Welcome to Munda wa Chitedze

May 18 2024

Dear Diary,

Greetings from Munda wa Chitedze Farm, where I have relocated to from the hustle and bustle of your town. Don’t worry if this is my farm, or I am one of the farm workers here. That is a matter of little consequence.

And, even if I told you where this farm is located, would you care a hoot?

Make no mistake, this farm has nothing like that famous Animal Farm where hyenas led a revolt against people and when they won. took up the people’s gait and mannerisms, declaring: ‘All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others’.

As I write, I can feel the cool smell of dung from the kraal; I can hear the soul-soothing crowing of the cock from the distance; and when I walk around, I feel the soya bean leaves caressing my calf. Not a calf as in ‘a baby cow’ but as in akatumba, abale.

When I cast my gaze across the horizon, all I see are brown maize stalks, ready for harvest. The rains were bad, but on this farm, we are lucky we used some liquid fertiliser and with conservation agriculture, things have not been that bad. Why should we keep blaming all our failures on cyclones, Ukraine and cholera?

I could tell you more. When I feel like it, I pluck some juicy mango. The choice is wide. From tommy, kent and alphonso varieties, life is good on this farm. Within a year you can enjoy the fruits in a land where all mango trees became charcoal overnight.

So, you see, Dear Diary, all my five senses are in order on the Munda wa Chitedze Farm.

Never mind the name. chitedze, climbing beans, is the best crop we produce on this farm. We add value to it, and produce some itchy stuff, which we are selling substantially, locally, and exporting. The formula is top secret, like Coca-Cola.

So, one of these days, I was in the shed watching the sun set in the western horizon. It was red, shaped as a ball against a yellow and orange firmament, sinking towards nowhere.

My memory took me years back.

I have fond memories of Kamuzu Day, before town life choked me. On this day, the Ngwazi always put on a Wilson Hat, a tail coat (in Chichewa, it is called kateya!), not forgetting his signature fly whisk.

He always inspected a guard of honour. You don’t inspect a guard of honour without the army!

So, you see, I could go on to bore you with the workers at David Whitehead ,and other companies, who were laid off when Kamuzu lost his glory; the readily available medicine in the hospitals, the robust education, the great roads and so much more. While some dream of being smaller Ngwazis, reminiscences on the farm show otherwise.

I reminisce of a time when people could walk from Goliati in Thyolo on the eve of Independence Day to watch the displays. And they would sleep at the Kamuzu Stadium! No one would ferry them in lorries and buses and give them a little something to make the stadium at least half-full, not half-empty as you would be misled if you are standing on the wrong side of the wall.

My grandmother told me a story many rains ago.

An old man, she said, was mauled in a village long ago, when men and animals were living together in peace, only in peace. It was a sorry sight at the time, because by then strange things were happening in the village since the arrival of a strange animal, the hyena.

“A goat was eaten up a few days ago. Chickens have gone missing. But if old men, our libraries are mauled like this, we must be afraid. We all suspect you of the hyena because since your arrival here, strange things have been happening,” said the chief.

“You accused me of eating up the goat. You blamed me for the missing chickens. Now you say I ate up this old man? I plead not guilty, once again,” replied the angry hyena.

My grandmother finished the story: “But the chief told the hyena to come closer. He pointed at the hyena’s mouth. There were straps of gray hair on the hyena’s lips. And the old man who was mauled had gray hair.”

I don’t know why that tale came back to me at the setting of the sun.

Dear Diary, all is well at Munda wa Chitedze Farm.