DAY 999.

I panted like a dog. This was too taxing.

My lungs were running out of oxygen with every breath.

How long was I supposed to blow to make sure the fire would start? Why was I put in charge to light the fire- again? Why couldn’t Mom or Dad do it? Or better yet Lungowe or Shalaulwa? Better still, not one of my siblings, but maybe my older Kaka (Grandparent) P. He was great at not only knowing how to make a grand fire, he could also chop down enough firewood to last at least a week.

I continued to struggle and finally realized why. The wood was wet. Using wet wood to start a fire- my goodness- one would think after all this time of doing this, ever since the government sent an official alert on the radio that there would be no power, I would be a pro by now. I stared into the sky and at that moment my Tata (Father) walked outside through the kitchen door and spotted me. He shook his head and sighed.

Hearing the sound of the familiar sound of worry, I rose to my feet from my crouching post and tried to explain why I had stopped trying to light the fire. My father laughed and saw the state I was in. My braids were all in a tight mess. I had no time to fix it because I had to light the fire.

Dad waved his hand motioning me to step aside. He grabbed some wood from yesterday’s pile and formed a sort of jenga like pattern with it.

He picked up some dry branches and twigs- then slid these into the spaces and middle sections of the large logs. And pulled out some newspaper from the one he had under his arm, placing it into the perfect pile of sticks that I had such a hard time to still place in such a manner. He pulled out a lighter from his left pocket of his blue jean jacket.

I gazed at the fire and watched as it seemed to bloom like a flower once the pile of logs, and sticks was lit. He must be a fire bender. I must have not inherited his fire bending genes, and that could be the reason why I suck at lighting fires. Hmm, maybe I am- mmm...an earth bender..I do not have a problem with making stuff out of mud.

My siblings were in the kitchen. I heard them singing songs with Mom. Their voices in a sweet harmony:

O kachembele kozwa momu nganda telela

Kabaza kwimba kozwa awa tamuzanda kutelela toteleli

Basika babo kutola muchembele momu.

As soon as my Tata had the fire going, my Mom brought the pot ready to start dinner going. I smiled seeing her beautiful wide smile. My siblings followed behind her like little ducklings moving in a formation- my young sister, followed by our little brother (who is actually the tallest one).

Once dinner was ready we all gathered around the table, ready to dig in and enjoy the meal. The lighting we had at the table glowed warmly from the candles that were made to be strong and built to burn brightly even in the darkest hours.

Later as we prepared to head to bed, each person with a candle in hand making their way to their room, I leaned closer to my Ima (Mother) and asked her when electricty would most liekly be back. She looked at me and smiled- with a smile that even the Baroch painters would have longed to paint and have it framed, and replied, “Anizibi, mwanake.” (I am not sure my child).

How true. She did not know when it would be back.

None of us did. We wondered if it ever wiould.

As I drifted to the land of dreams, a sort of quick and easy song that is kind of familair popped into my head...

999 Days without power

999 Days

No Netflix

No Hulu or Amazon...for

999 Days..

(Repeat)

I would have to teach this one to my siblings and Mom. This would become our anthem for each day without power.

#Day999.