Whatever Troubles you might Face: Always Choose to Live!

depressed imageI recently put up a post on Facebook that read;

I will give 20 pin talk time to whoever is first to get this question right; you are at the mercy of a killer. He tells you that you have no way out except for one: he folds two papers in half, each with the words ‘you will die’ written on them. He labels them A and B. He asks you to pick the paper with the words saying ‘you will live.’ It’s a trick. He knows this but you don’t. You actually think that one of the papers will save you. You have no choice but to pick one. And you must choose to live. And the truth is that you lived. How did this happen?

I promised to post the answer on my blog so here we go!

I must say I had a lot of fun reading all the responses. The truth is that I came across this trick question when I was watching one of my all-time favourite Korean dramas. When the heroine asked the hero (or should I just say the two leads in the drama?) this question, at first, just like the hero – I had no idea what the correct response should have been.

It was only later in another scene that the hero got an epiphany whilst he was eating something from a plate …when the answer occurred to him. At that moment I thought to myself, “Oh wow…didn’t even cross my mind!”

However, out of everything that was said, I found that I loved the lesson of the trick question more than the trick itself. It was one of those moments that led me straight into reflection. So I thought it would be great to share this with my friends and let’s see how they work around it!

Suffice to say, many tried to tackle the question and some did give very good possible answers, except, I was looking for the best answer that would explain how it came about that the person in question was still able to live despite having picked one of the papers that said he would die. Despite increasing the reward prize, it seemed they all just wanted me to keep my money. I like that. 🙂

As I keep writing, I am sure that the answer will slowly be forming itself in your heads…of course I am assuming that not everyone who is reading this has watched the drama I am referring to where this question came from. If anything, I would give the little prize money to the person who could tell me the title of that drama! Now that would be fun, wouldn’t it?

Now picture this;

In the drama, the answer came to the hero/protagonist/lead while he was eating something from a plate. As he kept picking a piece off his plate, he looked at what was remaining on the plate and suddenly stopped! The answer had occurred to him.

And this is the answer:

If the victim (I will call him/her that for lack of a better term) was expected to pick the note that said, ‘you will live’ when in fact we know that both notes said he would die, how is it possible he was able to live? It is because the note that was meant to decide his fate …and in this case it is the note that had remained, the one that was not picked read – you will die. Therefore, if the note that was not picked said he would die, doesn’t it automatically mean that the note he had picked said ‘he will live’? Remember, he was asked to choose the choice to live. Irrespective of what was written on the note he picked, the note that was meant to decide his fate – the note that had remained to be read out by the killer said he would die which meant by default that the victim had picked one that said he would live. And this is how he survived!

I hope it’s all clear. I know it might be a little confusing for some but keep going over it and it will soon make sense. And to borrow the words of the actor, “to every trick question, there is a trick response.”

Like I said before, I found the lesson behind the trick question even more interesting. Here’s why:

Whenever life is difficult, we always think that there is no way out….just like everyone who didn’t know the answer to the question. But I am here to tell you that that’s not the answer. There is hope no matter how difficult the situation you are in might seem, whether you have a small trouble or a variety of troubles…always choose the best choice to live.

Those were the ‘not so exact’ words of the actress in the drama. Of course it helped that she was a psychiatrist. But I believed every word of it.

There was a time when my family had it all and then there was also a time we had absolutely nothing except each other. I remember thinking at that time…. “Is this all there is to life?”

But that is all in the past now; a past I feel was very important because it has shaped me into who I am today. I am now grateful for everything I have in my life because I know exactly what if feels like to not have anything in your life. Back then we did everything humanly possible to survive…to make sure we were still alive the next day. Instead of wallowing in misery, we chose to live.

And I will continue choosing to live because…even as clique as it sounds, it is the truth; what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger!


Marriage: the Ultimate Goal for Women?


When Abraham Maslow talked about self-actualization – which is at the peak of his hierarchy of human needs, did he picture in his head that for women, perhaps their peak experience would be achieved through marriage only and nothing else they dared deceive themselves believe was self-fulfilling? I seriously doubt that.

However, it has come to be accepted by many in societies around the world that no matter how successful, confident, psychologically balanced or secure a woman is, if she is not married, then she is one sorry miserable and lonely individual. The adjectives even get worse when she gets pregnant out of wedlock!

All that money and she still can’t get a man to marry her?

No man would wanna marry such a successful woman. She would intimidate him.

She is so beautiful yet no man wants to make her his wife.

Oh wow congratulations on your engagement, finally!

Whenever a woman announces her engagement, the most common reaction from her friends and relatives is a positive one, ‘congratulations!” Unfortunately, it’s not always the case for men. For the latter, the pronunciation of an engagement is usually received by this reaction, “oh hell, there goes freedom!”

When I was being prepared for my marriage just a few weeks before the traditional ceremony, I remember one woman saying to me, “you wanted marriage right? This is what you get and you should work hard to attain that goal. Do you think it comes easy?” Because these statements were delivered in the local vernacular, the impact was thrice the intended outcome.

K-party pic
On my bridal party (kitchen party)

I was very stressed during that period because as most African women know…and especially Zambians in this case, getting ready for the traditional marriage ceremony is most likely the most stressful and humiliating process a woman can ever go through during her journey to marital bliss…especially a woman who was not raised very traditionally!

I cannot emphasize how many times I thought about giving up on marriage during that whole experience. Despite it being done mostly for my own good, I did not appreciate the fact that almost all the women that surrounded me during that time kept on telling me how lucky I was to be getting married and how I should prepare myself mentally to deal with my husband’s infidelity in the future.

I kept wondering, is my future husband also going through the same lessons as I am? Is someone also telling him, “Watch out for that Annie, you better treat her well so that she doesn’t run off with another man.” I don’t think so. They were most likely telling him about the things he should expect from me as a perfect wife and very little about what he should do to be a good husband. If I remember correctly, not once was I told what I should expect from a good husband! It was like it was enough that he chose to marry me in the first place. I did not appreciate that.

Being the kind of person who is not very used to being told what to do and being stamped on by women whose names end in the suffix ‘inlaw,’ that experience and many others after that were very awakening. I did not take kind to the fact that such behaviour was not from men, but by women themselves towards their fellow woman!

If anything, I was only able to make it through that whole process due to my husband’s support, a man who does not buy into the concept of wives being a man’s slave.

How is it that when a wife becomes pregnant and delivers, it is the man’s swimmers that are congratulated on their delivery but if a wife fails to become pregnant, it is her womb that is cursed and insulted? I think that as long as no tests were taken to prove the efficiency of either party’s productive parts, if the man’s swimmers are the key to a woman’s pregnancy, then the swimmers should be shamed publicly for failing to deliver.

I mean, why would anyone kick and trample an oven for failing to produce bread if no dough was put in it in the first place? It doesn’t make sense at all. If you start out believing that the swimmers are kings of pregnancy, then keep with the trend all the way. Don’t change ships just because the weather is bad.

From my experiences, I have come to understand that sometimes…and mostly, women opt for marriage as a symbol of commitment; a means for them to be exclusively committed and dedicated to that one person, to raise a family with that person and to have someone to lean on during life’s journey. It’s a companionship thing, I am sure Maslow would agree with me.

It is not always that a woman will get married just so she can have exclusive access to a bank account or have someone take care of her because she has failed to do so on her own. When these things come, they are like a bonus and sure as hell they should be if she is going to dedicate the rest of her life being his helper. Yes it is very likely that a woman will choose marriage as a means of attaining self-actualization but marriage in itself is not the actualization being sought after…it is simply a means to an end. And this end can be attained through other means as well but it is always fun and fulfilling if the journey is filled with love and companionship.

I have been told so many times before that the major problem men have with women is that they always tend to portray themselves as victims of society or men, always forgetting that the women themselves are catalysts of that reality. And they are very right! It is a bitter pill to swallow but the truth is that most of the times my femininity has been bruised; it has been at the hands of my fellow women.

A few years ago I saw a post on Facebook from a female friend that read;

Stop walking tall and acting as if you own the world because everything you have belongs to your husband. You were nobody before he married you. You did not work for any of that…. Success is not a sexually transmitted disease.

I cannot even begin to tell you how offensive I found that post to be. In fact, I was mostly offended by the author of the post than the contents of the post itself! I do not know about the woman who was being talked about but whether she was a ‘nobody’ or not before he married her, she must have contributed her efforts somehow to whatever she became after marriage.

Whether it was her beauty, her laughter, her ability to care for someone enough to cause them to want them to marry her…and whatever else went on between them behind closed doors, if the man was still with her, then she was definitely doing something to earn her keep in that marriage.

I refuse to believe that marriage is the ultimate goal for women. The only reason it works is because it has a legal clause to it and with it comes the possibility of proudly raising a family of your own that will love you unconditionally.

Just as Maslow stated, it is not guaranteed and its certainly very rare that during the course of their lives, people will actually attain self-actualization.However, to reiterate a point here, marriage in itself is not what makes a successful and fully self-actualized female.

You have to remember that by society’s standards, a man is the one who gets down on one or both knees to beg a woman to marry him. Why would anyone stoop so low just so they could make something out of the person they are asking to marry? Can’t we conclude then  that there is a dame good reason why anybody would get down on his knees to ask for something? Isn’t it obvious that they need something from that person?

It is that which they need and that which the woman expects from them that makes them equals, although we all know who actually gets to wear the pants. But, the bottom line is that they are both bringing something to the table. Any person who gets the chance to get laid on a daily basis or reasonable basis is dame lucky in my opinion.

And certainly any person who as a result of a few seconds or minutes of pleasure gets another person to carry the proceeds of that pleasure for nine months and then release the heavy product through a very small and narrow gate…if you have anybody that has ever done something like this for you or you are hoping that they one day do it for you, believe me you are the luckiest bastard to have ever lived!

And you better recognize.

Personality Traits: Do I Really Want To Be Like My Parents?

Have you ever had that moment- when the preacher in church says something that made you feel really guilty? I had one of those moments last week, well, maybe not exactly but the concept is the same. The thing is, I was working on a school assignment – my Organizational Behaviour course, the topic was on Personality determinants and structure. I was busy enjoying my lesson when I came across this line;

Contrary to many beliefs, heredity factors are indeed major determinants of personality.

The moment I came across that line, every brain activity in my head stopped for what felt like a century. I felt scared…extremely scared. Despite my brain seeming to have logged off, I could smell and taste a strange bitterness in my mouth. Something felt wrong.

And something was definitely wrong. I tried to reboot my brain but it didn’t help that the next topic I came across was one covering Sigmund Freud. That man had deep psychological issues that no psychologist in his or this era could diagnose. The fact that I instantly connected to one of his theories scared the red out of my blood cells immediately.

I wondered to myself; did I really want to be like my mother and father. The first response I gave myself was a resounding NO. At that particular moment, I felt like I did not wish to have any of my parent’s traits. But before you think that I had very bad parents, let me tell you that I had the best mom in the world! So what about my father?  You ask. Believe me I am asking myself the same question too.

It is no secret for both my family and friends that my father and I weren’t close. But that is not to say he was a bad father. We just never saw eye to eye due to a whole other bunch of reasons. However, my mother was in-love with him and she stayed by his side until such a time he decided forever had run its course with her. She still stayed faithful to him to the very end, God bless her soul.

The things that make me not want to be like my father are things he did that I never liked. I do not know if it makes sense but generally speaking, my father was a good man, he loved a good laugh, he was jovial, extremely intelligent to the point of madness, he was good looking (I think?), tall… and whenever I watched him with my big sister, I could feel and see his fatherly love. To that extent he was a good father, very loving. But then again who wouldn’t love my sister? It could also be that she made it easy for him to love her and I built walls around me to completely shut him out. The evidence seems to support that assertion.

The other good thing I remember about my father is that he was a good spender. After his retirement, he broke all possible world records by dancing on all his benefits during the time it took him to actually receive them and get home to celebrate with his wife of over 20 years.

Even still, despite driving himself into bankruptcy, he was still able to have money and for years I watched him try one business after another. I still do not know where he kept finding the capital. Even if it was debt, I think he had some great skills on him to convince whoever it was that kept giving him money to keep giving it to him! He was a genius like that, my father.

He spent on his children excessively whenever he had the opportunity. Most of the time the opportunities where hard to come but whenever they did, it totally rained! Unfortunately, my father’s good qualities where like a curse on themselves…like a double edged sword. And it is because of this that I felt I did not wish to be like him.

His intelligence allowed him to come up with brilliant business ideas that would sometimes send him to the brink of insanity. He was a man out of control. A man who would not be swayed from his unrighteous path even if Jezebel herself stood naked in front of him holding a Bible. Whereas he had begun as a good husband when he married my beautiful mother, with time he turned into a very scary human being.

If I am to have my father’s traits, which ones would I really want to have? And do I even have a choice in the matter? Heredity is such a…..(there’s a word am tempted to use, but I will let your minds fill it in for me, thank you.)

I have had many people tell me to think about all the good that my father did for me and the family. Finding the answer to that task is like asking me to either; mathematically prove that 1 + 1 is actually 2 or, to immediately take the bar exam. I could tell you why I think 1 + 1= 2, but I cannot prove it to you mathematically. I would rather take the bar exam!

But let me try both;

He gave life to me.

For a while he gave me a home.

By marrying my mother, he gave me the best supporter of all time.

He gave me my siblings.

Am told my brain functions on the same wave length as did his….I am not yet sure whether that is a good thing or not but let us not think too much shall we.

Then we move on to my mother…why I felt I did not wish to be like her.

Margaret, a woman with unfailing faith in God; she held on to it even when the walls around her where crumbling onto her head, breaking her into pieces bit by bit. Once I asked her why she stayed in marriage and her solemn answer was, “because of you my kids.”

I do not know if she expected me to be pleased with her response but because of that very response, I had for many years erased any idea of marriage from my head. I was grateful for her sacrifices, and I still am. Had my mother left the man that contributed biologically to my being, my siblings and I would not be where we are today. Any other woman would have left…but she stayed.

Yet…that fact is exactly what makes me not want to be like her. I have seen her pain. I have lived through her pain. I dried her tears numerous times. I picked her bloodied body from the floor many times than I care to remember. I watched her beauty fade from the hardness of life. I watched her smile through the pain, always pretending to be happy. I watched her read her Bible faithfully even when her eyes where failing her. I watched her hold on to dear life just so she could see me graduate and get married. And then all her pain became mine.

She lost the fight.

I should die trying to be like her…but I don’t.

I do not want to have her personality. That kind of personality could drive me crazy. Therein lies too much pain with endurance as the only hope. Her pain was so much that she ended up naming one of her own kids Endurance! Seriously Mum???

I am not patient enough to wait for Paradise. I might desire to live there, but I keep hoping my journey isn’t as rough as my mothers. Her life was a tsunami.

The behavioural scientists believe that human beings respond to stimuli or vice versa, or that our behaviour can be conditioned or reinforced. They believe that every person has a different personality which is influenced by factors such as environment, situation, heredity, and physical. Even before we are born, we have no choice in who are parents will be.

But it gets worse!

We have no choice in the way we will look once we are born. We could try surgery but we will always remember how we were before. Those images never go away. Even cloud servers have nothing on them. Then we have no choice in the environment or situation we will be raised. If anything Sigmund Freud says about the structure of the mind is true, then I have a reason to worry.

At present, my personality is a result of how I wish it to be. Whether it is natural or not is a matter of debate. Nevertheless, it is something that has developed as a result of my experiences through life…the life that I have thanks to my parents. Growing up, I obviously had no choice in the experiences I went through but it is those same experiences that have stayed in my subconscious, always threatening to emerge thereby influencing the way in which I respond to different situations.

Even though I wish to believe that I am responsible for who I am, I know for a fact that who I was born from and how I was raised has much to do with everything I say or do. I can convince myself that I do not wish to be like my parents, but the things I learnt from them are the things I use to better myself in life; good or bad experiences, they’ve been most helpful.

I have lived most of my life hating a man who probably wasn’t even aware of his wrong doings and by doing so allowed him to still have a negative control over my life. I hated everyone who told me to forgive. I even hated God for allowing my mother to go through all that. My faith has been shaken numerous times and it is still fragile…but seriously, my mother should have seen something in it to keep holding on to it to the very end, right?

I want to see what my mother saw.

I want to know why she believed so much.

But the truth is, I don’t have the courage to start looking.

If I do start my mother’s journey, will I end up living the kind of life she did…always holding on even when it was humanly impossible? Is that what they mean by faith? Do I really want that? Do I really need to suffer like her to prove myself faithful? Dear Lord.

The answers scare my stomach enzymes into constipation itself.

Her Glowing Shades of Temptation


Even before she appeared, he could smell her.

She dared awaken all his senses.

The little vixen.

Desire….he thought.

When she finally appeared, it felt like magic.

He had never seen sin look so beautiful.

Effortlessly, she carried herself…or so it seemed.

He was captivated by her every step,

Her legs must have made a deal with gravity,

She was a force to reckon with.

Shaken…his heart flattered.

Her hips swayed from side to side,

Her waist suggesting all evils forbidden to mortal man,

Her lips a deep shade of trouble.

She was dangerous.

And she knew it.

Seduce…she was on a mission.

When she smiled, he knew the universe had betrayed him.

Enchanted by her voice,

Taken in by her domineering presence,

He could do nothing but stare.

He swallowed hard.

Lust…his jeans became tighter.

When she touched him,

It was not with her hand.

For a moment he could not tell their bodies apart.

And when she sat in front of him,

One leg over the other,

There were more parts of her undressed than dressed.

He could see her red blood cells at work through her lace top.

Imagination had nothing on her.

She was the reality he had ever dreamt of.

Without touching, he felt her every caress.

Without realising it, he was responding.

Pleasure…he fed his eyes.

Her lips…or dear God,

Like two gates from behind which pleasure resided,

They glowed.

He thirsted for the juices that dripped from his imagination.

Every time she breathed, it was his heart that stopped.

Her presence was in itself pleasure to behold,

An epitome of things unclean and things most tasteful.

Lust…this dame lust.

That night when he lay awake in bed,

The snoring sounds of his wife gravely pronouncing

The contrast between night and day.

The woman beside him was nothing like the one he had earlier encountered

That one had pushed his soul to the very corners of hell

And made him wish he had stayed there.

She was a temptation even to the devil himself.

Whereas the beautiful devil had made the foundations of his loins hot with desire,

The woman softly snoring away beside him was warm and cuddly.

He watched her chest rise and fall,

Slowly, he moved her head to help her breath properly.

She felt his hand on her.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him,

Planted a kiss on his forehead and sealed the distance between them,

Attaching her naked body to his.

It was a body he knew all too well.

He knew he was home.

Content….he remembered his mother’s words.

A Very ‘Relative’ Moment

Thursday morning last week I was getting ready for work when my phone rang, a strange number…and this conversation transpired:

NB: The other side of this conversation was happening in Bemba (vernacular) while my responses where in a terrible form of code-switching- Bemba to English, vice versa.

“Annie! Where are you? How long can it take you to come to town?” A woman’s voice from the other end said. She was speaking in Bemba yet the only word that sounded Bemba from everything she had just said was my name.

First thoughts through my mind were; what the hell? Who is this supposed to be? I had not made any plans with anyone to meet them in town.

I have a habit of ignoring calls from certain people, especially if they call me in the morning because they have a great potential to ruin the rest of what I always hope to be a great day. This was one of those cases; strange number, but familiar voice.

“Yes Auntie, how are you?” I replied in Bemba, the only words I can confidently speak in Bemba without feeling like I just got caught peeking through a shower room window. The woman I called aunt was someone I met not so long ago and was informed of our blood relations by one of my siblings, much to my dismay.

I still remember my sibling’s words after the introductions; “Grow up Ann, whether you like it or not she is your aunt and you have to respect and treat her as such.” Of course a lot of other things where said that day, suffice to say, I was not very receptive towards the new member of the family. However, she had come into my life at a point when her presence was considered necessary, or so I was told.

“I have a young lady with me here…your cousin,” the woman was saying. “Can you pick her up? She needs ‘piece work’. Maybe your company is looking for people like that, you can set her up with a job.” She was speaking so fast I could barely comprehend her words. I mean, I could take in this word and that…but all of them altogether? I suspect that I may have actually understood her, except I found everything she was saying absolutely impossible.

And so my response was, “er…?”

Thinking that it was the volume she needed to adjust and not her head, she screamed, “the young lady I am with wants to come to your work place so that you can give her a job!” She assaulted my poor delicate ears forcing me to slightly pull back the phone from my ear but I could still hear her talking. “I came all the way with her because she needs to do some jobs. Perhaps your company is looking for people to do some cleaning, dusting…or any such work.”

“Which young lady are you talking about and which job?” I asked, sounding very puzzled. I had not spoken to this woman in a while yet the conversation sounded as if it had a prelude.

“Your cousin,” she said the name. “Here, talk to her.” She handed the phone to the young lady in question. From her tone of voice I could tell she was somewhere in her mid to late twenties. I didn’t know who she was, but she sounded as if she knew me.

“Where is your work place?” The young lady asked, very matter-of-factly.

I gave her directions, against my better judgement. I was still confused. Nothing seemed to make sense.

“But what do you want with my work address?” I asked. “I only recently changed jobs and I am not in HR so I cannot give you any job. There is no need for you to come to my office.” I desperately tried to get my point across, switching from English to Bemba.

“Don’t you know any people that are looking to hire anyone?” The young lady asked.

“Like I said, I am new and I don’t know that many people here yet.” I answered.

“I can do all sorts of jobs…” The young lady was trying to explain before I cut her off.

“I am really sorry I can’t help you.”

“How many buses do I need to take from town to your office?” She asked.

My mouth fell wide open, my words stuck somewhere in my throat from the shock of it all. I felt like I was talking to a wall.

When I finally regained my senses, “I do not think there is any need for you to waste your transport money coming all the way to my workplace,” I said. “There is nothing I can do for you at this point.”

I could hear movement and when my aunt’s voice came back on, it had been the phone changing hands. “I came with this young lady all the way from…” she said the place, “…and I promised her that her relatives in Lusaka will give her a job. If you can’t pick her up from here at least give her directions to your workplace so she can come there.” I do not understand the gymnastics of the Bemba language but it was very clear someone was not pleased with me. I wondered what I did wrong.

She did not understand why despite having a car, I could not go to pick them up from wherever they were, and why I was refusing to give the young lady a job. I cannot even begin to explain the absurdity of it all.

When that conversation ended, I felt like I had lost a couple of pounds or so trying to contain my emotions. I wanted to lash out, I wanted to awaken the past and most of all, I wanted to let them know that my memory was working perfectly.

Coming from a family with a somewhat complicated extended family background, I would have never imagined having a conversation like this one. How is it that people who claim to be relatives like to show up in your life at times when you feel you do not necessarily need them? Where were they when you needed them the most? What right do they have to make demands and expect them to be carried out just like that?

I am a Christian yes but I still find letting go of certain things very difficult…especially things that scarred my life terribly. When that woman I call my aunt called me in that tone of voice and pressed her demands, was I wrong to feel so offended and wish that she would just leave me alone and disappear from my life?

Sadly, I am not the only one with complicated extended family issues. My friend Cornelius lost his parents when he was very little and none of his relatives would take him and his relatives in. They did however manage to get as much property as they could get their hands on and left the children to fend for themselves. Twenty years later Cornelius is has a good job and a family of his own and the very relatives that had abandoned him keep showing up on his door step.

Cornelius hates hosting his relatives because they are a constant reminder of the pain he and his siblings had to go through all those years. He hates watching his wife tend to them and do her best to make them feel at him. He does not wish for them to feel at home. He wants them to constantly be reminded of the damage they caused to him and his loved ones.

I understand Cornelius. I have heard people constantly say forgive and pray over it. There is always a part of me that turns whenever someone tells me ‘pray over it,’ because they are telling me in short, that no human solutions are enough to curb the hate that I am feeling and so I have to keep waiting for divine intervention. It’s a good solution, but one that also requires strength. And this begs another question, if I forgive them easily, will they ever learn that what they did was wrong? And what about their punishment?

I do not like the fact that when such people come back into the lives they injured, it’s not to seek forgiveness, but mostly to seek favours, expecting you to have forgotten everything. So before forgiving, would I be wrong to jolt their memories a bit? The temptation is just too loud to ignore….


We are at it again. The drama of Zambian politics right now is enough to impregnate even the most barren woman of them all. It’s preposterous!

I don’t know how many times some of my friends have called me or texted me over the fact that Dr Kaseba is thinking about contesting in the next presidential elections – be they By, or General Elections. Somehow, and I don’t know how this came to be, they expect me to be happy about this development. And every time her name is mentioned, the fact that she is a woman is repeatedly mentioned…and with impunity.

Most of my friends are of the idea that I am a Feminist, a belief I have not disputed. Because of this, they naturally expect me to be head over heels excited that a female candidate has been presented to the nation. Unfortunately, I have to disappoint my friends because the truth is I am not voting for Dr Kaseba.

I know some people out there keep thinking, ‘women, they just don’t support each other yet they keep preaching women empowerment and gender equality.” And this is where the problem is; people thinking that just because a female is contesting in the political race then all women should give her their support. This has got nothing to do with gender equality or women empowerment.

Yes I understand that generally women don’t like each other but who can blame us, we were raised to look at each other like rivals….and rivals over what you ask me? Sadly, over men! But that’s not my issue here. My issue is that just because I will not be voting for Kaseba does not mean that I do not want to support a fellow woman.

When men vote for their fellow men, do they do it just because they share the same physiological or biological setup or they vote based on their own standards of merit? I refuse to vote for someone just because she has a womb. I want to vote for someone whom I feel deserves my vote because they have worked hard to earn it…and Kaseba is not that.

Now I am not saying that my statements are fact, they are simply opinions. But before people crucify me for being anti-feminist, let me reiterate the fact that feminism has totally nothing to do with me supporting a woman I feel does not deserve my vote based on standards of mine that constitute merit.

I don’t care about ‘mourning period’ and all the traditional staff people keep sprouting every time the widow’s name is mentioned. Grieving for me has always been an issue of mind over matter. If I never convinced myself to get over my mother’s death, I would still be down and miserable to this day. But just because I chose to accept her death does not mean I don’t cry every now and then. As a matter of fact, there is still a huge part of me that feels that despite the two years, I am still in mourning. So, don’t expect me to judge anyone over how they choose to mourn their loved one.

I have seen and heard of men marry new wives just a few weeks, and sometimes days after the death of their spouses and nobody has ever crucified them for defying a mourning period. So why should the mourning period be so pronounced just because it’s a woman? I hate that women are expected to spend years mourning their spouses at the expense of their sanity and emotional well-being.

Sata should be turning in his grave if he’s seeing what he’s wife is up to,

I keep hearing that. The dead are conscious of nothing and Sata was turning and tossing even while he was still alive. That man had been ill for a bloody long time and if at all he is conscious of anything down there, it is only to continue turning and tossing in pain. So let’s just pray that he is resting in peace for now, I can bet you there is a stone somewhere in the world with those words on it. So no, he is not turning at whatever is happening in Zambia. Forget it. Leave the dead be. There is usually a reason why they are called…what’s that word again, oh yeah, dead.

Now back to why I am not shipping Christine’s candidacy.

I hate that she is riding on the wave of emotions that the nation bestowed on her as a grieving widow. I hate that she might be of the illusion that just because she was a first lady then she qualifies to become president of the state very so suddenly. I hate that she thinks she has done enough to prove to Zambians that she deserves that seat. I hate that she claims…like many from the Sata family that they wish to continue the late president’s legacy!

What legacy I ask? And if at all there is such a profound legacy, it is certainly a legacy I never bought whilst it was still in motion…and I definitely won’t like it any better the second time around. And most importantly, I think there are other people that are more deserving of my vote because they have done enough to prove that they deserve it. Unfortunately, it just so happens that those other people have a higher testosterone level than the doc. I know politicians are liars; but anyone that can lie through their teeth and convince me otherwise even though I know at the back of my head that they are lying, that’s called hard work.

If within this short period of time, this woman with whom I share certain biological and physiological traits can convince me that she actually has what it takes to be my president, then hell yeah, I will give her my vote. Otherwise for now, I am still not convinced. And this has nothing to do with her femininity whatsoever. It is absolutely based on what I feel is merit.

I think that what is insulting to women is the fact that people naturally expect you to give support to each other based on your sex. Yes it is fun to see men provide cover for each other when they are swimming in the juices of infidelity but that kind of support is at a whole different level when compared to the kind of support that is expected when talking politics. I would hate to empower someone into a position that I know very well might lead to them causing more harm than healing on a national, or even global scale.

Yes, I agree, Dr Kaseba has the right to stand for presidency. In fact, I applaud her for that! I am a feminist after all! I love that she has the courage to stand up against all the expected norms and shoot for the stars. I bow to her for that. It takes courage to go against any traditional norms and culture whether you have grounds to defy them or not.

However, she is joking if she thinks, or if anyone else out there thinks she deserves support from all women just because…yes, just because. I wish she could have waited, not because she needed to mourn or whatnot – coz that’s a whole other issue; but because she needs time to assert herself as a viable candidate against everyone else who is standing. People shouldn’t vote out of pity just because she is a widow or because she is a woman who deserves to be empowered. This is not gender equality, its standard foolishness 101.

This country is in this current state of chaos because without thinking, people voted for ‘change,’ and they didn’t care much about the form in which that change came. For once I hope Zambians can think long term and not short term when it comes to politics. Presidents have the potential to either build or destroy a nation. Just because one feels they can rule does not mean that they actually can. As the late president discovered, that position is way too heavy and whoever sits in it should be deserving of it and prepared.

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