From Kopala to the Burg (Tales of a free range kid)

Words by Esnala Banda

As with a number of many of Zambia's creatives, my story starts with the Copperbelt. Ba kopala laka?! I always say to my friends that one of the Copperbelt's greatest exports is creatives. I absolutely love to watch them thriving in their respective fields.

I was born in Kitwe and spent my first 5 years on the Copperbelt and to be honest moving to Lusaka where I've spent most of my life was a culture shock. Not many of us talk about how crazy the differences are, especially to a child.

See, I started my journey of growing up as a free range kid (my sister says I was the best free range kid ever!). I could go off and play within my community and it wasn't too much of a big deal as there was almost always some kind of older person around. It was mostly close knit, you knew your neighbours and their kids, and their grandparents. I played where I wanted because everyone knew everyone.

Whilst Mufulira is lauded as the home of Ulunsonga (Pencil cactus or milk bush), Kitwe had its fair share. That's one of the things I always remember about the Copperbelt. Running around and making sure you dodge ulunsonga, lest you get that crazy itch from the sap from the neighbourhood short cut, (and that's what the neighbours had in place of a wall fence) and it really wasn't a big deal. So I'm sure you can imagine what it was like for my young mind to see a lunsonga tree in The God's Must be Crazy and see the very same milky sap that I dodged every day on our TV. Talk about relatability.

As a free range kid, going to play at the neighbour's was the norm as long as a) you came back home to eat at lunchtime and b) you were home and bathed by 16hrs. (a.k.a teatime). Outside of meandering around the neighbourhood streets (using the neighbour's backyards as shortcuts) one of the things that sticks out to me is the sense of community.

One time I recall we had a carpet that needed to be washed. Our yard didn't have enough space and our neighbour had an unfinished slab of foundation and so we went over to wash our carpet there, right across the street. Now I don't know what conversations my mother had with them or what relationship existed, but what I do remember is having a jolly good time getting covered in soap suds and getting hosed down as we slid across that carpet again and again.

Many years ago my dad used to work at The Copperbelt University as a Senior Assistant registrar, ZCCM and before his demise he was at the Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation. Most these career changes happened in the 90s so he was always up and down, this meant moving house a lot, I have distinct memories of having lived in 3 different houses by the age of 5. Given that my parents both passed away when I was 5 years old that's quite a feat if I must say so myself. Maybe that explains why even though it's a pain I've moved house quite a bit in my later years.

I should probably explain at this point that I come from a blended family. When my parents got together my dad already had 7 kids and my mum had 3. (Yes I know, it sound hectic). Anyway, when they passed away I went to live with my Uncle in Lusaka, my dad's younger brother a.k.a Dad.

It was very different. I moved from roaming in the tomato garden at the back of our house, in a neighbourhood where everyone knew I was Gabriel's young sister (side quest here: Being your big brother's young sister has its perks when you move to a new neighbourhood), to staying in the yard roaming in the rape (the vegetable) and vitunguza garden and climbing the guava trees with permission.

I wasn't the most well behaved child by any means but when I moved to Lusaka I no longer knew my neighbours. Sure I knew I lived on Mpulungu road, Olympia but I could never tell you the names of who lived at Number 25 or Number 26. Those memories simply do not exist.

What I can tell you is when we were living in Kitwe I got in trouble because we had a next door neighbour named Chansa or is it Chanda and as far as the Copperbelt goes, almost every street has a Chanda, Chansa, Bwalya, Mulenga or Mutale. Anyway, she was my best friend and every day after school we'd usually get picked up from school together and have play dates.

This one time my next door besty wasn't home and her cousin (with surprise surprise the same name) came over to ask if I would escort her to her uncle's house for whatever reason. Of course 4-5 year old me said yes because hello? It's time for adventure!

This was not a good judgement call. I mean sure I had fun going to her uncles house (it was quite a trek), passing by my sister's house to check if she was home (It was a week day, she was a nurse, of course it wasn't a good idea) but I lost track of time and boy, was my mum livid. That's the only memory I have of her smacking me.

I've been smacked plenty times after that for various reasons but that still sticks out as a major difference to me. I mean there's the time my aunt smacked me for leaving the house and going to play in my pyjamas just because my friends had come to knock at the window. Could NEVER have happened in Lusaka. Moral of the story is I've never had self-control. LOL!

In Lusaka I couldn't dare to roam the streets. Gone where the perennial chants of 'we mfula isa, isa' (the literal opposite of rain, rain go away) and in their stead just silence, dressed up with the occasional ring of children's voices singing 'chaku chaku baba, chaku baba, woo woo'. Instead, I had four walls and the option to make friends with the caretaker’s children unless I wanted to live a life of isolation with only the occasional cousins to lift the doldrums.

I guess one advantage of that is that I was forced to use more of my imagination to keep myself entertained. This, however, is only the much summarised beginning of what moving from Kopala to the Burg was like.

It all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.