Fourteen Years Down the Line; a Tale from Mzedi

Hello, dear reader.

A Happy New Year and a Happy New Decade to you. It is yet another Friday on which we get to have a piece our eyes and most importantly brains can feast on. Let us take this back to last week because for all we know this was supposed to be the second if not the third article for this year. Well. Things happened but here we are.

Over the holidays, I had been feasting on movies until New Year’s Day, only to find that my laptop could not boot (or get to switch on, in English) upon returning to work on the second day of the year. The problem persisted until Friday despite some Daudi Suleimanis looking at my ailing machine. Solution? Type an article on my phone. I tried that, but after an A4 page long text and forgetting to save, I lost half of the article I had titled “The Living Thing Called Vibe”. It might have been a blessing in disguise because I am beginning to think that some of the facts I wanted to share in the article may not be accurate and I could use some more time to research on “vibe”. I will remember to write that article, come December 25, 2020, the last Friday of the year.

Coming into this week, I was compelled to write about the lessons I learnt being a groomsman at a wedding of my good friends and Richie Online readers, Chilungamo  and Sheena. I will reserve that for some other day, because for some reason I ended up remembering that today marks fourteen years since I joined Saint Patrick’s Secondary School, Mzedi as a Form 1 student. I have been reflecting on the day and I ended up realizing that there are some stories and lessons I could share. So… There we are. I owe the community two articles; already knee deep in debt this early in the year.

About the day I started my secondary life… Tuesday the 10^th of January, 2006 was the day of one of my biggest transitions. I could call it the first of the many transitional days I have had and I am yet to have. I remember leaving home in Mbulumbuzi on my dad’s motorbike and heading down the winding road that slopes down to Mzedi. On occasion, my dad would throw a banter on how I was going to be beaten up as a form one student. I guess that was his way of preparing me for what lay ahead given the school’s history of teasing and bullying.

I arrived at the school some time after “3:30” pm. We went to the administration block where were welcomed by the then Boarding Master, Mr Saza Mwamlima. The paperwork was sorted and it was time for me to join the fold of “anyonyo”, the name given to the newbies at the school. After getting some K200 pocket money from my dad, the Boarding Master instructed one of the then Form 3 students to escort me to the hostels where he decided that I should join Dorm 12. There I was; lost in the forest of new faces. Within moments, I learnt that Tuesdays were sports days and that after knocking off people used to participate in different sports activities after classes. Being the guy who had passed his primary school leaving certificate examinations at a rural primary school based in Kapeya village, I failed to relate to the likes of volleyball and basketball. Desperate for a network, I moved over to the football pitch where I found people playing football on a ground that could have used some slashing. Little did I know that it would be my job to clear that pitch in a number of days.

In my journey to the pitch, I was in the company of one good friend of mine with whom I shared a class from standard five. I was to share four more years with him in the B stream at Mzedi. The pitch is where I got to realize what kind of camp I had been working hard in primary school to get myself into.

On arrival, some form four guy in tinted spectacles called three of us who obviously looked to be form one students. He asked us a few questions and when we failed he asked us when we had arrived at the school. My friends had been there since the previous Sunday but they were failing to catch on with the customs of the place. I was release on the premise that I was the new one and I hardly had time to learn the culture. The torture of the day continued at dinner with people coming to ask for your name and where you came from more times that you could tolerate, people coming to eat from your plate and others coming to get part of your nsima so they could use throw it at an opponent. People used to make a spot out of kugendana ndi nsima ndithu. Then came the time for studies between 7:30 and 9:00 pm and sleeping time. When I was trying to catch some sleep, some human decided that it was better if I were to get startled by the sound of the firework he set up under my bed instead. This was the first day of the many I had at Mzedi. Got in there clueless of what I wanted to become in life, got ambitions of becoming a computer programmer in the course of being there, ended up being in medical school and working in the hospital and now I find myself slowly reuniting with my secondary school dreams. It has been a journey and reflecting on it has given me some lessons.

You might notice that I missed two days of school and ended up going on a Tuesday afternoon when my friends had arrived on a Sunday. Reason? Parents were still looking for the K7000 or so for the school fees. That tells me how far I have come but reflecting upon this and one homily that our parish priest gave on Holy Family day, I found myself thinking about preparation for children’s education. Reflecting on how my parents struggled to get us through secondary school, when they had three children in national secondary schools, it has hit me that I need to have my children’s education in mind from an early stage and so should you. Again, this just gives a general lesson on preparedness for things that are inevitable. We go to college and get out looking for jobs. At the stage me and most of my peers are, we are looking for post-graduate education and we want to be setting up families. 

Preparation matters in all that and we cannot be living as if we have no idea lest we have not-so-surprising things catching us unaware. Get on that medical scheme, build those networks, get some life cover and do whatever you can because you need to prepare for what is coming. We know that December salaries come early and that the festive season eats up our monies, but guess what? Year in, year out people complain about General January and the school fees week. Perhaps it is time we replaced the complaints with preparation.

Going to the school, my dad warned me of the brutality I was going to possibly face. If you were wondering if it happened, well it did. All in all, a few slaps and laundry sessions for senior students later, we were done with form one. We proceeded amidst different challenges and ended up finishing school and getting some college education. I am happy with my little achievements but I am glad when I see my friends excelling in their jobs, businesses and in the academia. When I go back to Mzedi, I tell stories of how we had water issues and how the kitchen operated on firewood, cooking for over 300 students when we had no electricity for over a month (nkhunizo timakanyamula ndife). Nothing comes easy in this life and building up on the life at Mzedi I was able to get through medical school, clinical internships and a period of unemployment afterwards.

I could share more reflections but some of them would be unrelatable to most. Being in Form One at Mzedi in 2006 was not the easiest thing but we managed to get through it. The place was to later bring a mixture of both fond and sad memories and the fact that I was there still defines some of the most important networks I have today. It is 14 years after that day I joined “the prison” (then without a fence) but I remember it like it was yesterday and I am glad I endured. 

We ate VP, walked along the Jovinus Highway, roamed around Matuta Village to dance to their mganda, enjoyed distorting the national anthem to our liking (you should hear how students still sing it to date; and don't try to join in), gave some foodstuffs some obscene names, enjoyed singing in the choir at Mzedi parish, cheered and played for Mzedi Select (later named Max Bullets, a Super League team), kuba gwafa and a whole endless list of things. After fourteen years, here we are, all responsible and whatever. We can only thank God, parents, teachers, Mr Kabudula (the chef, then) and Mayi an Mishe (used to bring some delicacies which we ate when tired of the beans and mkwani) for the roads well traveled. 

Have a lovely weekend.

Oh. Mundikumbutse ndikulembereni za bridal party on Wednesday.