You have killed us, they cried
By Tilyenji Mwanza
IT IS now a few minutes past 1AM and I still can not find sleep, I keep tossing and turning as the image of one unidentified female trader affected by the inferno that engulfed city market in ZNBC News clip continues to replay in my head.
Warm tears roll down my cold cheeks, as I recall how this beautiful brown woman cried in pain and anguish.
Oblivious of the ZNBC camera fixated on her she jumped up and down in pain. Clasping her head like it would explode but it was when she beat her chest that you could visibly see that she was broken, I could feel her heart break, shuttered into pieces.
I could pick her emotion and feel it in me by the lump that now sits on my throat, the tears continue to threaten my eyes as I recall this poor woman’s outburst, her wailing a continuous little hammer in my head.
And finally, I recall her last gesture, she tossed her hands in the air and cried; “Mwatipaya, mwatipaya sure ( you have killed us.)”
Other images of the traders and mostly women continue to taunt me, their helpless faces and gestures rattle my mind. I close my eyes to try make out an emotion from them but I realise I can not because their faces are blank.
It is then I realise it is a feeling of loss the feeling you have when you do not know where to start from or where to run to, it is a feeling you have when you lose a loved one pivotal in your life.
I close my eyes and take a deep breathe I can feel the sharp pain in my heart it is not the cold I know, but it is the motherly instinct hurting inside me as I cry with my fellow women.
We fight and toil, our backs are bend because of the load called family whom we try to keep.
You, yes you, am talking to you! That flame you lit did not burn Edgar Chagwa Lungu, the flame you lit did not actually burn at all.
The flame you lit quenched the life that was burning inside those traders, in a short space you became a devil and took their lives, you have put out their light.
My tears are gone and now I have anger built inside of me as I write. I want to punch someone, I want to punch something.
I clasp my pillow and scream into it, in bid to take away my pain and anger at politics.
What is it you want?
Why are you adamant to lead a people who have rejected you?
How many people will you destroy before you will learn that it is enough?