by
Mwizenge S. Tembo, Ph. D.
Emeritus Professor of Sociology
Since I came to the United States 48 years ago in 1977 to graduate school at Michigan State University to pursue my master’s degree in Sociology, I have lived away from members of my family in Zambia in Southern Africa. I lived 8,000 miles or 13,000Kms, and 18 hours flight from my family members. The cheapest round trip air ticket ranges from $1,200 to $2,000.00 or K32,000.00 to K54.000.00 by today’s Zambian Kwacha. Work schedules were very demanding. The painful regret I have had to live with the rest of my life is that it has been impossible for me to visit the sick, attend weddings and funerals of close family members and childhood friends. It was most painful during the era before the cell phone. Because I was lucky to even receive letters 6 weeks later informing me about some significant events. Buying postage stamps was too expensive for many of my relatives.
The funerals over the years that I could not attend were my mother Enelesi Kabinda in 2018, my nephew Victor Mayovu, my uncle JJ Mayovu, my aunt Mrs Rosemary Nya Zghovu, my niece Dora Mayovu, my sister Mwangata, Christina, Bridget, Mrs Zimba, numerous nephews and nieces, and close friends such as Mike Moono and my dearest friend Dr. Vincent Musakanya who passed away in UK in 2019.
I received a phone call in February from one of my adult nieces, Mable, that my 84-year-old brother-in-law Mr. Mtonga was very ill. In fact he had been sick for months and was bedridden. My 78-year-old sister Stella was nursing him at home. I talked to my brother-in-law. He sounded frail as I could barely hear his voice on the phone. To cheer him up I said I would bring him some music so that he and my sister could dance ballroom once again next time I saw him.
He and my sister loved to dance ballroom to Jim Reeves; they danced the twist to the Beatles music when they were a young dating couple in romantic love in the mid-1960s when I was 11 years old. My promise would have been empty promises except that since I retired, I had already planned a prior visit to go home to Zambia to visit relatives especially my father who is 105 years old. I kept praying that my brother-in-law would still be alive when I arrived in Zambia the next month.
Zambian and African marriages are not only a union of a man and woman but a union of two extended families. This is what I loved the most when I was growing up. When Mr Mtonga and my sister married, they created a spectacular home where all the young relatives from both sides of the family assembled and lived. Since they had a large stereo record player in their small 2-bedroom home, I was introduced to music, ballroom dance, and Rhumba dance. I was introduced to photography as a hobby. I had warm memories as a 14-year-old spending time at their home during school holidays from Chizongwe Boys Secondary Boarding School from 1967 to 1970.
The moment of visiting with Mr. Mtonga finally arrived after my two months of prayer and anxious anticipation. My sister took 6 of us close relatives into his bedroom. I was both relieved and shocked to see his physical state. He was laying down on a mattress with blankets and other covers around him. He was half propped up with pillows and cushions. He was not the vibrant Mr. Mtonga I had last seen 23 years ago in 2002. He was small and emaciated. He smiled with his white sparkling eyes when our eyes met. I shook his hand and clasped it for a while. I talked about my long journey from the United States and my fond memories of him at Chalumbe Primary School where he and my sister had been teachers.
There was no time to waste. I had bought the 3 CDs boxset of his most favorite music to which he and my sister had danced ballroom; country singer Jim Reeves. I had downloaded over a hundred songs to my laptop.
I whipped out my laptop and played the first song: “Distant Drums”, then “Guilty”, “He’ll Have to Go.” “Welcome to my world”. As he heard each song, his lips moved, his face brightened. I could see his mind and brain grinding to warm memories from 58 years ago. This was such a joy to see and witness. I suddenly had an exciting idea.
As the 6 relatives were chatting with commentaries, I asked my 78-year-old sister to dance ballroom with me as her husband watched. My sister was wearing a bright yellow top and skirt. This is how my 78-year-old sister danced ballroom with me her 70-year-old little brother. We danced to Jim Reeves’s “I can’t stop loving you” for 3 minutes. Mr. Mtonga beamed with excitement and looked like he wanted to stand up and dance. I took photos of Mr. Mtonga and my sister as they sat together as my sister muttered proudly: “This is my husband.” We left as Mr.Mtonga looked tired. He was like a baby who had had too much excitement for a little too long.
The following day at 1400 hrs. or 2:00pm, I got a cell phone message that my brother-in-law Mr. Mtonga had been rushed to the Chipata General Hospital emergency room where he had passed away peacefully at 9:00hrs or 9:00am. I began to cherish my last moments with him. As days passed, I began to think, “Did I contribute to his death when I helped create a moment of so much joy and excitement in him during what turned out to be his last precious hours of life?” What do you think?