There was pandemonium in the air. Our village was awakened that morning not by the cock crow, but by the sounds of mortars and gunshots in the distance, as our soldiers fought hard to hold Obollo Afor. There had been rumors of the army's advancement. We heard the broadcast on papa's old radio. They had crossed into Enugu and were marching into Nsukka through Agu-Echara. My older brother Ezeh was taken by the Biafran army some weeks ago when the army came for volunteers. He was barely 15 years old.

Searches related to Pandemonium In The Air [A True Life Biafran Story].

Tipping Point - By Sunny Arome

Oh friendship, where do you lead?

Do thy plans include making me a carcass for the vultures to feed on?

Do you ponder on ways to squeeze breath out of me?

Does your heart dig deep into dark realms where you imagine my body parts scattered across the continents of the world?

Well, I know you would beg to differ but…Perhaps a little tickling of your memory will suffice.

Can you remember how sleep drained from your eyes at midnight, Christmas Eve and you gazed at me as I lay slumbering, your mind plunged into realms where you imagined using a twist drill to bore holes in my skull, you also imagined tying me as I slept and casting my feet in concrete…you smiled as you threw me into the Mediterranean Sea in your mind… you smiled scornfully?

Don’t try to lie to me, I know you well enough…the world says we’re inseparable coz they see the supposed good deeds you display as we socialize, they say, “these lads are the definition of true friendship.” But these people are like goats who see special care given to their fat kindred, they say, “these chaps are lead to eat the sumptuous and greenest grasses while we are left to toil with stubborn grasses” but they do not know that their fat chaps are being prepared for slaughtering. They are unaware of the fate that would soon befall them.

Oh friendship, what good can come out of your belly?

The streets light up with songs of praise for you but you are a dunghill on the inside, an infectious disease that if let to fester will reach a point where death takes effect and successively becomes a doorway to further torture. 

You say great and beautiful things but your heart disagrees. You curse and curse and curse even harder, saying things that add no value to others but instead sucks the life out of people.

People plunge into debt, some even die and you make a jest of them, you weep for joy but you come like a friend indeed and pretend to care. You say you wish you could lessen their pain but instead your itchy hands want to tear their bereaved hearts to pieces.

Oh friendship, what can you offer?

Do you muse on ways to drain blood out of my veins as you idly lay on your King size bed?

Does your heart nurse hatred in its loins, do you easefully submerge yourself in dark waters, places of loneness where evil lurks and often strives to take complete hold of you?

Or does your heart seldom want the best for me?

Are there scarce moments where you look at me and love envelopes your heart completely, moments where you look to the stars and see me shining alongside them, times where you look at the brightness of the morning and remember my pleasant smile?

I wonder If such times do exist but if they do, then I urge you to hold them in high regard, coz my heart has for long considered you a worm to be removed and thrown into blazing fire but if perhaps there is a minute part of you that is good, then I reckon you can one day draw light from your good memories.

Oh friendship, what is your end?

Are you all that I’ve grown to believe you are, or could you possibly be a potential bundle of Joy?

Can you ever be ready to prove me wrong and right your wrongs?

Is it possible that you now revel in trying to bring happiness to my plunged heart, are you a growing source of strength for the hapless?

Well, whatever you think, whatever you cogitate. Whatever you ponder on, whatever you cerebrate.

Remember, oh friendship that if you can be true, you will be invincible, and no matter the extent of fall, you will rise up again but before then… Dear friendship, we must part ways because your end for me is DOOM.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable. If anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things.”

Philippians 4:8 (NIV).

Sunny Arome

Arome Sunny, is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from the Federal University of Agriculture, Makurdi, Benue State. He has been writing for a while now and his writings cuts across poems, inspirational write-up, drama etc, he enjoys translating his imaginations and thoughts into writing for the benefit of mankind.
You can reach Arome Sunny on:
Facebook: @Arome Ojima Sunny.
Instagram: @Xclusiv___sunny.
Email: sunnyarome@gmail.com

A Great Country - By Sunny Arome

There was a country where we foresaw more than half of a yellow sun, where we believed things would never fall apart no matter the paleness of the purple hibiscus, no matter how tight the thing, bonds around our necks were.

There was a country where hope brought about ease in the land, where a mother’s choice was held paramount and even if a chap claimed to be an Americanah, he would fall to order when the Judge and Jury question his identity.

There was a country where petals of blood were seen and not ignored, where cases of husbands going mad were dealt with forthwith, where men of the people took a stand against pride, prejudice and bore arrows from the gods for their people.

There was a country where the beautiful ones were cradled in due season, where the people never walked in darkness and old men never went to the sea….where merchants came from Venice and rich men came from Babylon. A country where people held journeying to the heart of the sea in search of big fish in high esteem and abhorred stooping low to conquer scrooges, a land where the young ladies preferred their native names to names like “Serena” and the Lordships were more concerned about justice than gold rings.

There really was a country where even the longest rides were pleasurable and anthills graced the savannah, a land where animals stayed on farms and deal brokers were incorruptible judges in echoey hard times….there was and there will be A Great Country.

Sunny Arome

Arome Sunny, is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from the Federal University of Agriculture, Makurdi, Benue State. He has been writing for a while now and his writings cuts across poems, inspirational writeup, drama etc, he enjoys translating his imaginations and thoughts into writing for the benefit of mankind.
You can reach Arome Sunny on:
Facebook: @Arome Ojima Sunny.
Instagram: @Xclusiv___sunny.
Email via: sunnyarome@gmail.com

I often shudder when I hear people referring to children as " Riches " from God in an attempt to show what they have been successful at in life. Some people have this delusion that if they cannot be successful at anything else in life, getting married and filling the earth with their DNA is an equivalent. That is absolutely Wrong!

At the barber shop this evening I heard some random guy talking. He claimed to be better off than his rich younger brother because even though his brother has a lot of money, he only has two daughters. He on the other hand may not have any money but he has seven children three of them boys! And guess what? His wife is still expecting! In conclusion, he is really proud of himself and is convinced that he is way more successful in life than his brother.

The kids are out of school, but it does not matter because the girls will soon be old enough to get married. Then he will be paid a handsome fee as bride price for all four of them or five. Then they will become another man's problem. The boys will learn some craft or trade or whatever. They will find a way. Men always do. I literally cannot hide my disgust right now. The fact that people who think like this still walk this earth sickens me.

Having a bunch of kids is not a definition of success! Rats and cockroaches have that much success too and you do not see them bragging about it. People need to understand that there is more to being a parent than being an excellent sperm donor and an ever willing surrogate mother. The real success is taking care of your kids and giving them a fair shot at a comfortable life. Anything short of that is barbarism take it or leave it.

Stop bringing children you cannot afford to take care of into this world with nothing more than the off chance that some of them might turn out okay, it is totally wrong! Stop and have a rethink once more.

At 17 years or age I fell in love for the second time, and to the best of my knowledge, she was in love with me too, but there was a problem we were both born in the same year. Somehow, this was a big problem for her. I could not get her to ignore the age bracket thing, eventually, she broke up with me. Her breakup speech went thus... " Jude, this relationship is pointless. There can be no future for us together because we are age mates. We cannot get married, I need an older man in my life; someone who can make me a wife ".

That was by far the most ridiculous break up I have had my entire life. It still amuses me sometimes especially when I think about it. Why was marriage so important to this teenage girl barely out of secondary school? And why must it be an older man? These were questions popping out my brain. Welcome to the life of the African girl child.

The African girl child is brought up her whole life for one purpose only, to be a " Wife ". From the moment she draws her first breath, she is taught the etiquettes of a proper ' Wife Material ' ( whatever the hell that means ). Everything she does, all the choices she makes, is all directed to this singular purpose. To be a good housewife.

Her greatest achievement in life is " Marriage ". Her sole purpose of existence is to compliment a man. Her life is not fulfilled if someone does not make her an agent of procreation. She is so preoccupied with thoughts of matrimony that she barely has any space left in her head for anything else. No matter how many doctorate degrees she bags, it is all vanity if there isn't a ' Mrs ' on the prefix of her name.

I have heard African parents time and again, say to their little daughters when they misbehave, " Is this how you will behave when you get to your husband's house? ", little girls not older than 7 or 8 years of age. Is that really all the African girl child is good for? Was she born only to clean, cook and bear children for the man? Why is so much of our culture dedicated to objectifying women?

We can talk about the ills of misogyny, bride price, child brides, domestic violence and paedophilia against the girl child all we like but if the basic mentality of the African girl child is not improved upon, we are barely wasting our time.

As much as I hold a contrary view to the popular religious beliefs in this country Nigeria ( I have been told I am an atheist), I am still one hundred percent pro-choice regardless. I believe that everyone deserves equal freedom of choice to believe in whatever they want to believe in, as long as they are not hurting anyone or posing a nuisance to others in the process. You can choose to believe in unicorns if you wish, you can also choose to believe that unicorns live in shoes.

But the day you start dictating to others how to wear their shoes so they do not upset the unicorns, that is when I have a serious problem with you and your fantasies. The level of religious intolerance in this country Nigeria is just ridiculous! And most times we like to blame the Muslims for it, but what about the Christians? Are they any better? Most times, Christians do not even realize how inappropriate or annoying some of their actions are.

From that church behind your house that does not allow you to sleep at night with their incessant babbling, to the early morning preacher who always wakes you up a couple hours before your alarm clock to tell you how you are damned and going to hell, to the harassing chain messages on Facebook and Whatsapp that threatens you with seven years of bad luck and misfortune if you do not accept Jesus Christ as your lord and personal Savior... the list is endless.

Every last Friday of the month, the market in my town is not opened for business till about noon. The reason is, the Christians lock the whole place down so they can cast and bind every evil spirit in the market hindering their progress ( Because demons actually play a crucial role in the economic retardation of a nation SMH ). Now, it does not matter what religion you affiliate with, or whether you do not even have one at all, Everyone is forced to stay outside until prayers are over. If this is not religious intolerance, I don't know what is.

Supposing a bunch of traditional African religious faithful decided to also pull a stunt like that? Supposing they set aside a certain Afor market day every month to sacrifice cattle to Eru the god of wealth and success, to ask for his divine favors right in front of the market place, thus disrupting business activities for hours. Just imagine the amount of hostility they would be met with? The Christians would rather burn the whole place to the ground before they allow such a thing to happen. Think about it for a moment, and tell me in all honesty if it's fair. Now I leave you here to answer for yourself.

Stop And Say No To Jungle Justice In Nigeria And Africa.

" OLE, OLE, OLE! " she screamed. I was stunned, too dazed to move. I did not think she would care so much, It was just one cup! I was too hungry to run, I could suffer a few slaps, some knocks on the head, a flogging at most at the hands of the area boys; none of that matches the worms eating away at my intestines. I should be in school by now, other kids went to school, I see them every morning on their merry way to school. Their uniforms looking so smart and beautiful.  I wish I could wear beautiful uniforms and go to school too, I wish I had a mom and dad who loves me, I wish I had a house and a bed, I wish I had food.

Something hit me on the head, I felt myself fall. I try to open my eyes, her cry had been taken up by multiple other voices. " OLE, OLE, OLE! " they chanted angrily, they were upon me. I have been beaten several times before, but not like this. The pain was unbearable, the whips, the sticks, the stones, the wires, the chains. I cried, normally when you are beaten and you cry the beating stopped, but not today. They dragged me around hit me everywhere, I felt wet all over. It was not water, it was blood. My blood, I cried even louder hoping it would make them stop.

I struggled up on my knees and begged. Blood in my eyes made it difficult to see, but I could make out a few faces. Familiar faces, faces filled with hate and disgust. Why won't they help me? Why aren't they doing anything? Why are they killing me? Some of them were holding their phones in their hands taking pictures of me. No one had ever taken my picture before. " OLE, OLE, OLE! " they chanted some more even louder than before. They sounded like the church near the park where I sleep during one of their numerous vigils and crusades. They always woke me up every morning with their prayers.




I have always wanted to go and pray to God, maybe he would give me food, and parents, and uniforms and cute little school bags, but they always drove me away. Beggars are not allowed inside the church, I guess I was not a child of God. The other kids wore beautiful clothes to church every Sunday, I have only this raggedy shirt and pants with many eyes on the buttocks. God would not like me, I am dirty. But if only he would give me a chance, He gave the other kids everything and gave me nothing. One of my assailants tied up my hands and legs. That was completely unnecessary because my whole body was numb now. I could not run even if I wanted to, my hands and legs did not look like mine anymore, they had several bumps and so much blood.

I kept crying for help. " Bring tire! Bring tire! " one of them yelled. One was rolled up in no time. They put it around my neck, I cried even more. I knew what was coming. I had seen it several times before, this was the end. But I am just a child. Another one ran up with a jar and poured its contents all over me. The cold soothing feeling it brought was a little relief. The last one I was to receive in this cruel world, this was it. I did not see the fire coming. Someone must have eagerly struck a match. All my cries for help were drowned in their gleeful cheers for my cleansing. But I only wanted something to eat.

Fire! My skin peeled away. my hair turned to ash. I had no strength to struggle but my body struggled anyway. I lay down in the pool of my own blood, petrol and fire. This must be the hell the preachers always talked about. " OLE, OLE, OLE! " their hateful chants continued. Suddenly their voices faded away, my wounds stopped hurting. The fire lost its sting, I was not hungry anymore, peace, quiet, darkness was the closest experience I can relate. #StopJungleJustice

I think I have said this before, but I still feel the need to stress the issue again. We are all young people with dreams, each one of us chasing his or her own passion trying to make a mark in this world. We have got musicians, writers, actors and actresses, models, athletes, bloggers, photographers, makeup artists, comedians, fashion designers, chefs, young entrepreneurs, graphic designers,...etcetera, with each talent and dream unique in its own way.

Social media provides such a great opportunity for us to showcase our craft to the world but sadly, we are not exploiting it because of petty childish competition and envy. It really pains me when I see peeps online struggling to get, attention for their products and not getting it because their friends are not being supportive.

We do not promote positive thoughts online, your fashion designer friend posts a picture of a new attire they just made and tagged you in it and you do not even as much as give it a " Like ". Your musician friend sends you a link to his new song and you do not even click it. Seriously, what is up with that? How much does a " Like " cost? All these " Slay Queens " that get over 1K Likes on their selfies, wait untill they decide to do something productive with their timeline and watch their fans reduce drastically.

We love and support celebrities who do not even know us, like and share their shit on social media all day long no matter how dumb they are, download their songs and " Famz " them like demi-gods but ignore our struggling friends whose works are probably way more talented than the celebs we love so much. Do you think the celebrities you run after today got there by magic? Someone supported them, their friends, family, colleagues; someone stood by them through their upcoming days and supported them to stardom.

I mean, wouldn't it be nice in a few years from now, to look around and see you and your friends all made and living your various dreams? Wouldn't it be nice to say to people " My friend just won a Grammy ", or " I know the CEO of that hot trending designer brand ", or " The author of that best-selling novel is my friend ". Isn't that the future we all desire? If there is one thing I believe, it is that whatever you wish for others eventually comes right back at you.

If you wish people good, good will come back to you, but if you harbour malicious contempt for others, you will always find yourself on the negative side of life. Let go of the envy, there are billions of stars in the sky but you never see them struggling for space. Let us love, help and support one another like the human beings we are. It is the only way we are going to make it to the top.

My fellow African youths, I know you hate reading long essays on your social media walls, and you would rather read jokes, share religious chain messages and drool over selfies instead. But I urge you to take 5 Minutes of your time and read this. Share if you will. This is a wake-up call for us all, we need to all arise.
Take Note: As you read this post, I would love you to replace Zambia with the name of your country (e.g Nigeria) in the article, You will understand later.

This article below was penned by Field Ruwe. He is a US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an M.A. in History. !

They call the Third World The Lazy Man’s Purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture. In this realm, people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent - totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored, and impoverished. In this demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions, and innovations. Africa is the trailblazer, some still call it “ The Dark Continent ” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train. And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day. “ It is amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the man next to me said. “ Get up and do something about it. ”

Brawny, fully bald-headed, with intense steely eyes, he was as cold as they come. When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden. I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist. “ My name is Walter, ” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat. I told him mine with a precautious smile.“ Where are you from? ”, he asked. “ Zambia”, “ Zambia! ” he exclaimed, “ Kaunda’s country.” “ Yes,” I said, “ Now Sata’s. ” “ But of course, ” he responded. “ You just elected King Cobra as your president. ” My face lit up at the mention of Sata’s moniker.




Walter smiled, and in those cold eyes, I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows who shuttle between Africa and the U.S. “ I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s, ” he continued. “ I wined and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and many other highly intelligent Zambians. ” He lowered his voice. “ I was part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off. ” He smirked. “ Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty called Kalingalinga. From my patio, I saw it all - the rich and the poor, the ailing, the dead, and the healthy. ” “ Are you still with the IMF? ” I asked. “ I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions. In the next few months my colleagues and I will be in Lusaka to hypnotize the cobra. I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars. We’ll be in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a check twenty times greater. ”

“No, you will not,” I said. “ King Cobra is incorruptible. He is … ” He was laughing. “ Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who has not fallen for the carrot and stick.” Quett Masire’s name popped up. “ Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and the World Bank. It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do. ” At midnight we were airborne. The captain wished us a happy 2012 and urged us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles. “ Isn’t that beautiful, ” Walter said looking down. From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably. “ That’s white man’s country, ” he said. “ We came here on Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful nation on earth. We discovered the bulb and built this aircraft to fly us to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia. ” I grinned. “ There is no Lake Zambia. ” He curled his lips into a smug smile. “ That is what we call your country. You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake. We come in with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave morsels-crumbs. That is your staple food, crumbs. That corn-meal you eat, that is crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta is crumbs. We the Bwanas (whites) take the catfish. I am the Bwana and you are the Muntu. I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs. That is what lazy people get - Zambians, Africans, the entire Third World.”

The smile vanished from my face, “ I see you are getting pissed off, ” Walter said and lowered his voice. “ You are thinking this Bwana is a racist. That is how most Zambians respond when I tell them the truth, they go ballistic. Okay, let’s for a moment put our skin pigmentation, this black and white crap, aside. Tell me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me? ” “ there is no difference. ” “ Absolutely none, ” he exclaimed. “ Scientists in the Human Genome Project have proved that, It took them thirteen years to determine the complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits. After they were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the same in you and me. We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and black people on this aircraft are the same. ” I gladly nodded. “ And yet I feel superior, ” he smiled fatalistically. “ Every white person on this plane feels superior to a black person. The white guy who picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you no matter his status or education. I can pick up a nincompoop from the New York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he is a riffraff. Tell me why my angry friend. ” For a moment I was wordless. “ Please do not blame it on slavery like the African Americans do, or colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization. And do not give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer. ” I was thinking, he continued. “ Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take offence. ”

I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst. “ You, my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy, ” he said. “ When you rest your head on the pillow you do not dream big. You and other so-called African intellectuals are damn lazy, each one of you. It is you, and not those poor starving people, who are the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state. ” “ That is not a nice thing to say, ” I protested. He was implacable. “ Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy. Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street selling merchandise. I saw them in villages toiling away. I saw women on Kafue Road crushing stones for sale and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian intellectuals? Are the Zambian engineers so imperceptive they cannot invent a simple stone crusher, or a simple water filter to purify well water for those poor villagers? Are you telling me that after thirty-seven years of independence your university school of engineering has not produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for mass use? What is the school there for?”

I held my breath. “ Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars quaffing, they were at the Lusaka Golf Club, Lusaka Central Club, Lusaka Playhouse, and Lusaka Flying Club. I saw with my own eyes a bunch of alcoholic graduates. Zambian intellectuals work from eight to five and spend the evening drinking. We do not. We reserve the evening for brainstorming. ” He looked me in the eyes, “ and you flying to Boston and all of you Zambians in the Diaspora are just as lazy and apathetic to your country. You do not care about your country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters are in Mtendere, Chawama, and in villages, all of them living in squalor. Many have died or are dying of neglect by you. They are dying of AIDS because you cannot come up with your own cure. You are here calling yourselves graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your credentials once asked - oh, I have a PhD in this and that - PhD my foot! ” I was deflated. “ Wake up you all! ” he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby passengers. “ You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes, and diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your own factories.

All those dissertation papers you compile should be your country’s treasure. Why do you think the Asians are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them.” He paused. “ The Bwana has spoken, ” he said and grinned. “ As long as you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend shall remain inferior, how about that? The Chinese, Japanese, Indians, even Latinos are a notch better. You Africans are at the bottom of the totem pole. ” He tempered his voice, “ get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident. Become innovative and make your own stuff for god’s sake. ” At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Walter reached for my hand. “ I know I was too strong, but I do not give it a damn. I have been to Zambia and have seen too much poverty.” He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something, “ here, read this. It was written by a friend. ” He had written only the title: “ Lords of Poverty. ” Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling, I watched Walter walk through the airport doors to a waiting car, he had left a huge dust devil twirling in my mind, stirring up sad memories of home. I could see Zambia’s literati - the cognoscente, intelligentsia, academics, highbrows, and scholars in the places he had mentioned guzzling and talking irrelevancies.




I remembered some who have since passed - how they got the highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest education on the planet. They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a single invention or discovery. I knew some by name and drunk with them at the Lusaka Playhouse and Central Sports. Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to nurture creativity and collective orientations. We as a nation lack a workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on a government pay cheque. We believe that development is generated 8-to-5 behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall. Such a working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.

But the intelligentsia is not solely, or even mainly, to blame. The larger failure is due to political circumstances over which they have had little control.

 The past governments failed to create an environment of possibility that fosters camaraderie, rewards innovative ideas and encourage resilience. KK, Chiluba, Mwanawasa, and Banda embraced orthodox ideas and therefore failed to offer many opportunities for drawing outside the line. I believe King Cobra’s reset has been cast in the same faculties as those of his predecessors. If today I told him that we can build our own car, he would throw me out. “ Naupena? Fuma apa. ” (Are you mad? Get out of here) Knowing well that King Cobra will not embody innovation at Walter’s level let’s begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader who can succeed him after a term or two. That way we can make our own stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades, and harvesters. Let’s dream big and make tractors, cars, and planes, or, like Walter said, forever remain inferior. A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one in YOU.




Do not be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. Take a moment and think about our country. Our journey from 1964 has been marked by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience. Each one of us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease. The number of graves is catching up with the population. It’s time to change our political culture. It is time for Zambian intellectuals to cultivate an active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever. Do not be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the remaining.... Long Live Africa!, Long Live Nigeria!!

Mary had been a good girl all her life, she had pretty much avoided every social vice and immoral behaviour her parents had warned her about, boys, immoral sex, drugs, parties, indecent dressing etcetera. She was your ideal well brought up African child. But her innocence did not last very long. Her first sexual experience happened at gunpoint with three or was it four strange men, armed robbers Who had broken into her home in the dead of night.

She could not tell how many had their way with her that night because she had passed out on the third masked man. The pain had been unbearable for her 16-year-old body. She woke up in a hospital bed a few hours later. The doctor stitched her up and sent her home. She was broken, she cried herself to sleep every night. Three months later, just when it seemed like she would survive her misfortune, her abdomen started to swell. She was always weak and tired, some unexplainable nausea would not let her eat. Even when she did, she threw it right back out.

Her guardians took her back to the hospital, the doctor confirmed her worst fear, she was pregnant! She was only a child, she could not live through the trauma and pain of childbirth. Birthing the seed of one of three or was it four armed robbers who used her on that day. She could not deal with the pressure and stigma that comes with underaged pregnancies in our society. She would have to drop out of school, which is normally the first thing first. Her friends would leave her behind.

She would become an object of public ridicule and hate like it was her fault she got raped by three or was it, four armed robbers. What kind of life would she offer her bastard child? " Mommy who is my dad ", " Oh your dad was one out of three or four robbers who savagely took away my virginity when I was only 16 years old ". 

(Personally, I wouldn't survive a childhood memory like that). Mother and child would be constantly stigmatized and marginalized by both family and society for the rest of their miserable lives. No child deserves to go through such cruelty, she had her whole life ahead of her, she should not have to go through all that emotional bondage. So she opted for an abortion, society crucified her anyway, saying that " She is a murderer! "

Our society's moral standard is so twisted it scares me, our society is so morally conscious we applaud people who bear children they cannot possibly afford both emotionally, financially and psychologically and call it God's blessings. (God shall provide). These same people who condemn abortion and breathe hellfire and brimstone on anyone who does it, would not adopt someone else's child, not even if they are as rich as Gates.

They would rather spend years running from one miracle house to the other, spending millions of cash on different " Men of God " seeking divine intervention so they could bear their own children when there are millions of orphaned kids around the world living in the streets with no parents to care for them. These same people would never allow their son to marry a single mother. Notwithstanding how refined her character may be or how pitiable the situation that put her in that condition was.

Our society simply condemns and judges without providing any practical or rational solutions to the problems of the affected individuals. Maybe it is just me, but when it comes to morality, I think our society misses it by a couple of a thousand miles. There are many evils in this world but the one I consider the worst is bringing children into this world to suffer.