Cousin Earnest

Almost at the same time that Zambia was busy cementing bilateral ties with Ghana, I was performing a very enjoyable piece of personal diplomacy somewhere in the furlongs of Mkushi, in that formless area between old Mkushi and Lwano district. My cousin Earnest who I had gone to visit in a bid to forge stronger bilateral ties with him, had rather nonchalantly indicated that his farm was a few kilometres off the Great North Road.

At the time I started off from Lusaka, just after 7 in the morning, it did not even remotely occur to me that my cousins definition of a “few kilometre off the main road” involved a certain inexplicable multiplying factor in reality. What was supposed to be a few kilometres, ended up being in excess of 80 kilometres. It was 80 kilometres of gravel, sand and dust. Through the huge expanses of farmland in Mkushi farming block; admiring the lush green plantations as far as the eye could see, spotting small aeroplanes parked in the garages and admiring hundreds of grazing sheep and cattle.

There is only a certain speed you can do with a VW Golf on a bumpy gravel road. But then Cousin Earnest had assured me that the road was immaculately paved by the White farmers and that I would have absolutely no problem. Except just as with the distance, I should have known better. Despite the lethargically slow speed, I did not encounter any untoward difficulties, up until we hit into some rather voluminous sand deposits. Despite my best efforts I could only watch in despair as my car huffed and puffed in a vain attempt to extricate itself from the sand. Thank God for a higher vehicle that came to our rescue, though not without a more than fair amount of digging and pushing.

Eventually we got to my cousin’s farm. At this time darkness had just set in and my head was throbbing with every turn of my neck.

Mkushi river which flows in Earnest's farm

My cousin’s farm is a 290 hectare expanse of land in Chief Shaibila’s area, whose size and level of activity could be considered to be totally out of keeping with its master. My cousin is a small man almost in every sense of the word. He hugged me, his small hands feeling odd as he patted my back. He spoke in a small yet calm voice, looked me over and led me into the house. Earnest is a simple man. His modest education perhaps showing in his choice of clothing and the economy that thrives on his homestead. Hundreds of chickens roam the huge yard, freely mixing with Turkeys, pigeons and goats. Three fat dogs, too lazy to get up, merely wag their tails appreciatively as we skip over them to get to the house.

This is Shepard, one of my cousin's sons

Once the seats had been brought and we sat down, both his wives presented themselves before me. They knelt down, and greeted me in Tonga. The greeting was lengthy, a chorus of responses to a number of standard greetings. The first wife started followed by the younger second wife, whose accent betrayed her ethnic origin. It seemed to me that there was always an undercurrent of a silent approval in my cousin’s demeanour as his wives knelt there. It caught on and the wives loosened somewhat and cracked a few jokes.

My cousin is a self-made man. His polygamous ways though not unanimously accepted in our family, have never stopped him from making a success of his life. He lost his parents when he was still young, did not go far in his formal education, yet it doesn’t take long for one to realise that this small, unassuming modest man possesses a certain innate intelligence that has seen him thrive in his chosen vocation. He takes farming with the utmost seriousness, evidenced by the vast maize and soya beans fields that straddle his farm.

The two nights I spent on his farm were perhaps the most insightful days of my life this year. I let him talk, this was clearly his kingdom. I was the wide-eyed, open mouthed novice. Unlike Sancho Panza in Don Quixote, I thought my own ideas too inferior to warrant voicing. I would let Earnest lead, he was more competent.

As I drove back to Lusaka, hazarding the gravel road, crawling along at snail’s pace, I was grateful that I had made the trip. It was gruelling but it was also rich with experience. Pictures of farms bursting with tomato and maize produce have been posted on social media to the point of cliché. One is rarely aware of the hardwork, the risks and sometimes the heartbreak that is often a close accompaniment to farming. Often times this a business of falling and rising again, the bruises sustained from learning along the way will be there.

Beneath the soft demeanor, the commands delivered in whispers, you get a sense that Earnest has that thing. That inner strength of character that motivational books are made of. The unrelenting desire never to be limited by a certain station or circumstances in life. When it is easy to wallow in self-pity, he chose to do something about it and is today reaping the rewards.  Really proud of him.