The Duplicitous Whispers Of The Patriarchy

I interpret the age old adage that ‘behind every successful man is a woman’ as reinforcing regressive gender stereotypes, positing a woman’s role as ancillary to male achievement rather than the pursuit of autonomous aspirations. Throughout generations, the adage has been systematically eroded by patriarchal subterfuge, surreptitiously appending the corrosive codicil: provided she remains perpetually in his shadow. What originated as a well-intentioned acknowledgement of women’s contributory roles has degenerated into a pernicious social doctrine, conditioning men to equate personal worth with the suppression of female ascendancy. Should a woman surpass male counterparts in fiscal achievement, intellectual rigour, or domains historically monopolised by masculine prerogative, the prevailing response seldom embodies enlightened approbation. Rather, it frequently engenders a visceral insecurity wherein patriarchal conditioning conflates parity with impotence, thereby calcifying regressive dynamics that suffocate mutual progression and erode relational equanimity.

Distressingly, these patriarchal distortions have permeated female psyches with commensurate detriment. Certain women, themselves products of systemic indoctrination, may erroneously construe constructive critique or divergent perspectives as existential challenges to authority or covert assertions of dominance. Such misinterpretations often precipitate disproportionate reactions, inadvertently reinforcing the hierarchical structures they purportedly oppose. Herein lies patriarchy’s Janus-faced deception: it ensnares men in the fallacy that virility is contingent upon unassailable supremacy, whilst inculcating women with the toxic axiom that their luminosity must never eclipse male counterparts. This corrosive ideology, rooted in zero-sum hierarchies rather than collaborative symbiosis, reduces human connections to transactional contests where affection is quantified through crude metrics of income, volume, or physical stature.

Yet we must confront the existential query: what becomes of societies enthralled by this delusion of dominance? The consequences manifest with sobering clarity – atrophied potential, ruptured kinship, and collective existence perpetually half-realised. Authentic fortitude resides not in trepidation of feminine excellence but in its wholehearted embrace – not as adversarial challenge, but as revelatory prism through which our shared humanity gains sharper focus. No woman should endure the existential vandalism of clipped wings, stifled ambitions, or success diminished through reductive gendered lenses. Societal evolution demands we dismantle the pernicious myth of finite triumph – that one individual’s ascension mandates another’s decline. Let achievement be reimagined as communal vista rather than gendered conflict; behind every flourishing soul should resonate a symphony of voices, unshackled by spatial hierarchies, whether standing adjacent, ahead, or wherever illumination beckons.

All has been said and here is the crystallization of my paradigm: whilst enlightened men celebrate feminine potency as complementary rather than competitive, those shackled by fragile self-concept inevitably perceive assured women as existential threats. Crucially, such disquiet seldom reflects upon the woman herself, but rather unveils the tremulous foundations of a masculinity constructed upon archaic delusions of inherent superiority.

 

The Unprosecuted Murder

It was around 19:00hrs on Tuesday, and for some obvious reasons, Zesco had loadshedded the entire part of the country I was in. I sat in my car at Levy Mall for quite a while, thinking through what I was about to do. Was I getting mad?

Maybe. 

I was trying so hard to calm myself down.

"Get hold of yourself, man.” I told myself while punching the steering wheel, which made the horn go off.

I drove from the car park in front of Stay Easy Hotel and parked near the NAPSA offices. Without a second thought, I got out of the car, crossed Church Road, and walked straight into Lusaka Central Police Station. Inside, the rechargeable fluorescent lights hummed like a jury of ghosts. 

The officer at the desk suspiciously looked up with his cigarette-stained lips twitching.

"What do you want?" he asked in a heavily accented Nyanja. Like the one spoken in western province and Livingstone. This is common only among police officers.

"I killed a man," I said. "His name was Oliver Phiri."

He squinted, waiting for the punchline. When none came, he leaned back in his chair, creaking like an old gallows. 

"Go on."

I repeated what I had said.

He screamed for his friend who was in the back office to come and listen to my hallucinations. This other officer looked younger and more like he would have loved to be somewhere else interesting, maybe on the beaches of Samfya sipping a cold Mosi, than on this particular night shift. 

He told me to remove the shoes, belt, got everything I had in my pockets including the car keys and threw me in the police cells. 

"You will spend your night in the cold police cells for wasting government's time," He bellowed. 

The following day was engulfed in a whirlwind of nothing but interrogations by different police officers. Some were in groups, others were alone and still others were just absent when it was their turn to tango with me. They reluctantly charged me with some crime but needed more evidence to build a strong case and avoid a nolle prosequi. 

I was stuck with the same message and I repeated it over and over. I even explained that I'd show them the grave where I buried the remains, but they all didn't believe me. The cops, the forensics team, and the prosecutor all concluded that I was just wasting their time as they couldn't find any leads on a certain Oliver Phiri that I was telling them that I had killed. The recommendation was that I needed a psychiatric evaluation at Chainama Hills Hospital. 

Unbeknownst to me, one police officer decided to video my questioning and plastered it on social media. Must have been one of these phone adictated Gen Zs. Mainstream and social media called it a nonsensical stunt. My coworkers claimed it validated their suspicions of my going through a midlife crisis. My own mother sent a voice note on WhatsApp.

“You need help. My pastor is willing to come and pray for you.”

But the truth was simple: I killed a man. He was an insufferable chain smoker, he screamed at the helpless and slept in the stench of alcohol and self-loathing. Why do we even mourn bad people when they die? I am supposed to be receiving the Grand Commander of the Order of Freedom Award from the president. The dead guy was unempathetic, domineering, selfish, self-absorbed and aggressive. 

The murder happened slowly. I starved him of his vices, cut off his air and smothered his excuses. I buried him piece by piece, and when the last of him withered, I went to his house and scraped every trace of him.

His autopsy would read 'death by reinvention.' No fingerprints, no DNA – just the quiet obliteration of a life that deserved to die. No headstone marks his grave, but I'll never forget the epitaph in case I will ever have a change of heart: "Here lies a wrong that was righted."

"Don't judge me for killing a man," I tell anyone that judgingly stares at me. You wouldn't understand unless you've stood in the ashes of your own funeral, breathing deeper than ever before and desquamation taking place. 

I, Oliver Phiri, put ink to paper for posterity to judge me that I killed a man. And this man was the old me.

Power Doesn’t Corrupt. People Do!

I saw a news item claiming to be from Petauke the other day, where farmers were putting stones and sand in the middle of bags of crop produce to increase their weight as they sold them to authorities. Subtle indicators of selfishness are everywhere, allowing us to extrapolate how and why people behave this way when they get into leadership positions.

How can we expect our leaders not to be corrupt in a society where we, the people, are generally corrupt? This is a question we need to ponder as we grapple with our current societal problems. 

In the words of RJ Rushdoony, there can be no good character in civil government if there is none in the people. You cannot make a good omelet with bad eggs.

Leadership reflects society’s character. You cannot have a morally upright government in a society where the people are not morally upright. Who constitutes a government at the end of the day? Is it not the people of that society?

Zambians ought to reconcile with our true character. Doing so will help us better understand why we have such a leadership crisis in our country. We’ve turned drainage, roads, and any other space into garbage dumps. People want to set up businesses anywhere, but they also don’t want to put up toilets or clean and safe water sources. We have a people that are exceptional in reminding everyone of their rights but are mute on their social responsibility and accountability.

A lot of traffic jams are caused by people who have an inherent belief that they’re superior to others. This is displayed in their refusal to yield or follow traffic flow. During rush hour, we see people driving on pavements and in wrong lanes. Someone will feel that their vehicle is going to a grinding halt, but they wait until the vehicle stops in the middle of the road, thereby causing traffic.

Indeed, the same citizens who criticize government officials for using bribery to purchase votes do not hesitate to offer bribes to guards in shopping malls just to park in disabled spots. The same people who denounce nepotism in government are the first to hire friends, family members, and relatives when they open businesses. Health professionals may lament the embezzlement of state funds in health, but many are comfortable helping themselves to drugs and medical supplies meant for impoverished sick people.

In their defense, critics might argue that "power corrupts people." While their evidence may seem irrefutable, this sentiment is misleading and shifts responsibility from real people onto abstract concepts like power. Power doesn’t corrupt people. Rather people with corrupt tendencies assume positions of power. The actions of corrupt people in power are a continuation and amplification of their normal behavior in society. I call it the law of conservation of corruption.

Now that we have established the root cause of these ills, the questions we must answer are where do we go from here? What factors have contributed to these challenges becoming the country’s original sins? Additionally, what social and cultural obstacles continue to impede the country’s advancement? 

These issues are not fundamentally insurmountable. Therefore, it is essential to consider the necessary elements that could contribute to a viable solution. We need to actively work towards constructing a moral society, where moral standards that uphold ethical conduct are strictly enforced and valued. Put differently, we need to begin building a society where it is deemed wrong to jump queues or throw trash out of the window of your car, and not seen as normal. 

Correcting societal ills begins with each and every one of us. If we can work on shaping our moral character as a people, the quality of leadership in government will improve over time. As postulated by Joseph de Maistre, every country has the government it deserves. 

Nothing occurs by happenstance.

Don’t Get Stuck On That Station

In the 2000s, I was doing a diploma in forestry at Zambia Forestry College in Kitwe. My peers had concocted a story that I was using a train to travel to and from college to my home in Chongwe, thanks to my notorious late night travels. Sometimes, I'd arrive as late as past 22:00hrs and friends would wait for me at Kamfisa Turn Off. 

There was this one time, school closed as usual, and I got on a Mitsubishi Rosa bus from the famous Kitwe Main Bus Station, aka KMB. I still wonder why they called it KMB instead of KMBS! Anyway, when I boarded the bus, which was almost full and ready to depart by my assessment, something strange started happening. The other passengers who I found began disappearing one by one. Instead of getting fuller, the bus was getting emptier. 

To cut a long story short, the bus started off at 13:00 hours even when I got into at around 08:00hrs and moved at a snail's pace, arriving in Lusaka close to 21:00 hours. At each new station, passengers would get on and off the bus. Some would stay for just a few stops, while others would ride on.

After getting dropped off at Stenley Bar, I jumped on one of those late Chelstone buses. To the uninitiated, there are two important things to note here: first, Stenley Bar was the only place where buses would drop and pick up passengers after a certain time. Secondly, most passengers including drivers on those late bus rides would be drunk for some reason. And this bus was no exception.

There are two types of people who are naturally humorous: drunk people and kids. And there are three types of people who are likely to speak the truth: drunk people, kids, and angry people. So, the cohort I found myself with was intersecting between honesty and humor. This ride was hilarious and laced with some truth.

When I arrived at the Chi Tank Bus Station, I dropped off and ran down the Great East Road to the Chongwe Bus Station. I found an old Toyota DCM (aka Toyota Dyna Clipper) bus loading, which was headed to Feira in Luangwa. Since it didn't have the aesthetics and had a lot of fish baskets, I didn't get on this one and hoped for the next bus that would come.

After the DCM left, a Toyota Camry driven by a man in military fatigue pulled up. He was alone, and that I didn't trust much. 

In those days, rumors circulated about serial killers roaming free, murdering people and removing their hearts. But that wasn't the strangest part - the rumour claimed that these killers would then use the harvested hearts as bait for sharks. The supposed reasoning behind this gruesome act was that sharks allegedly had precious stones inside them, making them a prized target. It's a ridiculous and chilling tale that doesn't make any sense in retrospect.

Anyway, since I couldn't confirm the validity of those rumors, prevention was definitely better than cure. So, I lied that I was waiting for someone and declined the offer.

Then, vehicles stopped stopping and buses were nowhere to be seen. I checked the time on my Nokia 5210, and it was almost 23:00 hours. I panicked and called a friend who stayed with his sister in Garden Compound. He was cool with me spending the night. I got on a bus to town, dropped off at Zesco HQ, crossed the Great East Road and got on a bus to Garden Compound on Makishi Road. Luckily, I found friend waiting for me when I dropped off from the bus. God bless his soul. I spent the night and only traveled to Chongwe the following day.

Thinking through those events that happened at Chelstone Bus Station. I was waiting for a better transport but I didn't have a clue how it would look. Don't get stuck on that station for the bus which won't be coming. Hop onto that seemingly ugly DCM bus. As long as it moves, it will surely take you to your destination. Get into the Camry and hear this military man’s story. Talking to new people always opens up to new experiences and opportunities.

Nothing is guaranteed in life. Thus, approach life with a sense of flexibility, openness and humility, recognizing that uncertainty is an inherent part of the human experience.

When one fails to seize the moment, one risks stagnating in personal and professional growth. It's like being stuck in a rut, but instead of a rut, it's a comfy, cozy couch that's slowly sucking the life out of you. You'll look back and think, "I wish I had taken that chance or pursued that passion project." 

The consequences of not taking advantage of situations can be severe. You might experience a bad case of "what ifs" and "if onlys," which can lead to regret and a nagging sense of "I could've been a contender!" Throw your hat in the ring now. 

Tick, tock. Be aware of the precious and fleeting nature of time. As I waited on that station, time passed relentlessly and regardless of my circumstances that night. 

Don't let fear, doubt or complacency hold you back from capitalizing on favorable circumstances. Growth happens outside of the comfort zone and sometimes one needs to take a leap of faith to achieve goals and reach the full potential.

Don't get stuck on that station. Keep moving, keep growing, and always be open to new experiences and opportunities. Sometimes, the best option is the one right in front of you. In 2025, go ahead, take the leap and see where it takes you. Godspeed!!!