Savage Women

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Dear Future Wife (LYRICS)

Verse 1 Dear Future Wife, I pray before I meet you I go blind, Hmmm, okay, not physically but metaphysically, I pray that my eyes don’t drown in the sea of your beauty, That the planet of my heart is not illuminated by the sun of your smile, That my emotions are not  strangled  by the curves of your body, I pray that I may never get so lost in the  richness  of your eyes I forget about the poverty of life, That the vacuum of your sight may never make me lose my breath… Chorus Verse 2 ‘Cause I know the blasphemy of my eyes, The idolatry of media shrines that stripe you of your substance and glorify the superficial, I've  worshiped in their temples, With Twerk Prophets, Bikini Priests and Apostles of Lust, Sacrificed your worth at the altar of porn, I don’t know how to find you in the garbage bag of my retinas, ‘Cause  I've  dated girls whose beauty had me way past tipsy…Am drunk! But when the hangover of their p...
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Is What We're Doing Working?

Placed in a crowded dining room turned exam room—pen in hand, calculator and ruler on either side of a small uneven and antiquated desk—I, like many of my fellow students, hacked away at the  tough Mathematics paper. Fighting to recollect formulae and a barrage of other mathematic solution roadmaps, I surrendered rather peacefully to the mental assault of this paper. As customary among many University students, I cowered under the old: “We didn’t learn this in class” euphemism. We were writing this paper around the same time Load-shedding was rearing its ugly head; which is an engineering problem and here we were writing Engineering Mathematics, some of Zambia’s brightest. And as epiphanies can be notoriously known for hitting you when you least desire them, I asked: “is what we are doing working?” and the secondary (notoriously existential) question: "what's the point?" Now, discussing education can be as polarizing as discussing politics or religion. But to the me...
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BLOOD IS THE PRICE PT1

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Jenny wasn’t beautiful, her forehead was slightly more pronounced, her cheeks puffy, her lips thinned and her skin difficult to maintain in the heat. However, she did have eyes that moved men to arenas of sensuality that very few women could, and an attitude that would never apologize for it. Jenny understood what many women in her position understood—sex is leverage. Power. Control. On that cold night on Christmas Eve with the wind combing her skin and her hands stashed away in her coat she paused at the door of a pub tucked away in a corner of Lusaka’s biggest shopping mall. Jenny looked at two men heading her direction…and smiled. The men looked at each other as if trying to verify that they were not seeing things. “Will you gentlemen be so kind as to open the door for me, its freezing, I don’t want to expose my hands to the cold.” The men nodded and both reached for the door. After a few awkward seconds of what nearly degenerated into an argument over who would open t...
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