My Life My Africa by Philen Naidu

Author:Philen Naidu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: memoir, spiritual path, zambia, travel memoir, upstream, non conformist, swimming upstream
Publisher: Philen Naidu

The secret of happiness, you see, is not found in seeking more, but in developing the capacity to enjoy less.

- Socrates

7

Real Africa

Maison Phiri is the second-born son of the late and former Chief Kakumbi, chief of The Valley. We met on a random day after word reached me and the people I was sharing stories with that the local wine stocks were low. So when evening came we all migrated from our very rural setting towards the slightly more developed trading area where electricity was sporadically available.

And we landed at Maison’s place – a patch of earth he had acquired, which he fenced off with grass. There was a village-type ablution area in one corner and a simple building in the middle that was partitioned into three spaces – a tiny bar, hardware store, and bedroom – and stood just high enough for the average man to stand in without dipping his head. The bar area was about the size of Maggie’s Place and housed a pool table and a rickety wooden counter. Behind the counter stood 10 cases of Mosi and a chest-freezer. And on the day that I found the place, it was filled with about 20 people.

I walked in and everyone noticed.

Maison, a tall and strongly built young man looked up, smiled a broad smile and came over to me with a Mosi.

“Welcome man. Do you play?” he said, pointing to his pool table which was in far better shape than Maggie’s. There was a tone of youthful mischievousness in his voice which I enjoyed, so I decided to play along.

“Playing is for children, man. I don’t play, I destroy.” I smiled and he laughed.

“Muntu wakamba! (This guy talks the talk!) Let’s play.”

And that’s how our friendship began.

We played and drank for five straight hours as everyone gathered around to watch, and Bob Marley and Tupac provided the backing soundtrack.

At last, when only a young boy and Francino the rastaman remained, Maison changed the course of our path.

“I’m sick of this shit, man. I’m getting bored of just winning. Let’s eat.”

We both laughed, and Maison called out to a young boy who I had noticed around us throughout the evening, busying himself with small jobs.

“Jiros, pika nsima, mwana.” (Jiros, cook us some pap, young man).

It took me a while to understand the dynamics, but when I did, this is what I learned:

Young boys in The Valley had very few choices available to them. They could either choose to remain close to their village, living the simple life, toiling as subsistence farmers all their days; or they could go to school, knowing that there was no option for tertiary education unless they left The Valley and went into town. And even after that, it was common knowledge that the job market in Zambia was pretty much non-existent.

Alternatively, they could find a role model; a young entrepreneur to work for and learn from.

Maison was the best role model a young boy could hope for, and many of them came

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