DOES it really matter when people can hold a memorial service for their beloved departed ones? Apparently it does with some tribes as SIMON MWALE and family found out when their planned event was almost derailed due to traditional demands. Here’s what happened…

AFTER postponing my late father’s memorial service to August 2, from April 16, 2015 at which we were to unveil the tombstone, all seemed set for the event until the eve of the occasion when an 11th hour intrusion nearly marred it.
Months of preparations for the memorial service for my dad who died on April 16, 2014 at Katete, culminated in an assembly of family, friends and others who shared life experiences with him at Katete Boma recently.
Having secured the heavy tombstone (100-plus kgs) from Lusaka, I got it transported by ZamPost’s reputedly efficient bus service. Initially, I’d entertained the mistaken idea of carrying it in my personal vehicle, but logic dictated otherwise. It would have meant me travelling alone as there was no space for any passenger.
And so, we set off – my grandfather, auntie, cousin, nephew and me on the over 500-kilometre journey to Katete from Lusaka on July 31, 2015. The trip itself was uneventful until when we reached Kacholola where we had a ‘puncture.’
We probably wouldn’t have discovered this ‘puncture’ had we not felt thirsty for refreshments which we thought could be bought from the Kacholola Lodge. We got inside the restaurant and bar and found a female bar tender attending, seated, to some customer.
I was surprised to see the attendant firmly glued to her seat as she talked to the customer. When it was our turn, I politely requested her to spring to her feet so that we could clearly hear one another as we ordered our refreshments.
When one of us asked for a beer, the lady said there was no beer of any brand. Our ears couldn’t believe this and we wondered what the manager of this important stop-over lodge was doing to allow a stock-out.
Further inquiries revealed that the lady was not, in fact, the bar tender; she worked in the restaurant and was merely sitting in for the incumbent who, believe it or not, “has gone to sleep!” the lady reported.
The time was about 17:00 hours and when we asked her if the barman had worked night shift for him to go to bed that early or whether he’d fallen ill, she said casually, “kulibe business, so ayenda kugona!” (he’s gone to sleep because there’s no business).
I mused to myself as to how these workers and their supervisors got paid when they did not seem to have an inkling about what it took to run a business and to attract customers.
Those who have travelled to Eastern Province will tell you that Kacholola Lodge is so strategically located that it can be a money spinner if the authorities had a vision. Perched on high ground, the lodge could do with astute management.
The current surroundings of the lodge characterised by the unkempt dry Savannah grass do little to inspire or attract the traveller, if ever. But serious management can certainly change the place and make it more attractive to travellers. Management of the Hostels Board need to visit their establishments, of which Kacholola is a part, around the country to have a feel of what is going on there.
We arrived at our destination around 22:00 hours, having lost time changing the tyre worsened by intermittent detours from the main tarred road to the gravel road due to the on-going resurfacing of the Great East Road.
The ‘puncture’ turned out to be false (“tyre iyi ili chabe bwino”) after a tyre mender at Katete examined it the following day and he got his K5 consultation fee. My mind asked: How much money will this guy make today if 100 people visit him with a similar problem and outcome as my case? Asked why the tyre was flat at Kacholola, he explained that some sand might have seeped through the edge of the rim.
As family, we had planned to hold the memorial on August 2, a Sunday, from 14:00 hours. The idea was to let people attend normal church services in the morning and give over the afternoon to our function. For those who were informed about the event, at least.
My grandfather and I spent the morning in the company of the locals and, notably, with the chairman of the section where my late dad lived before his demise. We went to the graveyard together to prepare the place ahead of the event the following day.
A shocker awaited us!
That afternoon, after lunch, this chairman (Achimwene, not real name) came home with two or three other men. One was dressed in a military fatigue top and he was introduced to us as a chairman from another section. This light-complexioned man (Mkwezalamba, not real name) was to be the bearer of bad news.
“I understand that you will be holding a memorial service for our late big man tomorrow afternoon,” he began.
“Yes, that’s correct,” my grandfather and I said almost in unison.
“I’m sorry to inform you that, it’s not possible to have the memorial in the afternoon.”
“Why not?” we asked again almost in unison.
“According to our Chewa tradition, all memorial services are conducted in the morning. Mambo (the chief) won’t allow this and I have come here to advise you not to commit an offence by violating our Chewa tradition. This means you can only hold the event on Monday morning, August 3,” Mkwezalamba said firmly. Monday was a holiday and, ordinarily, there wouldn’t have been a big problem in adjusting our programme, save that I had to be in Lusaka early to prepare for some projects in which I’m involved.
Stony silence as we exchanged puzzled glances!
“But this will disturb our programme. We can’t have the function on Monday. We have planned to leave Katete for Lusaka early Monday morning. Is it possible to consider allowing us to go ahead with our programme as planned?” that was my grandfather proffering.
Mkwezalamba insisted it wasn’t possible. “Listen to me, no one has ever held a memorial service in the afternoon here at Katete. It is taboo. I wouldn’t want the Mambo to blame me for assisting you to commit an offence which is punishable,” he stressed. “Yabija makani,” the Tonga would say.
Again, we exchanged stunned glances with my grandfather as the man quickly suggested that we caucus as a family outside and come back with a firm position on the matter in light of his chilling message.
Shortly, we went outside and gathered with other family members who were in another room. My grandfather explained the dilemma in which we had found ourselves in and sought suggestions.
“I think let’s tell the chairman that we are one Zambia one nation and that people from other tribes (we are Ngonis) should be allowed to conduct business according to their traditions even if they were in other lands,” I said.
“What is the difference really about having a memorial service in the morning or the afternoon?” asked another family member. After much deliberation, we resolved to stick to our original programme – hold the memorial on Sunday afternoon.
Back in the room, my grandfather, an octogenarian, but able spokesman, announced our position on the matter to the chairman with resounding clarity. “We have decided to hold the memorial service as planned tomorrow Sunday afternoon.”
Mkwezalamba’s reaction was swift. “Gentlemen, I think you’re taking this matter very lightly. I have explained to you that Mambo can’t allow this event to take place in the afternoon. Maybe if you agree to let me ask for permission. If she agrees, you will have to pay a penalty in line with our Chewa tradition.”
“How much do we have to pay?” I asked even though I was against paying anything for what I considered a non-offence. “K50 or a chicken,” said the chairman.
“What if we fail to pay?” I asked, tongue-in-cheek. The point was, we could afford to pay, but our refusal to do so would be purely on principle. “If you can’t pay, I can pay for you,” the man said. “No, we don’t want you or anyone else to pay for us because we truly don’t see any need to pay anyone anything for an offense we believe we have not committed.”
“But this is our tradition. You will have to pay the fine,” Mkwezalamba stressed, his tone rising.
“We understand your position, but we Ngonis would allow you if you came to Chipata to hold such an important event any time of the day. You know, where we come from, we respect other peoples’ traditions. For example, we cannot challenge another tribe about where a dead man’s head in a coffin should face on the graveyard at burial. We leave that to them to do according to the dictates of their traditional customs,” my grandfather gave it his best shot, I thought.
Amid this spirited fight by grandpa, my adrenaline was boiling and I quickly chipped in. “Tell me something,” I began. “When my dad died, there was no talk of the chief. We buried him quietly and I’m not even sure if the chief attended his funeral. Why is the chief coming prominently into this matter now? The other point, how come the chairman of this section, Achimwene, where my dad lived, did not mention to us the traditional part? It seems to us that this matter has come to you as an afterthought, especially since you do not even belong to this section.”
An animated Mkwezalamba exploded: “Listen to me. If you people insist on having your event tomorrow afternoon, then we the local people will not be involved. You will hold it on your own without our and the chief’s blessings. We don’t want to be seen to condone an offence.”
My grandpa was trying to say something, but I cut him short and decided we had had enough from Mkwezalamba. I decided to call his bluff. “Thank you very much for stating your position. Now, I want you to listen to me, and listen very carefully. We shall go ahead with our memorial service as a family as planned for the afternoon with or without your presence!”
I continued: “I have been observing your attitude since you entered this room and, I’m afraid to tell you, I noticed that you have taken our matter very lightly, a thing that has pained me greatly and I speak from the bottom of my heart. The man in whose honour we are holding the event was my father, not your father. Is that why you don’t understand our position?”
Stunned silence ensued from both parties and, after a minute or so, the section chairman broke the ice. “You know what, I am part of this family (Mkwezalamba married someone from my family, we were later to learn) and I wouldn’t want to spoil the big man’s (my dad’s) event.” Was he playing mind games?
He went on: “What I will do is, I will go and see Mambo and explain the situation. I will go alone. There will be no need for anyone from the family to accompany me.” Earlier the man said he needed someone from our family armed with the penalty fee to accompany him to the chief’s palace.
We thanked him for his new position and shortly, the meeting was closed and Mkwezalamba and others begun to leave the house. Presently, however, my younger sister came over to me with her husband with some cash in her hand and informed me we should find someone to escort Mkwezalamba to the chief’s palace.
I dissuaded my sister from wasting her money because my intuition had told me the man wasn’t going anywhere after the meeting, least of all, to the chief’s palace after his climb down from his earlier position. I stressed that the man appeared to pounce on unsuspecting people to make money from them if they were gullible.
As fate would have it, it didn’t take long before I was vindicated. My cousin came to where I was standing with grandpa and she said: “Know what, I followed the chairman, Mkwezalamba, and I offered to escort him to the chief’s palace, but do you know what he told me?”
We all said we wouldn’t know. She said the man refused to be escorted and said: ‘I am not going to see the chief because I’m told she has gone to attend some cultural event at some village.’ Really? What could you believe from a man who appeared to have taken an ambivalent position on the matter?
Anyway, our event went off as planned on Sunday afternoon and, curiously, ‘traditionalist’ Mkwezalamba was among us at the graveyard. As a family, we believed we’d scored a moral victory.
Comments: mwale.simon@yahoo.co.uk 0966755576/0953744074
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