It's been a year

Years pass like mere hours of the day, Loneliness breathes and builds castles in my heart. After you have gone,

I have searched for friends and found fake ones who suck my blood like leeches.

Well, friends are like that,

You did it to me and never said goodbye.

Every time I listen to Mlambo's songs,

I wonder why you left me friendless.

Perhaps you didn't want anything more from me, Dear Nkosiphile!

It's been a year, yet it feels like mere hours of the day. Cursed is the Bhutshe area and all its neighbouring areas.

How can an area have no young people?

What sin have you committed that cost you your life? Dear friend of mine,

I am in serious pain as I write this.

What should I say to your young brothers?

I'll only tell them that it's been a year, yet it feels like mere hours of the day.

My tears have lled up the Tjankwa River and ow like fountains of water.

Everyone can testify,

No rain has fallen this year, only my tears.

Dear friend of mine,

You could have gone with me,

Not leaving me with fake people in this world.

The wound will bleed forever.

THIS year I stumbled on a poetry book, ‘Fragments of My Broken Voice’, by one of Malawi’s contemporary authors, Ndongolera Mwangupili.

His published collection is quite poignant. Before I got my eyes inside the 76-paged collection, the cover design had already caught my attention and obviously, I went ahead with reading it.

As I have always done with other books, I quickly went to the foreword and the author’s notes.

My journey to the end of the book had, indeed, joined Mwangupili’s cry as he said, ‘...we are people who are born crying and are escorted to the grave with cries. Crying is our living. Crying is our survival.’ I add, crying is life, and crying is for the living.

The book dives deep into the human experiences of poverty, politics and pain, and ultimately, resilience. Mwangupili had taken me back to the village. The tone and sense of humour is that of a man drowning in a sea while holding onto floating wood.

Chapter one, “Cries of Anguish,” takes my whole thinking which sets the tone for the entire book with its raw emotion and evocative imagery.

The first poem, This Woman Called our Mother, worries about a community that seems to be stuck between the crack of ignorance. This could be my community. And this could be your community and could be our community.

The author presents a stark and powerful commentary on national issues, using vivid imagery to convey the message.

The metaphor of a woman suffering from various afflictions, such as economic syphilis and colonial gonorrhoea, serves as an allegory for the degradation and exploitation faced by communities at the hands of oppressive systems and institutions.

The imagery of sightless, stupid, and sickly children born from this woman talks of the consequences of such exploitation—generations afflicted with ignorance, weakness, and suffering.

The poem paints a bleak picture of societal decay and the detrimental effects of exploitation on both the present and future generations.

Mwangupili’s exploration of anguish is both personal and universal, capturing diverse experiences.

The chapter serves as a fragment of the author’s shattered voice, expressing the depths of despair and the struggle to find solace in the midst of turmoil.

But we are, ‘Empty people’, indeed. What can we do? The world is just nothing but a big joke.

Though we are broken and scattered, ‘Mating Cries’ is our everyday cry. This chapter reminds me that when souls are broken in poverty, pain, and desperation, the exploration of desire, connection, and the yearning for intimacy amidst brokenness is another unique characteristic of the human creature.

When we walk back home, we listen to ourselves. All we need is someone whose shoulder we can lean on as we cry loud and silent in the evening to bury the rest of the day into history for the ‘History is his story’ of the day.

In ‘Mating Cries,’ Mwangupili skilfully explores the intricacies of human relationships, shedding light on the primal instincts that drive us to seek companionship and validation.

The chapter delves into the depth of desire, laying bare the raw emotions that accompany the quest for connection. In brokenness and despair, ‘love is a maze, no beginning and no end. No word or gesture ever defined it.’

I winced at “Cries of laughter,” especially the snippet from ‘Children’s laughter’. Mwangupili has taken me to the village setting where people share the land and ancestors.

And growing up in that land, you always have complexities of human emotions as that of ‘Children’s laughter’, where a brother envies another brother, a spirit that has gnawed at the fabric of our communities and making living worse.

What we hear at political rallies is but a party blackmailing another party with political intricacies of “he-he-de-ulu,” or “This and that” just to ‘Give us this day your daily lies’ which ‘…lead us into further destruction’ to make a human hurt another human and cry in anguish.

We, in the course of crying, share the calabash to underscore love and unity, contrasting with the bitterness of slander.

The calabash signifies love, rest, and hope. Reading through the whole chapter, the author captures the raw essence of human existence, portraying moments of vulnerability and resilience with profound honesty.

Mwangupili made me reflect on the dual nature of human emotions and the intricacies of the human psyche.

I am particularly drawn to ‘Letters to Comrade’. From line to line, the author has woven the wisdom tapestry with lyrical finesse, offering profound insights into society's complexities and the human condition.

He, Mwangupili, highlights the transient nature of paradigms and the necessity of adapting to change with greater patience as he says “patience overcomes premature risks”.

He draws parallel lines between the natural world and the complexities of human experience, compelling readers to reflect on their own lives.

The cross-cutting issues of justice, freedom, and perseverance emphasise the interconnectedness of struggle and hope.

When you reach chapter four of the book, Celestial Cries, you cry loud and accept the pain behind a cry.

I consider the chapter as the climax where the voice is so broken that you cannot gather the fragments as the author suggests, “Any attempt to gather the fragments have proven to be futile.”

intimidates us but we accept the reality to die unnoticed at some time. We look for order in life but we accept that there is no order in “life and order”.

We cry with phrases that miss ‘In the beginning’ where ‘mice, cats and dogs ate together,’ but we accept with harsh realities that, ‘That was long ago before man stepped on top of those hills.’ The poignant cry has accepted the realities of the community complex.

I feel a different weather with ‘Cries of sorrows’ which is the last chapter. Here the author promises hope after pain.

Despite, ‘An Elegy’, and ‘Cries of Despair’ hope stands still because ‘it will rain heavily’ but ‘briefly’. Mwangupili’s collection is an epic with standard flavour.

About the reviewer

Elisa Chuzu is a veterinary Medical Student at Lilongwe University of Agriculture and Natural Resources. He is also a member of the Malawi Union of academic and non-fiction authors and often contributes to the “My turn” column in The Nation paper of Malawi.