GRIEVING A FRIEND WHO BECAME A BROTHER

“Bennie, please, find out if this is true but I understand Milton Mweetwa has died in Shiwang’andu but I have no contacts,” the message via Facebook messenger came from TensonKafunga on April 23, 2021. The message pierced through my heart like a sharp metal.

I almost collapsed from my office chair because I could not just stomach the idea of Milton having died, two days after talking to him and assuring me that he was getting better and that once he finished his medicine as advised by the health personnel, he would come to Lusaka and stay with me for at least a month until he felt better.

So, the very idea of him dying shocked and shook the demons out of me. I wished it was just a dream that would come to pass but it wasn’t to be. When I regained my strength, I called Tiza, Milton’s niece who was also in Lusaka and she told me she had heard about it but that she could not get the details of what really happened that day as his wife, the only persons who was with him at the time of death was just crying. Then, it dawned on me that my friend of many years had truly breathed his last.

I could not work anymore. On a normal day, I would work up to around 18:00 before knocking off but after receiving this bad news around 15:00 about the death of my friend of many years, I had no more power left in my bones. I simply switched off the computer and sauntered to the nearest bus station at Family 24 since my officer was in Lusaka’s Light Industrial Area.

Milton and I had come a long way. I first met Milton at Mwaata Basic School in Kalomo in 2000 when we were in Grade 8 and we clicked at once. We were just young boys with small statures. Our love for each other was mutual and we always looked out for each other.

I particularly loved Milton because he was the opposite of who I was. Growing up, I was a hot tempered, stubborn boy. One thing I hated and I think will hate to my grave, is being intimidated. I hated injustice in all its forms and that is what made me at variance with school authorities most of the time in my quest to defend myself and speak for others.

Then, life was not the way it is in schools nowadays. We used to be canned for any small mistake we committed and I hated this with my life, whether done against me or another person.

Milton was a different breed. He was an ever-jovial person. This was the kind of a person who would laugh it off even after being caned by teachers. He harboured no grudge against anyone who wronged him and took life one day at a time. He came from a humble background just like me and most of his school fees were paid by the Social Welfare Department in Kalomo.

There were days when he would be chased from school on account of the Social Welfare not having paid his school fees and I would escort him to their offices to pursue the matter. On days when we did not have enough to eat during break time, we would walk to the nearest market and buy homemade crackers. We used to call them tobaumutwe and then we would sit together and eat before going back to class. We were simply inseparable.

In Grade 8 Term 3, just before the Grade 9s finished writing their exams, I was chosen as the school headboy. This now because a new passport for Milton to misbehave knowing that I would always protect him. Milton was not a troublemaker but he had his own way of creating scenes that would leave the whole school speechless.

Some teachers who did not tolerate his entertaining nature found faults in him and often handed him over to me to punish him but I would never do that. As a matter of fact, there is no single day that Milton was punished as long as he was handed to me. Some prefects started complaining that I was overprotecting him but I was the final authority and the headteacher trusted me like the rising sun and so, prefects knew that reporting me to him was like taking coals to New Castle.

We were in different classes but we always looked out for each other. I believe it was those careful days we spent together which grew our friendship such that when we qualified to Grade 10 and went to Kalomo High School, our bond grew even stronger. Coincidentally, Milton and I were put in the same hostel and we were just a class away from each other though I remained a day scholar until Grade 12 Term 1 when I joined him.

At Kalomo High School, we were almost becoming a formidable gang of uncontrollable boys. We teamed up with other characters like Jimmy Hamuluwa. We did everything wrong on campus apart from drinking and smoking. We had no regard for any prefect. We did as we pleased and no one would dare say anything.

From time to time, we found ourselves on the wrong side of school rules but we covered each other well. I remember one whole term that I never attended Preventive Maintenance and the teacher in charge, the most feared man on campus, Mr. Moyo, hunted for me like a rat in the Gobi Desert but again, I got the coverage from the prefect in charge, one guy I can only remember as Manasseh.

I still remember the day we were going to write our last paper on Wednesday, December 15, 2004, I lost my nice sandals in the hostel and Milton came to help me look for them but we had to hurry up because police were waiting for us at the Northern Hall so that we pack in advance and once we finish writing exams, no Grade 12 would be allowed to go back to the hostels because a few weeks back, we had rioted and for the rest of the days that followed, we were roaming free like injured buffaloes; doing whatever we wanted as teachers watched helplessly.

Those who had started drinking would leave campus to go and drink without anyone doing anything. For the three weeks that followed, some grade 10s and 11s went hungry as food at the dining was taken from them with impunity. The situation on campus simply became uncontrollable and teachers were merely praying for the days to wind down faster so that we could leave.

It was during this total confusion that I lost my nice sandals and my faithful friend Milton came to help me look for them and after a long search, we gave up but two weeks after completing school, Milton came home wearing the same sandals he helped me look for. We just burst into laughter when we recalled the people we suspected could have stolen the same.

When I asked him why he had not just asked for the sandals instead of stealing them from me, he told me that he knew I was not going to give him. According to him, I had a very bad habit of always giving him old things and that I was selfish because I only wanted to look nice alone without realising that I had a cousin in him who also wanted to look nice. That is how close we were.

From 2004 when we completed Grade 12, we went our separate ways. I went to Lusaka to pursue a diploma in Journalism at Evelyn Hone while he pursued a career in agriculture and the next time we met, was in 2009 when I was working at the new Vision while he was working for a certain company and because of our busy schedule, I am the one who used visit him at his place of work and at home in Thornpark where he used to stay.

In 2010, we both went back to Kalomo. He worked at a certain ranch in Choma and when I joined Namwianga Radio station in 2011, he moved to Zambezi Ranch and the next time he heard about me was when I was on air. A month later, he came to see me at the radio station and from then, we called each other every day. I can safely say there is no person I used to talk to on the phone like I did with Milton. His perception of life in general and what he wanted to achieve was always inspiring to listen to.

Despite coming from a humble background, Milton never allowed his situation to dictate his progress. He was an achiever and whatever he purposed in his heart to achieve, he did. He was dedicated to duty and enjoyed the work he was doing and it was only a matter of time before potential employers started fighting over him and in no time, he joined Silverland Ranch.

When I went to visit him around 2012, he was the farm manager, staying in a very big house alone, in a serene part of the farm. Every single day, he would take me out on his motorbike to introduce me to all his friends and workers telling them, “this is Bennie whom you only hear on radio. He is my friend and we have come a long way together.”

I did not like the idea of him introducing me everywhere we went but he insisted that he wanted to prove to everyone that he was connected to “big people” and that they should not think that because he was working with them at the farm, then he was a villager like them.

“You see, I always tell these chaps that I am very educated but because we work together on this farm, they think that we are at the same level. Mwana, me I am very educated that is why I rub shoulders with people like you. When they hear you speak nice English on radio, they think you were trained from outside the country and when I tell them that we were together at Mwaata, they think I am lying,” Milton said one day as we ploughed the farm with a motorbike in search of village chickens.

I was not happy being introduced wherever we went that I worked for radio but Milton always had his own way and nothing was about to change. I allowed him to have a field on me for the time that I was in his house which I must admit, I enjoyed to the fullest. Milton fed me like I had gone on a fattening expedition and the day I was leaving, he packed beef, bush meat, eggs, chickens, guinea fowls, ground nuts, eggs, name them, for me to take home.

When I moved back to Lusaka Milton again moved to Shiwang’andu where he established himself, bought a farm, animals, and started farming but before long, another white man poached him and took him to Isoka. His family remained in Shiwang’andu. As a matter of fact, he wanted to resign saying he was better off working for himself but I advised him to hang on for a year so that he could fully establish his farm.

Before long, Milton’s daughter Ethel died after a short illness. This affected Milton very much. He loved his daughter to the moon and back and he could not stomach this. He told me how he regretted leaving Kalomo, saying his daughter was better off dying in Kalomo than in a “foreign land”. I shared in his pain because I knew the plans he had for his daughter and the family in general. 

Before long, Milton started complaining of backache and chest pains but he continued working. At one point, Milton requested me to accompany him to Malawi saying he wanted to try traditional medicine as there was someone he knew who was good at it but by this time, we were all broke. While we were still contemplating on how to raise money for the trip to Malawi, my friend told me he was much better and had resumed normal duties at the farm but continued telling me that he would love to go on leave and travel to Lusaka to stay with me even for a month.

We resumed our long calls which went way beyond midnight sometimes. It was always great listening to his jokes, the laughter and jests. He would remind me how our head teacher at Mwaata, the late Mr. Hamooya loved me. He started calling me Mr. Hamooya’s son and we would just laugh it off.

I would also remind him how one day Mr. Hamooya beat him from the window. Milton was noisy and he used to sit at the back by the window. So, one day, he was chatting and laughing in the back while the teacher was teaching. He did not know that Mr. Hamooya was by the window, watching him. Before he realised it, Mr. Hamooya pulled out a whip and clobbered him by the window until he escaped from his grip and ran to the middle of the class. This is one incident Milton never forgot in his life.

About three months later, Milton called me telling he was again not feeling well. I made a suggestion that it was important for him to travel to Lusaka so that he could do some tests at the University Teaching Hospital (UTH) but in his usual humour, he told me even if he was sick, his condition had not reached the stage of seeking medical attention at UTH.

“I know you very well. You are very deceitful. Why are you insisting that I come to UTH for proper medical check-ups? What agenda do you have against me? Now, let me tell you in case you don’t know; UTH is not a place where each time you have a headache you go there and if that is what you are doing, I see myself taking your body to Kalomo in a coffin. How many people have you ever heard who went to UTH and came out alive?

“In case you don’t know, UTH is the final destination before you die but since I still have a long way to go, you will never see me at UTH. So, your agenda has failed. Instead, it is me who will bury you iwe hyena so that I even inherit that ka company of yours since you have no wife that I can get. In fact, as a family, we are giving you three months to find a woman to marry. If you fail to find one within this time, expect me in Lusaka with a woman from the village and you will have no choice but to marry her because from the look of things, it seems you fear women and if we don’t step up as a family, you will never marry,” he said as we burst into laughter together.

On February 1, 2023, Milton posted on Facebook about the challenges his family was going through and he, as usual, mentioned my name saying I was being stupid. I called him and he told me he was in pain but working and went on to say the problem with me was that I never took him seriously over his situation.

“Balombe, mutandilekelikufwakamuliko. Inomulabelekamulimoonzi?” (loosely translated as you guys should not allow me to die when you are there. Of what value are you?) he said it while laughing. At this point, I realised my friend was not joking despite his usual jokes. Meanwhile, all the friends on Facebook took it as his usual jokes. When I knocked off, I called him but his phone was not going through.

In the morning, he called me around 06:00 and he told me he was much better and that I should not worry but said he was about to resign because he felt undervalued and not appreciated. He explained to me about the unnecessary squabbles he had with one of the supervisors and as usual retorted; “I am educated. I cannot be fighting with these Grade 4 Didn’ts.” We laughed it off and had a long chat with him about other things such as his plans for his farm and some things he was planning for his mother back at the village.

The next three weeks that followed, we used to chat every evening and early in the morning. He actually started waking me up in the morning because he used to report for work around 05:00 and we would chat for some time before I start preparing for work. Two weeks later when I called him, he told me he was at the hospital and that he was admitted. Two days later, Milton was discharged and it was at this time that he told me that once he was done with his medication, he would come to Lusaka and stay with me for a month just to ensure that he was fully recovered. 

On February 20, 2023, I called Milton and he told me he was far much better and was working from home in Shiwang’andu and again he told me that in two weeks, he would be done with his medication and was coming to stay with me in Lusaka and I told him he was most welcome.

For whatever reason, on 21 and 22, we never communicated and on February 23, 2023, that is when Tenson sent me that message via messenger that my friend was no more. I almost went mad. For a moment, I went numb. I did not know what to do such much that by the time I was calling Tiza, I was not myself.

I went home looking like a drenched chicken that had just survived a monsoon. The atmosphere of grief enveloped my mind. I could not think about anything else but Milton. Truly, I felt like I had failed my friend. His words, though said jokingly that we, as his friends were watching him dying, now made sense. I blamed myself for not taking him seriously. Maybe, just maybe, if I had done something, I would have saved my friend’s life. Maybe if we had gone to Malawi, I would have saved him. The world crumbled right before my eyes. I was helpless and hopeless. Milton had vanished from the surface of the earth just like that. Taken away from us like a flower plucked from the garden.

Throughout the night, my phone kept on ringing with people, some of which I did not even have their numbers, calling to find out from me what really had happened to Milton because they knew how close we were but I had no proper answer to give them. The cold hand of death had touched my friend. The very idea that Milton’s body was lying lifeless in the mortuary sent a chilling sensation down my spine. The very thought that I would never see him or receive those long night calls from him again sent me to the blink of madness.

Among the people I have lost in life, Milton is one of the people whose death pained me to the bone. I never slept that whole night. I cried like a child. I mourned Milton like a parent would to his or her child. A hefty emptiness engulfed me. Everything around me stopped making sense. What pained me most was the fact that I never managed to see his body due to scant information on the repatriation of his remains to Kalomo from Shiwang’andu.

If I had, I would have requested to see the body when it reached Lusaka, enroute to Southern Province but my prayer is that one day, I will travel to Kapaulu, his final resting place, and at least see where my dear friend was buried just to pay my last respects.

As I was writing this chapter, I shed tears in a foreign land as I continued grieving my true friend of all seasons. Milton was the only person who could write my story in full without leaving out any details. 21 years of friendship and unbreakable bond taught us to live like brothers and I can confirm that he was a truly faithful friend who always watched my back.

We shared in pain and through thick and thin, we tugged along, paved our way, and celebrated our little successes together. It was painful to lose Milton at his prime time and would have loved to have him by my side now because he deserved a share in everything I have achieved today.