Thomas Kabwe stood outside the entrance to the new primary school building for the small town of Mberansa. The school had just opened a few days ago to much fanfare. This was perhaps the most significant development in Mberansa in the last thirty years.
Kabwe held his briefcase in his left hand, looking up at the building. Before him were the concrete steps leading up to the entrance of the school. Above the entrance, painted in large, deep red letters, was the name of the school: “Mberansa Primary School”.
As he stood there, the double-doors swung open and a rotund man with a shiny bald head stepped out. He had small eyes and a full, round face with chubby cheeks.
“Welcome, Mr. Kabwe!” he called out, motioning to Kabwe to join him.
“Welcome!” he repeated when Kabwe had ascended the staircase. He shook Kabwe’s hand warmly with both his hands.
“Please, come inside,” he said, “I’m Phillip Nyororo, the headmaster. It is so good to have you here with us. I have been looking forward to your arrival.”
“Thank you,” Kabwe replied. “It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”
Mr. Nyororo led Kabwe into the main hall and then along a side hallway to the teacher’s lounge and administrative offices. As they walked, he waved towards the various rooms and offices. In this manner, he conducted a quick tour of the premises.
“With this new school,” Mr. Nyororo explained, “we can now finally educate our young ones. Those that cannot travel so far to nearby towns for schooling don’t have to be left out. We can ensure education for every child in our small town. And, with the grant money we received from the government, we do not have to charge any fees for this education. Education is a necessity for life, so that our children can have opportunities to grow and succeed. Do you not agree, Mr. Kabwe?”
Kabwe nodded. “Indeed I do,” he remarked.
They continued their walking tour until, eventually, they ended up at the headmaster’s office.
“Please, have a seat,” Mr. Nyororo offered as he closed the door behind him. “I am having meetings with all the teachers before they begin their work assignment here.”
Kabwe sat on the chair before Mr. Nyororo’s large wooden desk.
Nyororo sat down heavily in his chair and shuffled through some papers that were lying on his desk, finally finding the one he was looking for.
“I know that the compensation is provided by the government, as this is a a grant school. Being so, the wages may not be as much as some of the private schools,” he said.
“Yes Sir,” Kabwe replied. “That will not be a problem.”
Mr. Noyroro was not finished. He leaned forward earnestly.
“However, you are changing lives here!”
There was a passion in his voice, as if he were giving a sermon.
“These young children, they really are in need of an education and thus far, there has been no one to provide it for them. I was born in this town – back then it was just a village. I had to leave to go to the capital city to get my education. It was not easy, to be away from family and everyone I knew. So I vowed that one day, when I was successful, that I would return to my village and build a school so the children would not have to struggle and suffer like I did. And that they would not be illiterate, and end up a waste to themselves and society.”
“This is a very worthy and remarkable accomplishment,” Kabwe said.
“It has been my dream, Mr. Kabwe,” Nyororo's voice was heavy with emotion. “So, as you begin your teaching tenure here, always remind yourself that these small children, each one of them has potential, each one of them has talent, and this is what our nation needs.”
Kabwe nodded in agreement. Nyororo's words were heartfelt and Kabwe was moved by them. After leaving Nyororo's office, he entered the teacher’s lounge to gather his teaching materials for his first class. There were a few teachers sitting in the lounge, but nobody appeared to be talking to one another. They were either quietly preparing lesson plans or brewing their coffee.
“Uh, hello,” Kabwe half-waved as he entered the room. One teacher looked up from the papers he was poring over while standing at the main table. He was a thin, tall, lanky man, with a short crop of hair. He nodded at Kabwe and returned to his papers.
Kabwe looked around and eventually found the lesson plan that he needed for his first class. They were organized by teacher name. The class roster also lay next to the lesson plan. He picked up the papers and turned to look for textbooks.
“If you’re looking for the textbooks, they will be delivered directly to the class,” it was the tall, lanky man. He walked over to Kabwe and extended his hand.
“I am Mizilikizi,” he said, introducing himself, “but you can call me Mizi.”
“Oh, hello, Thomas Kabwe,” said Kabwe, shaking his hand, “nice to meet you.”
“So you’re the new teacher for math and sciences,” Mizi smiled, “from the capital city. You come highly recommended.”
“Oh, thank you,” Kabwe replied, feeling a little self-conscious about the compliment. “Are you from Kalashi province?”
Mizi gathered his files and papers as they prepared to leave the teacher’s lounge.
“No, Mr. Kabwe,” he said, “I am from Chimansi, it is in the mining district.”
“Ah, you’re very far from home,” Kabwe remarked.
“Yes,” Mizi nodded, “but, I’m here for a good cause. These children need teachers.”
“Indeed they do,” Kabwe agreed.
The first class that Kabwe taught at Mberansa Primary School was an experience of joy. The children were filled with energy and thoroughly excited to be learning. He had never seen children wanting to be in school as much as these children. They listened with rapt attention as Kabwe described the three states of matter, and how solids can convert to liquid and gas. These children were smart, intelligent, and thirsty for knowledge. As he saw their eager bright faces light up when he imparted knowledge to them, he remembered Nyororo’s words and began to feel quite as emotional as Nyororo had been in his office.
At the end of the day, Mr. Nyororo met with all the teachers in the teacher’s lounge. He thanked them all and gave an impassioned speech about the rewards of educating young minds. He concluded with a round of applause for all the teachers. The first day had been a thorough success.
Much of the first week was similar. Kabwe started to get to know his students and the other teachers, especially Mizi. They would sit and have lunch together in the teacher’s lounge. He learned that Mizi was alone. He didn’t have any family. Or, at least, any family that he spoke of. He didn’t talk much about his past, or about his personal life. But he seemed very personable and had a wealth of knowledge to share on other subjects. And he was friendly to Kabwe.
Kabwe was also starting to get settled into the small town of Mberansa. He found the teachers accommodations suitable enough for him. It was a small house, with two bedrooms and one bathroom, built by the British colonialists. He didn’t need much space since he lived alone. And it was neat and clean. Mr. Nyororo had arranged fro furniture to be supplied, so all Kabwe had to do was walk in with his suitcases and unpack.
It was in the middle of the second week that Kabwe got the letter. It was unexpected, delivered to him during the science class. He was unprepared for it. He stood there in front of all the curious students, awkwardly holding the letter in his hands, while they waited for him to say something.
Finally, he collected himself and shoved the letter into his trousers pocket.
“Ah, where were we?” he asked, looking around at all the young faces.
“Positive and negative charges,” one of the kids replied.
“Right!” Kabwe turned to the blackboard and started writing with the chalk, “Protons have a positive charge. Electrons have a negative charge. Atoms usually have the same number of protons and electrons, which gives the atom a neutral charge.”
The students dutifully took notes, copying down what he wrote on the blackboard. Kabwe looked down with a painful expression on his face. He thought for a moment, then turned to the class.
“For the rest of the period, please read pages forty to fifty-five in your textbooks. And please review the notes on the condensation cycle in Appendix A. We will be doing a quick on that next lesson.”
Kabwe walked out of the classroom before anyone had a chance to raise their hand with any questions. In a daze, he made his way to the headmaster’s office.
“Not possible!” My. Nyororo was adamant. “I cannot grant you leave, not this early in the term! We just started last week. And we still don’t have a full staff of teachers yet. The attendance of each and every teacher is critical at this stage. I am sorry, Mr. Kabwe, I truly am, but we need you here.”
Kabwe winced as if in pain.
“But, Sir,” he said, “it would only be for two days. One day journey there and one day back. I won’t stay a minute longer than I need to.”
Nyororo shook his head. “I am sorry, I cannot grant leave. We will not be able to cover all the required classes with the staff that we have.”
Kabwe sighed and looked down.
“Then, regretfully, I have to put in my resignation, Sir,” he said quietly. “Effective immediately.”
He turned and left the office, leaving Mr. Nyororo stunned in wide-eyed silence.
The Mberansa bus station was a humble, small brick building on the side of the main road that led out of town. Kabwe had left the school on his bicycle, hoping to make it in time before the departure of the 2:00pm afternoon bus. It pulled up alongside the building just as he was purchasing his ticket.
“Good timing, Sir,” the man behind the ticket booth said, handing him his ticket, “this is your bus.”
Kabwe thanked him and then walked out amidst the heat and smell of diesel and the large cloud of dust that followed in the wake of the bus. The doors whooshed open and a stream of passengers slowly trickled out. Kabwe held his hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes from the hot afternoon Sun. After all the passengers had disembarked, the driver climbed out of his seat and bounded down the steps and out the door. He was a skinny young man, maybe in his twenties. He had the left the bus engine idling while he stepped out. He wore a large name tag on his shirt that read “Milimo”.
“Will you be going to Nakwili?” Kabwe asked him.
Milimo looked at Kabwe curiously. He probably didn’t get many passengers headed for such a remote location.
“Ah, it’s just a village,” he replied in a thick accent, “closest I go is Samfya.”
Kabwe stopped to think. As if reading his mind, Milimo said, “You can walk, it will take about one to two hours.”
Kabwe nodded. It was not ideal, but this was the best option he had right now. Milimo waved his thumb over his shoulder back at the bus.
“Feel free to wait inside,” he said, “We have AC. We’ll leave in fifteen.”
And then he disappeared inside the building. Kabwe ascended the metal steps in the bus, showed his ticket to the conductor, and then found a seat next to a window close to the rear. Milimo was right. The air conditioning in the bus blasted crisp, cool, clean air onto Kabwe’s face. It was almost enough to make him forget about the dust and heat outside.
A few more passengers boarded and settled into the seats in the rows ahead. Finally, Milimo returned and jumped into his seat. Pulling on his seat-belt, he glanced into the large mirror that was mounted high above, close to the ceiling. It gave him a clear view of all the rows in the bus and each of the passengers. He released the handbrake and the bus began to amble forward amidst the rumbling of the diesel engine.
Kabwe looked out of the window and watched the little brick building disappear from view. The dirt road was soon replaced by a tarmac one as the bus got onto the main highway. Surrounding them was grass and brush, browned by the relentless Sun, and several trees. Occasionally they passed by roadside vendors who had set up shop on the side of the road, displaying their handmade wares for sale. Everything from wooden arts and crafts to fruits and vegetables to accessories for warding off evil magic. The bus lurched forward and picked up speed as they went, not stopping for anyone. Kabwe reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled letter. He stared at it for a long while. He recognized the handwriting. He knew that she had written it. What he didn’t know was why.
The constant drone and hum of the engine and the the axle underneath had a hypnotic rhythm to it. Kabwe hadn’t realized that he had dozed off until the bus suddenly jerked and stopped, almost throwing him out of his seat. He put one hand on the seat headrest in front of him to steady himself, and then looked around.
Milimo was mumbling something to himself. He had pulled the bus over to the side of the road and was stepping out the door. Passengers were mumbling. The sun was starting to set in the sky, casting a deep orange and red glow across the clouds.
After a few minutes, some passengers rose and went outside to see what was happening. Kabwe followed them. Milimo was standing in the front with the conductor with their arms folded and annoyed looks on their faces. They had raised the engine hood and were facing an engine with smoke emanating from it.
“What happened? Will we be able to go on?” passengers were asking.
Milimo shook his head.
“It will take some time to fix!” he announced. “Sorry!”
Kabwe edged his way through the small crowd so he could talk with Milimo.
“Will we get to Samfya tonight?” he asked, “Before dark?”
Milimo pulled him aside an spoke quietly in his ear.
“The engine is stalled,” he said, “this bus is not going anywhere.”
“But what will everyone do?” Kabwe asked.
“The passengers will have to wait for another bus to come, there are two more that are on this route, but it will be hours before they get here. If people wait inside the bus, they will be safe, and warm.”
“I have to get to Samfya,” Kabwe said. Milimo sensed the urgency in his voice. He turned and looked into the distance. After a moment of contemplation, he turned back to Kabwe.
“We are not far,” he said, “if you go through the jungle path, you can save some time. But, you do want to make sure you get there before dark.”
Kabwe looked to the path that led off the side of the road into the jungle. It was a short-cut. But he knew he would do well to heed Milimo’s advice. Wild animals roamed freely and the last thing anyone wanted was to become a dinner-time meal for a hungry predator.
After the rest of the passengers had returned inside the bus, Kabwe bid farewell to Milimo and walked to the entrance of the jungle path. It looked like little more than a hiking trail, winding into the jungle and lost from view by the trees and undergrowth. Kabwe stood before the path, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves.
As twilight began to fall all around and the day slowly gave way to night, Thomas Kabwe set foot upon the jungle path and began his walk towards Samfya.
~