Shoddy Artwork and Ugly Shoes

So after our last elections in September, we’re having the next ones in 2016. It’s a no-brainer that the current president will be running for the seat. He has had a few moments in the press like that time when they forgot his portrait. He has also taken a few good pictures with something in common. Now I am not a politician neither am I a campaign manager so I may not be an expert in election matters. But I have one question, whose idea was this?

Edgar Shoes

Let’s start with how ugly the shoe is. It looks like a shoe one of those mushrooming “prophets” on the Copperbelt would wear. We talked about shoes last time guys. We should know better than this. And I know it’s not anyone on the Lungu Campaign team coz no one who loves their job would do this, right? It was probably a joke by a bored shoe repairman who didn’t have a lot of clients that day. Why do people make such shoes though. And talk about branding. It makes you want to vote for Lungu next year or nah? Obviously not. To quote some clever person on social media, the person who made this deserves a high five in the face with a chair. Oh what’s that? You want some more? There’s definitely more. This person didn’t stop at just one shoe, he did two. *insert side eye emoji right here and after every other sentence*

Edgar Lungu Shoe

I’m done. I can’t. I just can’t deal. I don’t know whether to laugh or buy him a can of shoe polish. One question though: Why? And were tshirts too expensive to print?

Edgar seems to be the muse to a lot of artists these days. People are writing songs about him and all sorts of things. There’s an interesting caricature I saw on facebook of him that was quite cool. The thing is caricatures aren’t there to make you look pretty in my opinion so variations are always welcome.

A cool caricature I saw on Facebook

A cool caricature I saw on Facebook

But some people just weren’t meant to be artists or maybe mistakes happen in an artist life. Like these statues:

One of these is not like the others.

One of these didn’t pay the deposit  [phot credit: Mwebantu New Media]

All our presidents past and present. All of them have a very keen resemblance to the person except one, the one at the bottom. Who is that? Coz that doesn’t look like Edgar Lungu if you ask me. It looks cross-eyed and has cheeks that look like a chipmunk’s cheeks filled with nuts. You would think as the present president, his statue would be the most accurate. I have a few questions. What did Lungu or his family do to this artist? Is it something he did in his past lifetime? Coz he seems to attract so much inaccurate and unwanted artist attention. Did he pay the deposit or nah? Or maybe he paid using coupons. Is he waiting for the money from the shoe sales? One word of advise to him and his team: Please pay the artist his money, he doesn’t seem so happy. And to the artist: Don’t be petty man, he’ll eventually pay you.

What do you guys think? Coz I’m done.


Monster In My House

Guys! I have a problem. There’s a monster in my house. I don’t know what to do. Should I vacate the house? Should I set a trap for it? I don’t know man. Let me start from the beginning.


It started when I was a teenage girl just fresh into college. My everyday attire was a T-shirt, jeans and canvas (I have never been a dress girl). I was extremely comfortable with said dress code but I faced one problem; I never had clean socks. Some mornings I would find myself looking for clean socks but I never found any. So I found a solution to my problem. My father had a habit of washing a pair of socks each day right after taking a shower. He would hang the socks in the bathroom and they would accumulate as he waited for them to be completely dry. So I devised a plan; I would get a pair of his socks every other day, wear them and then drop them on the pile for the maid to wash. This plan helped me survive for the next few years until I moved out and dad never found out.

When The Hub and I were dating, I realized that he owned a maximum of 2 pairs of socks. So I promised myself that immediately we got married I would buy so many socks that he would have enough to last him 2 weeks. In the first month after our wedding I went out and bought 5 pairs. After that I bought a pair or two whenever I went grocery shopping. He had so many pairs that I would sometimes open the sock drawer just to stare and pat myself on the back for being such a good wife. When I washed and hanged the socks they would fill an entire clothesline and all the neighbors looked on with envy.

Then the invasion happened. I should have known my sock happiness would not last. It started slowly at first. A pair would go missing and I would think that maybe it was just among the other clothes. Then when I would roll them up to load them in the drawer, I would find some single ones without a partner. I figure I would eventually find them. When the number of pairs reduced significantly I started to worry. My first suspect was The Hub because he’s the only other person who came into contact with them. I interviewed his with all the intensity and tactics I have learnt from the numerous crime shows I watch. But he didn’t break. This probably meant he was innocent so I left him alone.

But the disappearances continued until I was down to seven pairs. I sat myself down and I realized that it was time to face the facts. And the truth is my house has been invaded. There is a sock monster on the loose. He specializes in driving me crazy. And to drive me up the wall, he sometimes just gets half a pair just so you know that he’s been around. The other day as I cried in defeat over the lost socks I could have sworn I heard a chuckle. And he starts with the most expensive socks and leaves the torn ones for last. I have resorted just patching up the old socks because I’m trying to avoid bankruptcy. Maybe I’m being punished for my evil deeds to my dad. Maybe karma summoned the sock monster and sent it to my house. How shall I get rid of it? I have no idea what to do next. I’ve only got five pairs left. Soon it will be too late. Somebody, Help!! Somebody….anybody….help!

People need to relax their shoe game

Everybody loves shoes. Or so they say. I know some people who own dozens of shoes. I own about 2 dozen pairs but I only ever wear like 2 pairs on a daily. I love how shoes look on some people but I mainly look out for comfort when buying mine. Some people though want their shoes to shine brighter than 10 suns and cast away the darkness. Which brings me to this picture:

Some Zambian church folks are big culprits you guys. They go out and buy the whitest suit they can find and wear it with shoes like those labeled Daddy pastor. They even change their accents and adopt a Nigerian one. Which reminds me, what’s up with some church folk speaking like Nigerians? They even change their vocabulary and use “blessed” instead of “fine” when you ask them how they’re feeling. They call you sister or brother in a disturbingly deep and hoarse voice that is different from the one they use at home. Anyway, so these men have a high affinity for really flashy shoes and it’s hard for me to imagine that they spent so much money. I am particularly adverse to those crocodile shoes that seem to be liked by some. The building committee guy’s shoes are cool. I have a love/hate relationship with brogues. I think they’re ugly but I love them because they have so much character kind of like a bulldog.

Men probably lack a lot of choice when it comes to shoes. Women are spoilt in that aspect. So when you are faced with a career crisis all you’re left with is this:

Please tell me those are not real shoes! Tell me someone photo-shopped this image because I need to sleep tonight. The horror! No shoe company would ever commit such a crime, right? I don’t know man. There are so many crazy things going on in this world. This might be legit. I have questions though. How do you kick a ball without puncturing it? How long should the trousers be when preaching? I just don’t know anything anymore.

Then there are the women whose toes are out of control like this:

WHY?! You have got to know when to quit! When your toes are acting like unruly toddlers you have to bring order. That small toe though! It’s a hater! It lives to bring anguish to its owner. Or maybe it’s rebelling! After years of being hit on the bed corner or table leg it finally decided enough was enough and gave up. The questions I have: What happened for the toe to just give out and betray this woman like that? Why does the woman not care? Whose relative is this? I kind of believe the caption. This is a punishment. Something happened. It could have been the tithe or something else. Maybe she urinated in the shower or forgot to flush after using a public toilet. Or maybe she’s one of those people that don’t wipe off their sweat after using equipment in the gym. I don’t know man. I just can’t deal.

What happened to Dora’s Eyebrows?

When I was growing I remember seeing Dora Siliya on TV. She was one of the best looking female journalists and I loved her. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t be so upset with life if I ended up looking like her as an adult. When she went into politics she kept up her appearance and was still known as the good looking one amongst all of them. But something has been happening to our dear Dora and I need to get to the bottom of it.


Where have her eyebrows gone? Who took them? What happened? I need to know! Here’s what I think happened: Some unscrupulous men came into her house one day and held her at knife point. They told her “Dora, we know you’re a rich woman and we need money” When they found that there was no money in the house, they decided to take her eyebrows as hostage until she could pay them off. But what they didn’t count on was the fact that Dora would not miss them. See, Dora has learnt to adapt to the challenges that life throws at her. So after the men left she figured that she could live without her eyebrows. Who needs eyebrows when you’re a politician? And so she has adapted and now draws a tiny line in the place where her eyebrows once stood.

Now one of the greatest things in life is discovering you’re not the only crazy person in the world. So when I asked my people on Facebook and Twitter to find Dora’s eyebrows I got some crazy responses. DC suggested that she is a warrior who probably lost them in one of her political battles. EM said Dora probably wasn’t born with any eyebrows at all. NNM thought that maybe Dora is in disguise so if you can’t see her eyebrows then you can’t see her.


What happened to her? Why are her eyebrows MIA? Are they on a mission somewhere in the desert? Maybe she traded them in for some cash. I don’t know man! I’m thinking of sending out a plea to her. Maybe not. I won’t even talk about that hair. What do you guys think?

They didn’t include the portrait of the President with a bible and they killed me!

Zambian media will be the death of me. For anyone who is out of touch, we had a new president sworn in almost 2 weeks ago and people are not yet over it. So some company decided to get their money and use it to pay for a congratulatory message to the new president. I don’t get these messages though, it’s not like the president will read them all. They’re all just adverts aren’t they? Anyway, so they get their hard earned cash and pay for space to post their message/advert giving full instructions of what they wanted and what do they get? This:


I died a thousand deaths! I looked up to the sky and howled at the media gods. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well this one is just worth six. How did anyone let this get to the printers? And to compound the problem, the spelling of portrait is not even correct -“portait”. Who ever was responsible definitely had been having a bad day. ZESCO had cut the power to his place. The shower had broken down, his maid had cooked him Nshima with eggs for the third time that week and his wife had just told him they were having a fifth baby. Maybe the new president just doesn’t have a face y’all, who knows.

Of course like every other mistake, they realized it when it was too late but still corrected it the next day. And now the portrait had a face. I wonder if they had to pay twice or was it free the second time?


These newspaper people aint loyal, reducing the president’s face to just a few words?! Tsk Tsk! May they forever be tickled by the media demons until their stomachs hurts so much they start to weep.

Our new president is a very decent man

When I was a little girl, I would wear little dresses and sit with each of my legs pointing to a completely different point on the compass. Then I turned a certain age and I was told by the women folk around me that I had to keep my legs together. It was indecent to let each leg be lonely whenever I sat down. So I learnt to always keep my legs touching. Imagine my chagrin when I realized some men could sit however they want. It’s like they were given a mandate to do the opposite of what we were supposed to do. They were ordered to go therefore and spread their legs, especially when seated in a crowded mini bus or taxi.

But not all men though. Some men were told to cross their legs whenever they were seated and the new president seems to be one of them. Every time his social media team put up new pictures I can’t help but notice just how often he crosses his legs or “makes a four” as we say it here.

Photo cred [mwebantu new media]

When he was young, his women folk sat him and told him “Eddie, you are no longer a boy. You are a young man who needs to cross his legs whenever he sits.” Then one very old woman said “Our son, You shall be the president one day and you need to start practicing how to look good in the pictures on The Facebook” The president being an obedient child kept their words close to his heart, probably in a pendant he wore around his neck, and swore to always cross his legs.

Photo cred[ mwebantu new media]

Being the suspicious person that I am, I think it might just be a classic pose. Like every time his photo guy is about to get a picture he stops him and says “Wait wait wait, I need to get into my position first!”


So now when mothers teach their puberty-inflicted daughters how to be decent, they shall use Powerpoint presentations with the Lungu’s pictures to illustrate just how decent they should be.


Now I, by the power vested in me by the internet, name this position the Edgar. So when you’re sitting like this you’re no longer making a four, you’re making the Edgar. Talk about leaving a legacy.

The Dude that missed his wedding has me dead!

This past week has been heavy for Zambians. It has been filled with elections, results, accusations of stolen votes and reports of tribalism. I had stacked up canned foods and water just in case I wouldn’t be able to leave the house. There was a lot of tension all around. The new president was declared and people took to the streets celebrating. I could hear the noise outside but I didn’t dare to come out. Then on Sunday the president was sworn in and people flocked to go watch the procession. Again, I didn’t dare go. I hate crowds.  Then I saw a picture from that day that made me drop dead. 10945630_700789713374460_2953312246581213422_n

Oh Lawd! Where to even start from. This guy looks like he skipped more than just his wedding. He skipped English classes in school or maybe he skipped school completely. “I have MISED my WEDING BICOZ of this” – his school teachers must have been howling in pain when they saw this.

But since I’m a nice person, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say he was just saving space. But he seems to have left a lot of it on the left side of the board. Maybe he wanted to make a paragraph y’all.

Imagine if he skipped his wedding for real, how crazy would that be? The girl would probably end up hating the president.

But I get the joke though. I get that he meant to express just how important he considered this ceremony to be. He definitely wasn’t serious about missing his wedding …..right? right? Come on, no one can ever do that! Just because he can’t spell doesn’t mean he’s crazy! ……Right? Oh well, there’s no way of knowing these things.

Mind your own Space!

If you’ve ever been anywhere public in Zambia then you know that we have a small problem with personal space. Chaps be pushing and touching skins like we’re all related or something. A bus conductor will be happily counting his wad of cash oblivious to the fact that his hand is touching your boob. This one time I felt a hand on my thigh, I looked up to find the owner of the hand with an innocent look on his face. Apparently he wasn’t seated comfortably and was using my thigh to support himself. A few choice words and a murderous look later, he moved his hand. Continue reading

I Like Myself When I’m With You

I wrote this poem in early 2012. I had just started dating The hub and I was totally smitten. It’s one of the very few love poems I wrote. It’s called “I Like Myself When I’m With You”. 

I like myself when I am with you.

How our Minds make love and give birth to similar thoughts.

To the point where we’re not sure who started the sentence coz we both know the end.

Wait….I’m not even sure if I wrote this poem or you did.

The way we find the same things hilarious

and make the same silly remarks about the most serious stuff

The way different parts of our minds touch so often that it translates into our bodies.

I like how my negatives cancel out yours and together we exude positivity.

I tried to think of any other love options but it seems you’re the traffic officer in charge of all the road blocks in my mind.

With those soulful eyes and that ready smile, you put me at ease.

For the first time I don’t feel guilty about not being more feminine or girly.

For the first time I’m not over-compesating by trying to prove how smart I am.

For the first time I’m calm and finally at peace with myself.

Yep. I sure do like myself when I’m with you.

Sunday Drama

Here is a piece I wrote over two years ago. 

I wake up on Sunday morning, a perfect day has begun. It’s beautiful really; all that’s left is attention from my man. So I cleverly devise a classic old plan. I will go to his place unannounced; I bet he’ll be charmed. So I get there to his house, sneak through the gate.I don’t need to knock; I got my own key, ooh I can’t wait. I let myself in, walk to his room, but what I see in there was never in my plan I guess I should have listened when mama told me to never surprise a man. She sits there with a smirk on her face, he stands there with panic or is that guilt? The pounding in my ears cannot cover the sound of my heart being ripped by love’s claws. It’s an understatement calling this an awkward situation. Anger, hurt, pain, surprise. is there a word that contains all these emotions in english diction. My head is woozy and my heart is heavy. I try to talk to him but she keeps barging in (Let me at her, now I’m crazy!) I take off my earrings, ala there will be blood. He comes between us and suddenly I have a flashback. Moments come back, events I filed away. Like when he was supposed to meet me and I would wait all day. Or when I found those texts in his phone and when I asked, his reply was “Do you really think you’re alone?” Or when he would jeer at me and make nasty jokes. In front of me and in front of his blokes. I probably should have left when I got my first slap. But I had believed them when they told me it was a perseverance club. And he would bring flowers and say he was sorry. And that the only reason he hit me was because I had made him angry. She’s standing there, the smirk is still on her face. I stop and step back. Tears are falling, I don’t bother to wipe them. I let out something between a sob and a chuckle, turn to the girl and retort; “You can have him girl, A man who treats his woman with anything less than respect aint worth fighting for. And honestly, he aint a man at all!”