Kapiri Mposhi: My First World

Life in my grandparents' home

My earliest memories belong to Kapiri Mposhi, where I lived with my mother, her siblings and my maternal grandparents, Engenasho Mulenga and Nachinga.

My grandfather was a school headteacher. To me he was a father figure: when I was sick, he took me to hospital. He rode a bicycle to work. My grandmother sold bread and buns and was, in my earliest impression of her, the warm hands of the home. She died when I was very small—perhaps between one and two years old, around 1991–1992—so my memories of her are limited.

Breakfast could be a big affair, with full cups of milk tea, homemade buns and sometimes sweet yellow buns. I remember milk being boiled and tea leaves added. Mom B and Mom Mwila helped prepare meals. Around the house, the family baked, knitted, cleaned, washed clothes and talked. We often sat outside the front of the house on a reed mat to eat together.

My maternal family

Learning to walk

It was a sunny day. I was very small, perhaps around a year old, and I wore blue dungarees. The relatives gathered outside wanted me to walk. I felt uncomfortable, and I wanted someone to pick me up.

I saw my aunt—the person who usually carried me—and stretched my hands toward her. But she didn't move toward me. Finally, I moved my tiny feet. Walking felt strange and unsteady. I reached her, and everyone cheered. I was confused, a little betrayed, yet pleased by the excitement.

She lifted me, only to put me down again. I cried. She brought out a strange pink, glass-like pen with a clip; for a moment, the object distracted me. Then the encouragement began again. I gradually understood that they were celebrating my attempts to walk.

I searched for my aunt, closed my eyes and moved toward her, stumbling for what felt like forever. Just as I was about to give up, I was lifted into the air. Everyone cheered. I associate that day with my mother's marriage to my father; family members were also trying to photograph me.

My grandfather's handkerchief

My grandfather used handkerchiefs, as many men did in those days. I remember him carrying a white one and later a brown one. In my child's understanding, there could only be one explanation: his white handkerchief must have fallen into a puddle of water and turned brown.

I offered to wash it. Again and again I tried, convinced that I could make it white once more. It never changed colour. I remember wondering why. I have sometimes thought of President Kenneth Kaunda, who famously carried a handkerchief, when recalling that custom.

The cameraman

Our family once invited a cameraman to take photographs at home. I did not know what a camera was. The device looked unfamiliar and intense, and suddenly it flashed. I escaped my mother's arms, trying to run away. What was an ordinary family photograph to the adults was a startling discovery for me.

A giant wasp in the sky

One afternoon we were eating lunch on a mat outside the house when a tremendous trembling, rattling sound rushed through the sky. I looked up and saw something that reminded me of a giant wasp. It was a helicopter, though I didn't understand that at the time. Frightened by its noise and size, I sprang up and ran.

My first television

My uncles frequently went to a mysterious place, and I wished to follow them. One day they took me along. Uncle Ngosa held my hand as we followed Uncle Bruce and Uncle Barry. Bruce was a lively storyteller and talked excitedly about what he had seen on television on a previous visit.

When we arrived, a crowd had gathered, murmuring as they watched a small shimmering screen. Uncle Bruce lifted me so I could see. I remember a white man wearing black-and-white stripes fighting another person, who was picked up and thrown through a window. Bruce narrated what was happening like a commentator.

I couldn't understand how people appeared inside such a tiny box, or why so many adults had gathered around it. The whole encounter left me full of wonder.

My uncles, construction and sparks

I followed my uncles as they built and worked around the home. Once, while playing beside a wheelbarrow containing cement, I caused it to overturn onto me. I could not stop crying. Uncle Ngosa, Uncle Barry and Uncle Bruce came to help me.

Uncle Ngosa also showed me that striking certain stones together could produce sparks. The brief flashes of light fascinated me. I didn't yet know the physical explanation; I simply marvelled that ordinary-looking stones could do such a thing.

The terrifying Kapiriyano

My uncles once showed me a statue they called Kapiriyano. I remember a man wearing a safari suit and holding a briefcase and a book. It frightened me terribly; I screamed and never wanted to see it again. Afterward, mentioning Kapiriyano became something my uncles could use to scare me into behaving.

The mysterious visitor after the storm

Uncle Ngosa later told me a story about an incident that took place while I was sleeping. After a strong storm had damaged part of the roof, someone reportedly entered the home and left dark, ash-like markings on my arm. Family members noticed the intruder, shouted “Thief!” and chased the figure, who escaped.

Because I was asleep, I did not witness the event. Some relatives interpreted the incident in supernatural terms; that interpretation belongs to the family's telling, not to something I can establish independently.

Other early fragments

Other memories from Kapiri Mposhi include hearing prayer for the first time. The full circumstances of that experience remain to be recovered. These fragments are part of the archive even when I cannot yet reconstruct them completely.

Kapiri was where I first encountered a world of unexpected sensations and mysteries: walking on my own feet, family celebrations, a camera's flash, aircraft overhead, people on a television screen, sparks from stones, and the daily rhythms of relatives who cared for me.

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