Conventional predictions of life sometimes tend to misfire, but that is the more reason why life is often described to be unpredictable. But, there are those things that happen in our lives which are perfectly given to tenets of predictability.
Desperate men can do desperate things. That is a saying which may be mostly contested by those men who haven’t been desperate enough to finally resort to desperate options. But, for me, there was this time in my life when I was so desperate that the final option was to undertake a desperate attempt. It happened in July 2004.
Perhaps, there should be a better explanation why luck chose to favour me when, in all truth and honestly, I was on the wrong side. But, as they say, fortune sometimes happens to serve those who rarely deserve it. And in our lives, nature refuses to conform to foreseeable progresses.
I was one of about ten students who had been dismissed from Palm Private Secondary School in Chitipa. Our crime was that we had been ring leaders in the students’ protests which culminated in the vandalism of school property and subsequent closure of the school.
Well, today may not be the right time for me to protest my innocence. It is the events that followed my life in the near future that seem to be perfectly set to occupy a good space in my autobiography. It might have happened in the blinking of some divine eye, but it was much – it was unbelievable and enough.
It was the fear of facing my father’s wrath after being dismissed from school that instantly hatched a desperate idea in me. I wasn’t going home; my parents and siblings would not take my dismissal lightly. I could imagine how they would all spare some time to ‘lecture’ me on the price of pride and peer pressure. But as I was to learn later, my fears had just been blown out of proportion.
Nevertheless, they had driven me to making a decision of boarding a car from Chitipa Boma to Karonga, passing by my home which was only 25 kilometres from my departure point and some 80 kilometres from my destination. I was in terrible desperation and all I wanted was to stay away from my parents for some time.
My initial plans were that after reaching Karonga, I would do some peace-works and earn some money that would take me to Chikhwawa, where my brother stayed. I had departed with K400 in my pocket, and by then it would cost K300 for transport for one to travel from Chitipa to Karonga. This meant that after arriving at Karonga, I was remaining with K100 in my pocket.
The level of my desperation exacerbated. It was now coupled with hunger, exhaustion and fear. But, I told myself that the next decision that I would make would define me: was I man enough?
The problem that I found at Karonga Boma was that there were many people that I knew there who also knew me, so I was afraid to face numerous questions from them about why I was there instead of being in school. Thus, I thought of boarding a bus to Chilumba Jetty. It meant that I was left without any money now. The sun was setting and my stomach kept rumbling.
At Chilumba Trading Centre I met a man whose job was to wash tankers which used to park at a Filling Station there. He agreed to host me for some time while I looked for a ‘job’. I stayed with him for three days until I decided that I was becoming a burden on him. I had searched for piece-works but to no avail.
Another desperate idea struck my mind. I thought of organisations or institutions that would come to my rescue but found nothing. That is when I decided to go to police. It was a decision made out of confusion and humility. After all, what would you expect from the heart of a desperate man?
I took my bag and arrived at the reception of Chilumba Police Post where I reported that I was on my way to Chikhwawa and my transport money had been stolen in the bus that I had boarded at Karonga Boma. The police officer I found at the reception looked askance at my statement and asked to look in my bag, saying I might have put my money there.
It was when he took my exercise books out of the bag that my stomach began to boil.
“You are a student at Palm [Private Secondary School] and you are going to see your brother in Chikhwawa when school is still in progress, what is wrong?” he asked, looking straight in my eyes.
I didn’t have an immediate answer. That led him to the next question: “Aren’t you one of those that were vandalising school property and you are running away?” The story about the vandalism and closure of the school had already been carried in the mainstream media.
Nervousness got complete hold of me, but things miraculously worked in my favour. A senior police officer arrived at the scene and asked his colleague what I was doing there. After being told that I claimed to have my transport money stolen on my way to Chikhwawa, he immediately made a verdict.
“Chikhwawa is further than Chitipa; so the best way is for you to return home and start your journey all over again,” he said with finality.
By then, I was ready to face the wrath of my parents. What I had gone through was terrible enough to erase my fear.
The same afternoon, I boarded a police car that took me to Karonga Police Station where I was ‘dumped’ in the hands of the Victim Support Unit where I was cared for very well.
The following morning I was given a letter which I was supposed to present at Bwiba Roadblock so that the officers there would find any means of transport for me. A police officer escorted me but he found a car that would take me home even before we reached the roadblock. Even though I had lied to the police on how I had found myself at Chilumba, they did a commendable job to ensure a prodigal son found his way back home.
At home, my parents and siblings received me with smiling faces, and it was only a month later when my dad told me that a good reputation is better than expensive perfume and that pride goes before a fall. These were the sayings which I had printed myself on a piece of cloth that was hanging in the sitting room of ‘our’ house.
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