Mr. Lackson Daka

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I thought it might be valuable for everyone to gain an appreciation for Zambian domestics but it seemed an overwhelming task since the term “family life” is about as close to nuclear as Canada is tropical. Canada itself, with the divorce rate at approximately 50%, has experienced major paradigm shifts in the past fifty years in the traditional definition. Add a fatal pandemic infecting between 20-30% of the population, intermarriage between 72 tribes in Zambia alone that haven’t always lived in harmony, and a dash of traditional social norms mostly absent in North America and you have the recipe for a distinctly different family milieu than Kevin Arnold experienced in those Wonder Years. There are countless other factors contributing to various family models here but overall, it’s safe to say that the typical in Canada does not traverse the Atlantic here, in Zambia. Most families I come into contact here are different in their hierarchy, composition, and size. It seems that the only definition that can be attributed to family here may be “living in the same immediate living area” and even that is pushing it at times. So instead of trying to delineate this rubric’s cube, I thought tracking a personal journey might help to illustrate some of the common themes along the way.
Lackson Daka is the man who has brought me into his home here in Zambia and made me part of the “family”. One night last month he sat me down and told me he was ready to tell me his story now. I think it was an act of trust and acceptance as reviving the experience was obviously painful and exposed his vulnerability. It seemed to embody many of the common themes within families that I was seeing here. So here is a verbatim of his story, which he agreed to write out himself. We thought it would be good practice… as he aspires to be a journalist.

I was born in 1979 in Solwezi, Northwestern Zambia. My mother was a Kaonde and my Father is a Nsenga (2 of the 72 tribes). They divorced two years later and my Father’s grandfather who was working as a cook at Solwezi boarding school took the responsibility. Then in 1985, he sent me to school and a year later he died after a long illness. In the same year, 1986, we had to travel back to Petauke our home land in Eastern province of Zambia. Since then I have never heard of my mother no we had any communication with each other. By November 1986, my Father’s elder brother who used to work as a male nurse under the ministry of health in Lundazi in the same province took me to stay with him. In 1987, I did not go into the third grade as they say I was still young; instead I have to start grade one again (the education infrastructure doesn’t always ensure that records are transferred accurately or timely. In fact, many of the graduates here are still awaiting their certification two years after graduating grade 12). In 1995 at the age of 17 I wrote my grade nine and unfortunately I did not make it to grade 10. And in 1996 my father in Petauke called me to start learning at the same school with my young brother Peter (who is my half brother cause we have different mothers but same father). Unfortunately things did not went into my expectation, cause instead of continuing my education I stop due to my Father failure to support. Then I had to stay at the village the whole year and I was even influenced to get marriage at a tender age (many teens find themselves part of the natural progression as a parent or married when school ends, which is often after grade seven or nine).
Then in 1997, one of my grandmother came into the village from were she is married to see me and she was disappointed to learn that I stop schooling. So she decided to took me to continue my education from where she stays.
And I stated my grade eight there in the same year. In 1998 I wrote my junior examination and before that my Father came for me as he said nobody had the responsibility of keeping me which was one way of denying my right to education; this was because he was threaten to divorce with my step-mother who was working under Clark Cotton a registered cotton company as a buyer and my father was not working. Then after my examination, I went back to him and do farming (agriculture is a livelihood of the majority of rural population here, which is the majority of the total population). When the result were out, I qualified for grade ten at Petauke Day Secondary School, but unfortunately my father fail to pay me school fees not that he did not have money, but because this mum who was too cruel threaten to divorce him if he pays for me (many stepparents refuse to accept stepchildren or are explicitly vindictive towards them). So I missed the first and half of the second terms, then I had to use the money I get from the Cotton I grow. Now the problem was that the money I had was too little for my school requirements. So I decided to go back to mum in Solwezi even if I didn’t know the wereabout of her. But upon reaching Petauke Bomo I met my female friends who were sisters and they were neighbours at our farm. These girls advised me not to go back to Solwezi but to start school and they told to be staying with them at their home (grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins often come to the aid of a family member they have never met before in any way they are able). May the Almight God bless them were ever they are.
The story goes on, I started grade ten and that was in 1999. In 2000 I did my schooling with little problems, but unfortunately I did not continue staying with my female friends cause my father was not happy with my succession, so he chased me out of them to have my own accommodation (jealousy, or the more politically correct “social-leveling”, is a common source of motivation for destruction here across the board). Then I went to complain to my grandmother whom I was staying with during my junior education. Then she accommodated me in her house which was within the Boma. So I see to it that one of my schoolmate who played an important part in my education. May his soul rest in internal peace as he is dead (There are funerals here weekly but you rarely hear of anyone actually dying from HIV or AIDS. However, TB is commonly a fatal ally for HIV. Isaacs had TB). This friend was a very good boy to me and his name was Isaacs. At one time he even bought me a school uniform and a pair of shoes. Then things went worse in my final grade in 2001. It was that in 2000 November, my father became very ill as he was suffereing from T.B. (Tuberculosis) and he was admitted at Petauke district hospital; a distant of about 37 killometres from our farm and I had to cycle every day to and from the farm to see him at the hospital and I had to be back in time to do farm work as I was the only child by then at the farm (November-March is the rainy season where the large majority of fieldwork is done). When school resumed I wondered were to get the money for school and examination fees. So seeing on how I worked during his illness, he told me to sale one cattle to use for school requirement. But after I sold it, he told that I had to give him all the money and changed his mind of using the money for school fees. And my great surprise was that he even refused me to be his son for a reason I don’t know upto now I fail to understand it was really the words of his mouth (his father told him he was foolish and that his real father had been his uncle whom he lived with in Lundazi and had since passed away).
And my final decision was to comit sucide, that was my last solution to my problems and suffering. But as I was in the process of doing that, something white appealed to me and stoped me not to comit sucide. It said I have to overcome these hardships, they are part of life but I wondered why some people does not go through this and that they live as if they are already in paradise.
After that I went to school and explained everything to Isaacs, and then he encouraged to pray hard and continue with my studies despite not going to school until time allows. Through my friends encouragements I became calm and patience and I had hope that one day things will be okey. As I missed the first term of my last grade, I started looking for well wishers to help with school and examination fees. Then I asked one of my former teacher who taught me at grade nine to help me financially. Upon doing so he took the massage to my grandmother who in turn travel to Lusaka Zambia’s capital city to her daughter who is my auntie and discussed the issue with her; and send K150 000 ($50 CND) for me to pay for school.
After my father and stepmother knew about this they became annoyed and there was quarrel between my father and the family to say my auntie had no any authority of helping me. But it was too late for him and he was fighting for a losing battle. After writing my final exams, I decided to stay within the Boma (town) to look for employment. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that chance cause my father was after me and he came for me to help him with the field work. Being my father I had no any objection and I went with him to the farm. There, the living was not okey with this cruel mum. She would brust me whenever she sees fitted regardless of the job I have done. All she wanted was to see me working the whole day without resting and my father had no time of deffending (this, usually men exploiting women though, is very common and not an exaggeration at all). In 2002, Peter’s mum called me to be staying with her in Chipata the provincial headquarters of Eastern Province where she works at a certain milling company as a milling operator (this is the woman who built the brick house I am staying in right now by herself on a constant salary, in a country where the annual inflation rate was around 30-40%!,(MISSING) for the past five years of K110 000 (just under $30 CND). When I went there mum wanted tot take me for driving school but my lucky did not last long as my father telephone her that she had no responsibility of sending me for any course because I was not her son. And that he wanted me back to Petauke, then she had no objection but to send me back.
Upon my arrival at Petauke station, I met my friend Isaac who also wanted to follow me to Chipata. So I didn’t went to the farm. Instead I had to go with Isaac to Lusaka where he stays. There we did not stay long as we decided that the little money he had has to be capialised in the village. Then we went to his home village in Petauke but things did not work out and we became straded. So we went back in the Boma to look for employment but all in vain. Then I decided to go back to Chipata and that was in June 2003. In Chipata, I found that mum was on transfer and she told me to stay at home as she had nobody who can stay in the house. And after some few months I was employed as a seasonal worker at a registered Tobacco company know as Zam-Leaf, Zambia Leaf Tobacco company. As a season worker means that you have to work for a certain period of time and we only works for three months in a year. From here its where I have met this boy Tyler and some one introduced him to me. I only hope that one day my dream will come true.

Lackson Daka

Lackson was just married to Nellia and they are expecting their first born this September. He has also opened the household to his cousin and hosts friends who are temporarily in the area for various reasons.
One of the key indicators of poverty is security. Whether it is food, government, or, in this case, family stability is a perquisite for change. I counted around fifteen different family dynamics for Lackson growing up and his path is not unfamiliar to many others here. Many people back home have voiced that they possess a feeling of “helplessness” and it is evident that this feeling is collective and resonant at the heart of many Zambian’s. The number of times Lackson uses “unfortunately” or “obligation” implicitly demonstrates this. I think his story is reflective of many obstacles faced by many children growing up here in Zambia with their family life and, although Lackson has overcome the odds simply in obtaining his high school degree, allows for some insight as to why poverty often breeds poverty. Lackson will be a great father and will be a better man for the trials that he endured but it’s obvious that many others will inevitably succumb to many of the “unfortunately”’s along the way. However, I think he is a testimony to why we can be realistically hopeful about change and with many of the development efforts being undertaken to replace obstacles with opportunities even optimistic.

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