mind not
with mere only beauty but brains too. If not for that Sunday and the notifications I wouldn’t have
been able to meet the most beautiful girl in the world.
This is a touching story of a short-lived love for Mwewa a young man with ambitions. He grew
up in a humble yet pious family and graduated from University with good grades. It took him a
while to secure a good job.
Telling stories is not easy, where should we even start from? I have an idea let’s first learn his
childhood life particularly his first experience at school as a child.
Welcome to ‘Short-lived love’
Enjoy……
Chabala Mwewa Jackson
Kitwe, Zambia.
For my family
For unlucky lovers
For ghetto children and unemployed men
Short-lived love
JACKSON MWEWA CHABALA
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND INSPIRATION
1
It was a fateful Monday; mum took me to be enrolled in basic school. I couldn't comprehend the
fact that I was going to start schooling my life was filled with enthusiasm and could not believe it
was true.
Almost every day I could get coins to go and see movies in a place which was colloquially
referred to as Ici-video. Movies could start at 7 or 8 in the morning. The lucky birds were the
ones who came first and stood a chance to clean the room which was commonly structured with
bamboo and covered with Mphamvu Cement sacks, Mphamvu was the first perplexing lexeme I
came across those days.
As a growing child I found these moments and experiences interesting, and so sweet! We could
go early in the morning to be counted among the lucky birds or simply to enjoy the attractions
before the actual movie could start.
Common movies then were Rambo, The American Ninja and shaolin, Deadly Prey, Who am I by
Jack Chan the list can go on and on these indeed were days!
After that fateful day I was enrolled in basic school everything changed. What I can remember
up to now was the transformation of my body upon hearing the news ‘You will start going to
school’. This was the best news I heard my entire life.
When we reached the school premises, I must admit that the place was paradise on earth, moving
a little farther I could hear children of my age, basically 6 or 7 years, uttering their Basic English
language, how are you? Which to me sounded like how wire are you?
For a while I couldn't move my eyes away from them-my insipid observation made mum to hold
my wrist even tighter fearing I might just get lost into the crowd of women with their noisy
children.
We went straight to the administration block and got my first grade form which we filled in later
at home with the help of my father.
A few weeks later, we went back to school as we were told that the list of the selected grade
ones was out. My name was shortlisted on those who were called for assessments.
Observing the assessment closely as a small child I thought the testing tool was rather foolish
and uncalled for we were forced to reach the left ear using the right hand crossing over the head.
I remained perplexed figuring out whether we were joining the army mum could easily read my
face.
“Are you scared?” she asked pinching my cheeks with her soft hands.
“Yes,” I responded looking up at her with a scary expression.
“You are a brave boy, my son,” she said.
These words were enough to bring a death back to life. My morale was boosted moreover the
heroine of my life was with me.
But I still wondered what sort of assessment this was. I observed them closely because I had
identified some children of my age with swelled heads and waited for their turn impatiently. I
wanted to see how they would touch the left ear these memories make me laugh at times
forgetting I am alone.
It was unfortunate that I was called fourth before the other boys with swelled heads as my last
name begins with a 'C' which consequently comes after the Banda's from the Eastern part of
Zambia. I was more comfortable being addressed as Mwewa; Chabala my last name sounded too
formal I could get agitated easily when play mates mentioned it.
When it was my turn, everyone kept on gawking at my hand waiting for me to fail the lame task.
With a thousand eyes set on a six year old I was already trembling and when mum noticed it she
reached for my hand and tried to help but before she could even try the head teacher scolded her,
urging every parent to let the child do the task alone.
I looked at the ugly head teacher and wondering who employed him also left me in a stupor. He
was so mean to my mother. “He should meet my father,” I said inside.
My mother was made to stand a few meters away from me. I couldn’t easily read her gestures
but I knew she was trying to boost my morale.
“Are you going to do it or not little boy?” The ugly head teacher blurted, “we still have a long
queue.”
I miraculously managed to reach the left ear and could see giggles on my mum's face.
I made it to grade one.
"No more Ici-video," I said to myself.