Food For Thought

Kennedy Chanda stumbled back home, reeking of something that could only be combination of Kachasu, Chibuku and tujilijili. He was humming a beat of Michael Jackson's Smooth Criminal only that he would become inaudible when singing the vocals. Whatever he remembered in his grey matter, he burst out laughing in the midst of the song. 

His brain brain was clearly multitasking as it also needed to coordinate and balance the walking despite the alcohol affects on the cerebellum. Sometimes he would stand still for what seemed like days, swaying from side to side like a reed in the Kafue River, as he waited for the brain to reconfigure the movements and the tempo in his steps. 

It was clear he had a great time out with friends: drinking, clowning and jiving. 

When he reached home, his wife, greeted him with a warm smile and a steaming hot plate of nshima, Zambia's most sacred dish. He devoured the meal like he was about to die, savoring every bite. Especially the flavorful relish made from dried pumpkin leaves and what he thought was small fresh fish.

"Ah, you've outdone yourself, my dear!" Mr. Chanda exclaimed amidst his gulps of water as he washed down the meal.

"This relish is just like my mother used to make on the shore of Lake Mweru in Kashikishi. You've added the perfect touch with the small fresh fish!"

Mrs. Chanda's expression which started with smiles changed to confusion. 

"Small fish? I don't remember adding any fish to the relish. I only recall using pumpkin leaves and small pumpkins."

She de-strung a pile of pumpkin leaves, and cook them by simmering them with small tomatoes just for a few minutes until the leaves are tender and sumptuous. 

At least that’s what she remembered doing.

As they stood in stunned silence, the sound of crickets and the creaking of the old house seemed to provide a soundtrack to the suspense.

The couple exchanged skeptical glances. Mr. Chanda insisted he had tasted fish, while Mrs. Chanda swore she hadn't added any. 

Determined to resolve the dispute, Mrs Chanda rummaged through the house for some papers, pushed them on the fire which was almost going out, too a deep breath and blew it out on the papers that were now smoldering. 

Once lit, she carefully approached the pot, now empty except for a few lingering leaves. Peered inside whilst tilting it at about 45 degrees so that Mr Chanda can also see what was in the pot.

They gasped simultaneously.

Mr. Chanda shrieked. Huffed. Puffed. Covered his mouth. 

He felt the entire booze leaving his body instantly. "Oh no, I’ve just eaten a lizard!"

The small fresh fish was, in fact, a lizard – cooked to perfection – that had fallen into the pot from the eaves of their grass-thatched house. With his his inebriated antics now dissipated, Mr Chanda's thoughts were on the food he had just eaten.