STEVEN MUNDIA reminisces the strong bond of friendship he enjoyed with his parents before they departed and recounts how their relationship sadly broke down irretrievably, turning his life topsy-turvy, but notes that, all men, even the cold-blooded, have a chance to reform if their hearts are touched. Read on …

MY name is Steven Mundia, I grew up from a decent family, a descended family mainly composed of father, mother, children, uncles, aunties, nephews and nieces, and I would like to share with you how all of a sudden the whole family was overshadowed by sort of a critical ‘mechanical’ fault which could not be aborted by any family member, but God Almighty only.
When you are a dependant, it is taboo to cross boundaries, even if you’re right; you just have to admit you are wrong and, sometimes, you just have to watch helplessly and zip your pretty mouth for the sake of enjoying the little freedom available in the house, or else you will be battered severely like a punch bag.
It all started in George compound, a ghetto situated in the north-western part of Lusaka. A ghetto is an unplanned settlement where three quarters of the population live in abject poverty, with mostly uneducated, often noisy and abrasive mannered people.
My father’s name was Mr Mwanang’ombe and Zamiwe was my mother’s name. I lost both my dearest parents a decade ago. Before his death, my dad worked for the defunct United Bus Company of Zambia (UBZ) for 12 years (1982-94) as a motor vehicle engineer.
His job was so involving that, sometimes, he would spend two to three months away from home. Whenever there was a breakdown, be it in the middle of the bush or in one of the neighbouring countries, my father would be assigned to go and work on the passenger vehicle.
Additionally, he used to make a lot of money from his job, and every time he came back home after several months, it used to be party time; I could tell by the number of Mosi beer crates in the house and he would invite his friends, including the landlord. My father did this for the sake of showing off and to please his friends.
At that time, most people were physically and mentally active because of Rhumba music which was widely popular in the country. In those days, dancing to Rhumba music was like a competition, no matter how crowded the dance floor was, you had to beat the rival next to you.
I still have vivid memories when I took to the stage with my dad and, as we danced, surprisingly, all the applause was on me, which forced my dad to stop dancing as he stared at me in disbelief. My father was puzzled at my flexibility, but so was the appreciative audience that, in a few minutes, filled my pockets to the seams with money.
This was one of the beautiful occasions I had with my father. The other special moment was when he spent some time with me in town to buy me a pair of school shoes from one of the Bata Zambia outlets.
For the first time, I saw dad smiling at me and he embraced me like a baby. I will never forget because on that day, I felt a sense of belonging and became something of a VIP, a very important person of the day.
My father was intellectually active; he was good at maths and the sciences and he was always handy when it came to my school work which he liked going through after my classes. He used to encourage me to work hard in school.
Mum was a real woman, a true African woman with strong moral values and good behaviour. She was vitally important to all of us, her children and her behaviour was often appealing, earning her lots of respect not only in the family, but from the neighbourhood as well.
I spent more of my life with mum than with dad, who as I have said earlier, was often away on duty. Mum is the one who groomed us into responsible children. I am deeply indebted to her for me to be a good citizen and, sometimes, I feel like I can’t repay her back for the moral values and good manners she instilled in me, if she were still alive.
There was so much love in her and every time she was around I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. She had a calm and soft voice like an angel. Mum was also a God-fearing person, I often saw her praying for food before she could serve it on the table.
I learnt to respect and fear God because of her, she was blessed with maturity. When things were hard in the family, financially, I would see her making every effort to make ends meet for the sake of the family.
In 1991, we shifted to Matero compound. Matero was a posh urban settlement for wealthy people then with an excellent road network, dust-free atmosphere, thanks to the  garbage collection vehicles which always went round collecting litter.
I also remember when we used to get assorted items on credit from nearby shops because we were credit and trustworthy then. People lived life to the fullest; life was so sweet like honey. Most people possessed large fortunes and walked majestically with shoulders high, hands in their pockets.
People in Matero spoke fluent English like students who had just graduated from the University of Zambia (UNZA), almost everyone was a boss in one way or another, no one wanted to look poor. I recall the adage:  “If you have never been to Matero, then you are not a Lusakan.”
People used to drive all the way from Chelston, Kabulonga, Kaunda Square, to name a few, to quench their thirst in the wonderful ‘city’ of Matero. In 1994, we shifted to Lilanda compound, just a stone’s throw from George compound.
I have fresh memories of that year because that’s the time when the football world cup took place in the United States of America and Brazil lifted the cup. Big names at that tournament included Roamario and Italy’s Roberto Bagio.
I watched the final between Brazil and Italy on a black and white television set which was the in-thing those days. It was our heart and soul. It wasn’t easy to acquire a black and white television set then. Unfortunately, this was the time my dad’s behaviour was constantly changing, most of the times he used to appear angry like someone who was about to do something very evil.
He was no longer the dad I knew or grew up admiring. To the contrary, he became so violent, especially towards mum and, often times, he used to abuse her in our presence whenever he got drunk.
Life was getting tough and scary especially for us the children.  Our hearts were filled with misery and sorrow. The house was in total chaos, there was no communication between mum and dad and fighting between them became the order of the day.
Seeing my mum cry almost every evening was kind of a bitter pill to swallow for me. I knew she was innocent and was being battered for no apparent reason. On my part, I felt I was mentally being abused, too, by what was happening between my dear parents.
My soft and friendly heart was declining day by day, hate and pain was swelling up inside it. Suddenly, mum felt it was too much and thought of leaving my dad for good. The house was silent and empty as I couldn’t believe mum had made up her mind.
Everything was happening at an unprecedented scale and there was no time for the family to sit them down to look for sustainable solutions. It was one of those days I felt like I was swimming in circles, lost in a huge grey sea.
The home which was once filled with the chink of conversation and the warm sounds of music from Billy Ocean, Yvonne Chakachaka and Koffie Olomide turned out to be a nightmare in my life. I later learnt that my father had a secret affair with a woman I eventually came to know as my step mother.
When mum told me about this strange affair, I knew at that moment that we were heading into circumstances which were difficult to resolve anywhere in the world. When my parents separated, my mother went to stay with my grandmother in Kabwe, taking with her my younger brother and sister.
At the time all these awful incidents were happening, my mother was expecting. Dad decided to keep me because of school and I had no option, but to adjust to whatever was about to happen ahead of my life, a life without my wonderful mother.
It took sometime before my father realised what a mistake he’d made separating with mum, but then he’d already married my step mother, and she was expecting as well. My father learnt a lesson from this episode and it was like he was chasing a ball that couldn’t bounce straight.
He also tarnished his own reputation as he became a laughing stock in the neighbourhood. It was absolutely embarrassing. In 1996, I learnt that my mother had a bouncy baby boy. Unfortunately, life became so hard for her in Kabwe that she could not afford to have a decent meal on the table or send my siblings to school.
She even went as far as brewing opaque liquor known as “Kachasu” in order to sustain the family. She was completely abandoned by my father financially. She later died in 1997 after a short illness. It’s sad that she had to die in difficult circumstances. Her death shattered my life.
On April 20, 1999, I lost my father at the University Teaching Hospital. This was after a long illness. At the time of his death, he was working for the University of Zambia. Finally, even though my parents lived an awkward kind of life, they lived up to their obligations and this is why I’ve been able to witness some of these achievements like education and good moral behaviour. These achievements come at a cost.
I have also seen that there’s goodness in all human beings, and that all they need is to rise to the occasion. All men, even the cold-blooded, have a core of decency and if their hearts are touched, they are capable of changing.
My parents laid a solid foundation in my life and it’s my responsibility to be grateful for the wonders they have brought to my life and I am very eager to continue where they failed. I can’t blame my father entirely; life is full of mistakes and it’s through these mistakes that we tend to adjust our lives.
I miss you dad and mum, I have draped the Zambian flags on your coffins to show how vitally important you have been to my life and I feel this is the only way I can repay you back. I know you’re smiling at me at this moment and I pray that may God take care of your souls. Bye.
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