Falling is not a big deal, at least in a ghetto where many people walk around burdened by socioeconomic hardships.
The world spins too fast for the ghetto dweller and something or someone falling is a daily occurrence.
The Kwacha is always falling against other currencies.
Companies have fallen and closed, leaving thousands jobless. Our huts are always falling, mainly when it rains as heavily as it has done for the past week.
People too high on local brew are always falling. We are a falling people.
So, when Nkolimbo the Ghetto Minister of Information brought about his tattered handset and invited us to feast on pictures of people on their normal falling routine, we kicked the offer out for lack of substance.
‘Itaye imeneyo ayise, tikambe za kusowa kwa chimanga!’ One guy proposed, to our unanimous agreement.
We worried at length about the poor rains and the imminent poor yields this year.
Soon it was time to collect contributions for our communal lunch, m’memo, when one guy offered half his normal contribution.
‘Paja akuluakulu a zamadyedwe anena kale kuti tizidya kamodzi eti? Koma abale, kusauka ndi tchimo,’ one guy wondered.
‘Zoopsatu, m’malo molimbikitsa mthirira kuti tizidya momwe tingathere. Osauka alibedi mawu, ananena kale Billy Kaunda,’another replied.
‘Onenayo amakhala atakhutatu, atadya kale kawiri,’ a big bellied acquaintance said, lying on his back on an easy chair.
His belly flooded onto the sides, and the ‘one meal a day’ idea seemed a great contrast.
‘Naye Nkasa paja akuti olo nkhaka tisende tidzitafuna. Koma kodi olo ya nkhakayo ikupezeka?’ The big belly asked and paused a bit, and when he resumed, he concluded:
‘Apa azungu otithandiza nkhani ya zimbudzi aja akanayamba kaye kutiphunzitsa za mthirira.’