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Authors: William Kamkwamba
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accounts. Then, heeding the advice of the chiefs, he handed the entire business over to John’s firstborn son, Jeremiah, who was twenty years old.
It’s custom for the firstborn son to inherit everything from his father, but it doesn’t always work that way. Often one of the brothers steps in and snatches control, leaving the family of the deceased at his mercy. This unfortunately happens all the time, and it’s the number one grievance brought before the village chiefs.
Jeremiah lived at home with Geoffrey and their mother and oftenhelped on the farm, but it was well agreed that he didn’t like hard work. Although he was very smart, he’d never shown much interest in school and could often be found drinking in the boozing centers. My father felt terribly nervous about handing him the family business, but he wanted no trouble from chiefs or relatives.
“I don’t want anyone saying I’m a thief,” my father said. “If things go badly, I still did the right thing.”
Of course, when Jeremiah heard he was being handed a family fortune, he was very surprised. He’d just assumed his father’s brothers would never trust him.
“This is such a wonderful blessing,” he told my father. “Thank you very much.”
But as soon as Jeremiah took control, he spent most of the season’s profits in the bars of Lilongwe and Kasungu. In November, when it came time to buy seed and fertilizer to plant new maize and tobacco, plus hire a new crew of workers, little of the money was left. As a result, the next crop was smaller. And when the tobacco was sold at auction, Jeremiah took the money and disappeared, returning only after most of it was gone.
Uncle John had also owned and operated two maize mills in nearby villages that made a substantial profit. In addition, he owned eight head of cattle. The mills and cattle were also given to Jeremiah, but the following year, Musaiwale, the oldest brother, forcefully took one mill and half the cows. Within two years’ time, Jeremiah had lost both his maize mill and his cows.
As far as my father was concerned, his brother’s business was gone. In farming, a man can lose everything so quickly. Given our custom, my father was forbidden to take back what he’d given away. Once you surrender control, you lose it forever. After the business collapsed, our family was left to survive on its own.
F ARMING HAD ALSO BECOME a tougher business in Malawi, thanks to the policies of a new president. In 1994, three years before Uncle John’sdeath, President Banda finally retired after losing the first elections he’d allowed to happen. Thirty years had been a long time in power, and the people were tired. Opposition against him had also grown ugly. Large crowds had gathered in the cities to protest his tyranny and harsh policies, and riots had erupted as a result. Before the election, Banda’s thugs had even attempted to scare people into voting for him again. One day in the trading center, more than three hundred Gule Wamkulu appeared on the road carrying empty coffins, promising to fill them with anyone who didn’t support the Life President.
But the opposition had still won, and unlike most African losers, Banda agreed to leave quietly and not start a war. He even accepted defeat before the final votes were tallied. He knew it was time. Since Banda had been born and raised in Kasungu, he returned to his home at the base of Mount Nguru ya Nawambe—formerly the Rock of the Edible Flies, where our great Chewa warriors had defeated the Ngoni—and lived out his final days. A big, fat former cabinet minister named Bakili Muluzi then became president, bringing with him his own brand of troubles.
Banda may have been a cruel dictator, but he did care deeply for farmers and the land. Our district is the most fertile in all Malawi, often called the “breadbasket” of the country, and Banda understood what was required to work the soil. He made sure that fertilizer was available to every
It’s custom for the firstborn son to inherit everything from his father, but it doesn’t always work that way. Often one of the brothers steps in and snatches control, leaving the family of the deceased at his mercy. This unfortunately happens all the time, and it’s the number one grievance brought before the village chiefs.
Jeremiah lived at home with Geoffrey and their mother and oftenhelped on the farm, but it was well agreed that he didn’t like hard work. Although he was very smart, he’d never shown much interest in school and could often be found drinking in the boozing centers. My father felt terribly nervous about handing him the family business, but he wanted no trouble from chiefs or relatives.
“I don’t want anyone saying I’m a thief,” my father said. “If things go badly, I still did the right thing.”
Of course, when Jeremiah heard he was being handed a family fortune, he was very surprised. He’d just assumed his father’s brothers would never trust him.
“This is such a wonderful blessing,” he told my father. “Thank you very much.”
But as soon as Jeremiah took control, he spent most of the season’s profits in the bars of Lilongwe and Kasungu. In November, when it came time to buy seed and fertilizer to plant new maize and tobacco, plus hire a new crew of workers, little of the money was left. As a result, the next crop was smaller. And when the tobacco was sold at auction, Jeremiah took the money and disappeared, returning only after most of it was gone.
Uncle John had also owned and operated two maize mills in nearby villages that made a substantial profit. In addition, he owned eight head of cattle. The mills and cattle were also given to Jeremiah, but the following year, Musaiwale, the oldest brother, forcefully took one mill and half the cows. Within two years’ time, Jeremiah had lost both his maize mill and his cows.
As far as my father was concerned, his brother’s business was gone. In farming, a man can lose everything so quickly. Given our custom, my father was forbidden to take back what he’d given away. Once you surrender control, you lose it forever. After the business collapsed, our family was left to survive on its own.
F ARMING HAD ALSO BECOME a tougher business in Malawi, thanks to the policies of a new president. In 1994, three years before Uncle John’sdeath, President Banda finally retired after losing the first elections he’d allowed to happen. Thirty years had been a long time in power, and the people were tired. Opposition against him had also grown ugly. Large crowds had gathered in the cities to protest his tyranny and harsh policies, and riots had erupted as a result. Before the election, Banda’s thugs had even attempted to scare people into voting for him again. One day in the trading center, more than three hundred Gule Wamkulu appeared on the road carrying empty coffins, promising to fill them with anyone who didn’t support the Life President.
But the opposition had still won, and unlike most African losers, Banda agreed to leave quietly and not start a war. He even accepted defeat before the final votes were tallied. He knew it was time. Since Banda had been born and raised in Kasungu, he returned to his home at the base of Mount Nguru ya Nawambe—formerly the Rock of the Edible Flies, where our great Chewa warriors had defeated the Ngoni—and lived out his final days. A big, fat former cabinet minister named Bakili Muluzi then became president, bringing with him his own brand of troubles.
Banda may have been a cruel dictator, but he did care deeply for farmers and the land. Our district is the most fertile in all Malawi, often called the “breadbasket” of the country, and Banda understood what was required to work the soil. He made sure that fertilizer was available to every
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