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 ...

   The door was still closed and nobody knew what was happening inside the house. After knocking on the main door several times, Cheulanda the gate man stood facing the door whilst pondering the next move. It simply was not normal that neither his boss nor the house maid could hear the knock. He had been knocking on the door for thirty minutes but to no avail. The time was already past 1:30 in the afternoon, usually, he would have finished his lunch by this time. He had to act fast as he was famished.  The two had not come out of the house since the previous evening when they had gone to sleep. They always wake up at around 7 am every day except on weekends. Even Brown did not go to work that day, a thing which worried Cheulanda. “What has happened to these people? Why are they not opening the door?” wondered Cheulanda.   Suddenly, he had an idea to break the door. He then quickly picked a huge stone and threw it at the door. Bang! The door shook, but did not yi...

Guest Writer: Dr Benedicto Wokomaatani Malunga (Malawian author, Poet and Academician) He knocked on the Kanjedza house door leading into the living room of his girlfriend's elder sister. He knew her as a cheerful lady. She was also very good at cultivating rapport with all those she met. In conversation, she was deliciously engaging. Needless to say that as Pangaliindu knocked her door, an air of calmness and self- assurance prevailed around him. Before coming here, he had called at the house where the retired parents of his girlfriend resided. There, he was told that Zitha his girlfriend had gone out to visit her elder sister a couple of hours ago. Since Pangaliindu was not in a hurry to go home, he decided to follow his girlfriend where she had gone although he had not alerted her that he would meet her. After all, it was purely by chance, that he was in the same town as where his lover was. Otherwise he should have been 60 kilometers away in the town where he lived and worked. ...

Chikondi, a college graduate who had recently earned her degree, found herself in the throes of an unrelenting job search. The joy and anticipation that accompanied her graduation had gradually given way to frustration and despair. Each day, she scoured the newspapers and online job portals, sending out applications to countless employers, hoping for that elusive opportunity. As if her struggle to secure a job wasn't enough, she was burdened by a far more pressing concern - her ailing mother. Chikondi's mother, Mary, was a warm-hearted woman who had raised Chikondi and her younger sister, Tawonga, single-handedly. But now, Mary was bedridden, battling a severe illness that required costly medical attention. The local hospital had minimal resources and was often plagued by shortages of medicine, leaving Chikondi helpless and overwhelmed. Chikondi visited the hospital daily, watching her mother's health deteriorate while the hospital staff offered little more than apologies a...

In the heart of a bustling city, where the neon lights reflected off the rain-slicked streets, there lived a young woman named Emily. With her fiery red hair and infectious laughter, she had always been the life of the party, the one everyone wanted to be around. But despite her outgoing nature, Emily harbored a secret fear that she kept hidden from the world: she had a rare condition called synesthesia. To Emily, the world was a symphony of colors, each sound and sensation accompanied by a kaleidoscope of hues that danced before her eyes. For years, Emily had struggled to find someone who could understand her unique perspective, someone who could look beyond the surface and see the world as she did. But time and time again, her condition had driven potential suitors away, leaving her feeling more alone than ever before. One rainy evening, as Emily sat alone in her favorite café, nursing a cup of steaming hot chocolate, she caught sight of a familiar face across the room. It was Daniel...

    I'll never forget the sweet old college days when I pursued my medical course in Pharmacy, and my friend James used to give me eggs. I remember vividly how he used to say it, even though almost seven years have passed. "I've laid four eggs today, and what time are you coming to my room to get them?" He would say, and I would burst into tears of gratitude. I thoroughly enjoyed them and always thanked him for his kindness. The truth is, James didn't like the way the campus chefs prepared boiled eggs. He was known as an entertainment director, and he had a reputation for making people laugh with his jokes. Perhaps, this was why the chefs liked him and ended up giving him extra meals. While everyone else received only two eggs, James got twice as many, which he saved for me. If we didn't meet in the afternoon, he would keep them for me in the evening. As a result, the number of eggs multiplied day by day, setting me apart from the ordinary students who qui...

 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 ...