GUEST WRITER : Demetria Herman Banda (Writer & Constable)  Qualification- Degree in Journalism. “Why me?! Why!” A scream echoed in all directions of the neighbourhood. People wondered, babies cried, birds ran.  “Who could that be?” asked Mrs Bulea. Nobody dared to recognise my voice. It was a voice of a heart broken woman. A voice of sadness. It expressed hatred. In no time the voice came through the walls again. It was me, the respected single lady. I couldn’t help it but rent in sadness’ peace less house. Mrs Bulea, the neighbourhood’s all time gossiper, made a good guess of my voice. Thanks to her eardrums. “That must be Delia,” she guessed to fellow women who were having a women gathering. No answer came past any woman’s mouth. “Am sure of it,” Mrs Bulea backed her guess. “Why are you suggesting that it’s my neighbour?” Mrs Mwawa wanted to know. “You know she is the only one in this neighbourhood whom life got hard on the day of every boy’s dream,” said ...

 SHORT STORY BY MATILDA PHIRI MALAWI’S CHITENJE I have always doubted the power of Malawi’s Chitenje.   I never believed that in order, to impress a real Malawian lady you need to buy her a Chitenje. I and most boys of nowadays have stopped respecting our culture. We no longer care or fear breaking cultural rules and its consequences. It has been two years for me since I attended a funeral in my area. I have heard that in the past, this would not have happened because I would be tied with a string to a big tree waiting to be untied after the burial has happened. This was news to me. I laughed and shouted at the same time; “What the hell!? I would definitely sue the chief if he does that to me!’’ That was my straight word. “After all, we are in democracy. I have a right to attend any funeral or not.” But I was very wrong. I’m a University graduate of Political Science and divorced. I am working at a certain organisation as a democracy expert. I live in Blantyre City with ...