01/05/2025
FROM A JOURNALIST'S ARCHIVES
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Year: 2002
Place: Samfya Town Council, Luapula Ntondo.
While on a news coverage tour of Luapula Province in September, 2002, I passed through Samfya Town Council and visited my former school mate and dorm mate at Nchelenge (Nchezzy) Secondary School in the 1980s, Emmanuel Ntambi. It was a wonderful reunion after so many years. We did a lot of catching up and laughing. I was a journalist and he was an accountant.
MY JOURNALISM ODYSSEY
My dream from childhood was always to become a journalist despite being born and bred in the village, specifically Shimalama Village, Chief Chitembo Chapetele Yunga, Chifunabuli District, Luapula Ntondo Province.
I had no exposure or any role model to get inspiration and motivation from except old, crumpled pages of the Times of Zambia and the Zambia Daily Mail in which those coming from ku Kalale or ku Mikoti (Copperbelt) used to wrap 🍞 bread. I would painstakingly straighten the wrinkled pages and spend hours reading the stories loudly and trying to share the news with my fellow villagers.
After reading them I would nail them onto the inside walls of my kebini (cabin), the small house my father had built for me and my brothers near the main house.
My other sources of inspiration were news casts and programmes on Radio Zambia or Zambia Broadcasting Service (ZBS). I would imitate radio personalities like the late legendary Mwansa Kapeya, late Elijah Mabo, Joseph Kabwe, Kenneth Maduma, Sarah Mubanga, Peter Mweemba and many others.
I also benefited a lot from my late father's fine descriptions of news reporters and their work. I still remember how he had mystified journalism and stretched my imagination to the very limit as a Mundubi Primary School going village boy. For your information, the only time I was exposed to modernity and a semblance of an urban environment was when I visited Lubwe Catholic Mission, Lubwe Mission Hospital, Lubwe Trading Centre and the surrounding community with town-like infrastructure and lifestyle.
My father, a humble fisherman and subsistence farmer, would often tell me, "If you want to live like those people at Lubwe, you must take school seriously and become a reporter or a lawyer."
The big man would describe with a lot of exaggeration how news reporters armed with notebooks, pens, cameras and tape recorders would just appear from nowhere at a scene of crime, an accident, a riot, a strike by workers or a public meeting and start asking people clever questions while taking pictures, scribbling notes in their note books and recording interviews. He would later hear the same news on radio and read it in newspapers, he would recount to me.
For days I would be imagining myself as one of those news reporters. It just blew my village mind mwandi. Me, Chale, a news reporter? How sweet it would feel! I would timidly ask my teachers at school to tell me whatever they could about these people called news reporters. And they gladly obliged. They were very proud of me.
My father had planted a seed in my mind. A village boy dreaming of becoming a journalist. Despite his lack of modern education, my father managed to inspire and motivate me to set my eyes on becoming a journalist.
So, by the time I was selected to go to Nchelenge Secondary 🏫 School; by the time I was beginning my Form 1, my mind was already obstinately focused on becoming a journalist.
The journey was tough and challenging with countless hurdles and discouragements along the way. But my determination was as strong as steel. My resolve was unshakable. My trust in the Almighty God was unflinching. Who said a village boy could not become a journalist and travel the world? I would not allow any hardship or setback to make me abandon my dream of becoming a journalist. No. I would make my father proud one day.
With a lot of hard work and support from selfless journalists like Mr Hicks Sikazwe, late Pelekelo Liswaniso, late Enock Ngosa, late Davis Lwanga, US based Bishop Medistone Mulenga and Times of Zambia News Editor Andrew Sakala and Journalism trainers like Mr Franklin Tembo snr, late Edem Djokotoe, late Melody Kalonga and legendary John Musukuma, I finally achieved my ambition.
As I reported for work at the Times of Zambia Head Office on Kabelenga Avenue in Ndola as a News Reporter on my first day after nine years of police work I was mauless!
The seed my father planted had grown into a tree and the fruits were now ripe. He was very proud of me. Seeing my byline and picture in the then mighty Times of Zambia moved the old man to tears of joy and pride. Mr Elie Sashi Chisala died a satisfied parent.
I dedicate this year's Labour Day and World Press Freedom Day to all my fellow journalists and students of Journalism and Mass Communication wherever you are. I hope this story will inspire and motivate someone somewhere.
Happy Labour Day, Happy World Press Freedom Day, in advance.
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