Kondwani Kamiyala

Kondwani Kamiyala 26 September 2006 - 09:00:17 The sages who coined the adage that there is unity in diversity must have been thinking of Massa Lemu and Timwa Lipenga. This, you would find true after going through the exhibition the two are running at the Blantyre arts haven, the French Cultural Centre. On the surface, you would think Lemu and Lipenga would have nothing in common because, for one, the former is a visual artist at heart while the latter is a writer in her own right. But going through the exhibition, titled The Scourge is Also a Mask , you would be deemed wrong. The common denominator in their artistic life is to make Malawi a better place to live in, in spite of their different forms of expression. Running from last Friday to next Saturday, the exhibition is a rare journey to the very heart of the HIV and Aids scourge which has struck Malawi and other countries of the world. It is an exposé of Lemu’s trademark abstract paintings, with Lipenga’s lines and verses to help ...

Kondwani Kamiyala At first glance, the Mulanje Mountain looks like a massive barren rock. You would think there is no life up there. One would seriously believe that life ends with the lush green tea plantations at the foot of the mountain. Coupled with the mythical tales of the ancestral spirits on the mountain, the belief that the mountain is lifeless is deeply rooted in the core of your heart. That is the mystery of Mount Mulanje. My perception of the mountain changed the day I hiked it. We never went as far as Sapitwa, the highest peak which is perched at 3002 metres above sea level. Hiking to Chambe Peak, 2,500 metres above sea level, nonetheless, is an experience on its own. Our hike began with a prayer at Likhubula Forest Office, which is the entry point to this massif. We needed a little prayer to steel our spirits as we embarked on that daring hike to Malawi’s Island in the Sky, as the mountain is known on the tourist’s map. It was around 8 am when the trek began, as the dew ...

By Kondwani Kamiyala, first published in The Nation on Sunday newspaper. A thought for town mongers, and those in the diaspora. At first, it was Edgar and Davis’s song Musamabwere Kumudzi that compelled me to make the visit to my native land in Dowa. The last time I went there was in 1989, when I was just a Standard Four pupil, so that piece of music made me agree: it is not a wise thing to return to your roots as a corpse. They said the road to Dowa is not smooth. Yet, I enjoyed it. The dusty road which branches from the M1 at Dowa Turn-off to the district headquarters is paracetamol-coaxing but, as a matter of fact, the dust road from the turn-off to Dowa central was smooth for me, considering that earlier on, I had traveled from Blantyre to Balaka for 12 hours. It was all thanks to a Shire Buslines night rider that broke down twice—for some five hours near the Kamuzu Stadium in Blantyre and for another two hours somewhere between Zomba and Liwonde. Travelling from se...

This is an excerpt from my upcoming maiden novel. The title is not fully determined, but it will be published later in the year. It's a journey through politics, romance, history, Malawian mysticism...... An hour later The high-class BCA suburb residential area was getting dark quickly, a cold breeze was sweeping through the night from the Thyolo Highlands. Reverend Dr MacDonald Chando was feeling cold, in spite of the cardigan he was putting on and the log fire chuckling at the fireplace. And he felt rather restless. He drew a Revised Standard Version of the Holy Bible from the bookshelf and went to sit by the fire. The Bible always restored peace in his mind. The press conference that changed the course of politics in the land had gotten to his head, though he had been silent for the greater part of it. Throughout the afternoon, he had made so many silent prayers, calling for the success of their cause. But still, something at the back of his mind told him something could go wron...

IMFA Usachite matama imfa Thakati ndiwe Opanda chisoni Polodza akulu Ndiwedi mbanda Mantha ulibe Wamayi moyo pokhwathula Yosamva mankhwala Nthenda ndiwe kuli chete ana watengera Kwanthawi ndakusaka Ndikakupeza ndikupha Usachite matama imfa.

Political Promises Popular people play politics Exposing plastic hopes opposite penury Promising people power of poverty Poor people persevere Pleonastic promises for prosperity Politicians perpetually permit Weep not Ô people Political promise is not the pill To pacify your poliomyelitis of poverty. --------------------------------- The Protest March This black land you know, son Knew protest marches before democracy Your granny has led marches Villagers follow him Down the village paths in protest Women have wailed here Men have groaned there Old men sob and moan After a nocturnal sit-in at the nsiwa Things must change Some propagate religious lies We loved, but God loved most All is not lost, for peace comes As we walk down the village paths To the grave, protesting Protesting against death.

1. Yeah, senseless Yeah, Senseless Do you hear? All women are mine, Webster In my Angolan village. Incorrigible corrupt Creating chicken economics At Bretton Woods, COMESA ….international thievery. Still, you dream And you, With your sexually transmitted degrees Retire to abyssimal oblivion I drank your water Swallowed your bait Waited waited and waited That fool is a politician he fooled me AGAIN Yeah, Senseless 2. A Baby is a Politician A baby is a politician when he needs us he comes crawling begging cajoling kneeling To the point of weeping When he comes of age Denies we changed his diapers.