Memory Keeper: LitMom Club Member, Florence
Storyteller: Hellen (Friend)
Site: Reach All, Zambia
Born out of eight children, life felt so good with both parents present in our journey of growing up, but things began to change because of one decision made by mom.
My name is Hellen Phiri, the third of eight children. I was my dad’s favorite, and life was so wonderful with him around. Money was a challenge, and this made it difficult for my parents to send me to school early. I felt unloved because all my friends had started going to school and seeing them come back from school in their uniforms made me even more upset. Because of this, I troubled my parents time and again to take me to school.
The following year, I was told that I was going to school, and this made me very happy. When I was in grade two, the story of my life began to change. It all started when my grandmother came to visit us and when it was time for her to go back home, she requested that she take me along because she needed a child to stay with. I was not happy and waited for my father to come back home from work so that I could tell him what I heard. I narrated the whole story, and to my surprise, he said yes, you need to go with her so that you can assist with daily chores.
I was so disappointed that I felt I wasn’t loved anymore. I kept asking myself why my dad would agree to such a thing if he really loved me, why would he allow me to go far away from him. The following day, I left my parents’ home in Chipata Eastern Province and went to Lusaka with my grandmother.
At first, life seemed okay, but things began to change especially when my granny was not around and one of my aunties came to live with us due to a falling marriage. My aunt and her children made my life difficult. I was only eight years old, but was made to do things that were for grown-ups. We had water issues at home, forcing us to draw water using two (2) 20liters buckets far from home and told to fill up two drums: one in the bathroom, and the other one in the kitchen. Coming to food, they would prepare milk tea with bread and butter for breakfast, and would sit in the bedroom alone when eating but would always call me if they needed something.
Time and again, I was beaten for even a small mistake with different sticks from different trees, like peaches and mulberry. One day, I was given a cup of water to drink by one of my cousins who was seventeen years old, but not knowing that she had mixed urine into the water. I felt like I was in prison, and had nowhere to run to. I talked to my grandmother about it but to no avail, because my auntie said I was lying. I tried writing a letter to my parents and wanted to give it to someone who was going there, but my aunty saw it and tore it into pieces.
Things got worse when my grandmother left to live with one of her children in Mozambique due to poor health. One of my male cousins in his thirties began to rape me. This happened for some time and warned me not to say anything otherwise he would beat me if I did so. I was scared and helpless. I blamed my parents for everything and developed hatred towards them. This made me cry in silence.
One day, one of my aunties came from Copperbelt to visit, and I told her sincerely that I wanted to go with her. She told me to wait for her to discuss things with her husband and the answer would depend on what he would say. I kept praying to God to intervene.
After staying with us for a week she told me to prepare to go with her to town. On our way, she said she was going to buy clothes for me to use on the journey, I could not believe my ears. I could only thank God.
I went to Copperbelt where I continued the fourth grade, but did not do well at school because I was disturbed with all that had happened. I did not disclose everything to my aunt, but she encouraged me in different ways. We would play games, read the bible together, she would help with school work and we would even do house chores together. I began to see another side of life and my grades improved for the better.
I completed my secondary school and went for nursing at Mulungushi University. I am currently working at Livingstone general hospital and married with five children.
Lastly, I forgave my parents because I now understand that it was not their wish for me to suffer like I did.
A MOMENT IN MY LIFE I WILL NEVER FORGET
Memory Keeper: LitClub Member, Cornelia
Storyteller: Victoria, age 97 (Cornelia’s Grandmother)
Site: Reach All, Zambia
Photo (of Cornelia)
My name is Victoria, aged 97. I was raised by a kind and loving woman who gave me everything I needed. As an only child, I never lacked anything. I was loved, cared for, and supported in everything. Growing up, I never once questioned whether the woman who raised me was my biological mother. That woman loved me unconditionally, as the only parent I had ever known.
I had a unique birthmark, a dark mark just under my right eye. As a child, I often asked my mother where the mark came from, but my mother always told me that I was the only one in the family who had the mark, and that’s what made me special. Still, I never imagined that there could be a hidden story behind it.
Life went on, until one day as an adult all grown up with my own children and grandchildren, everything changed.
In 2013, my mother sat me down and told me that she had something to tell me that would change my life forever. I saw sadness in her eyes as she revealed the truth that I never expected to hear: she told me that she was not my biological mother.
She explained that she received a message on Facebook from a woman who claimed to be my real mother. The woman described my birthmark under the right eye and she also had the same birthmark. It was then that my mother shared the full story.
She told me that many years ago, while living in Lusaka, there had been a fight between two notorious gangs from Chibolya and Matero. Amidst the chaos and confusion, she heard a child crying, and that child was me, abandoned and alone. She said that after she saw me crying, she picked me up and with no one around and danger everywhere, the woman made a brave decision. She picked me up and took me to safety. She later moved to Livingstone, and raised me as her own child, promising to always love and take care of me.
I couldn't believe it at first, but she encouraged me to be in touch with the woman and I agreed because I wanted to confirm if truly the woman was my mother. That same year in 2013, we finally met here in Livingstone, and I went back to Lusaka to go and meet my other siblings.
The woman who raised me is still my mother and my love for her will never change even after knowing that I had a biological mother.
A STORY OF OVERCOMING
Storyteller: Joyce Phiri, LitMoms Club Member
Site: Reach All, Zambia
Growing up, I used to stay in Kabwe with my parents. I was married off at a young age, and I never got an opportunity to further my studies. I dropped out of school, full of hope for the future, but soon faced a series of heartbreaking tragedies. I gave birth to four children, but one by one, each of them passed away shortly after birth. The pain of repeated loss left me emotionally drained, and eventually, my husband divorced me, abandoning me during one of the most painful periods of my life.
Hoping for a better life, I entered a second marriage to a man I never really loved, due to pressure from family and friends because he had money, because at that time he was working at National Parks. He was older than me. This too, brought more suffering. My husband was emotionally and physically abusive. I was always in fear. I had never been to school and did not know how to read or write, and my husband used that against me. He would work and receive his wages, but never gave me money to care for the household. Instead, he spent most of it on other women.
During the time when Fredrick Chiluba was President, there came a time when they were laying people off in some sectors, and my husband was one of those people who were laid off. When he received his retirement package, I advised him to use it wisely and invest in building a house for the family or even just buying a house. The money he got was enough to buy even two houses, one we could occupy and the other put on rentals, but he refused to listen.
The abuse continued for years. Sometimes, when drunk, he would threaten to stab me with a knife. But even in those terrifying moments, I found the strength to defend myself and survive. At times, he would buy snacks, and after having his meal, he would eat the biscuits that he bought for himself, not even sharing with me or the children. He spent the money until it was all finished, and he had nothing again.
We moved from Kabwe to Livingstone, where he started working as a security guard at Sun
International Hotel. He still didn’t change his habits. I would travel to Kabwe to visit my parents for three to four months; he couldn’t care. I would come back, and we would continue living just like that.
Later, he got a job at Stanley Lodge owned by a white man. One day, I decided to speak up and tell the lodge owner about the abuse I was facing. My husband mocked me, saying I couldn’t speak English and wouldn’t be able to talk to the boss. I went to the lodge and bravely told the boss everything. The truth came out that my husband was not taking care of the family because of his excessive drinking.
Not long after, his health began to fail. I travelled to Kabwe and said that I would never come back. Not until his health became worse and he was diagnosed with liver failure, is when he started calling me to come back. I came back and nursed him in the hospital. He eventually died, leaving me behind with two children to care for on my own.
After the funeral, I was given K600. Many would have seen this as a small amount, but for me, it was the seed of a new beginning. With determination and faith, I used that money to start a fritter business. I bought flour, cooking oil, and sugar, and began selling fritters at the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe. Slowly, my business grew. Today, this is still the work that sustains me, and I am proud and happy that at least I am able to take care of my children, and I recently became a grandmother.
I thank LitWorld for the LitMoms program, which opened my mind, gave me knowledge, and restored my confidence. Through learning and connection with other women, I have discovered that my voice matters, my story matters, and my life still has meaning and purpose.
Memory Keeper: Jacquiline, LitClub Member
Storyteller: Jane (Aunt)
Site: Reach All, Zambia
Photo (of Jacquiline)
ACCEPTING MYSELF AGAIN
I am 40 years old. I grew up in a loving home where I never lacked anything. I was a joyful child, well taken care of, and always surrounded by everything I needed. Life was okay. I was raised by a single mother, and we were three girls. I was the second born.
But when I was in Grade 9, I was young and naïve, and was approached by my teacher and had an affair. He enticed me with gifts and money, and I was foolish. It wasn’t long before the teacher's wife discovered the relationship. One day, the wife showed up at school, confronting me in front of students and teachers. She beat me up so badly, and I was so embarrassed. The entire school knew about it. I felt humiliated, ashamed, and isolated. My once-happy school life turned into a place of whispers and judgment. I stopped coming to school for a whole term, not until my mother encouraged me to go back to school, which I did with shame. I managed to write my exams, but I didn’t do well due to the challenges I was going through.
As if the shame wasn't enough, I later found out I was HIV positive, infected by the same teacher. The teacher was quietly transferred to another school, but I was left behind to carry the weight of guilt, stigma, and pain. My confidence faded. I lost weight, stopped going out freely, and kept to myself, feeling trapped in silence and sorrow. The whole town I lived in was aware of the story. I couldn’t make a movement without people pointing a finger at me.
I began to rebuild my life. I received treatment, counseling, and learned to accept myself again. Eventually, in 2022, I met a man who saw beyond my past and loved me genuinely and stood by my side. This year, my husband and I celebrated our third wedding anniversary. I have strengthened my relationship with God, and am thankful for Him giving me a second chance.
Today, we live in the United States. Though we do not have children of our own, we believe that God will one day bless us, and we will be able to start a family of our own.
ELLEN’S STORY
Storyteller: Ellen, LitMom
Site: Reach All, Zambia
Photo of Ellen
Born into a family of nine children, my parents divorced. My father sent my mother away to go and visit my grandmother, but when she got there, my father sent a letter to my mother telling her that he had divorced her. Out of the nine children, seven of my siblings had died, and only two of us remained. For that reason, my father decided to divorce my mother.
After the divorce, my father remarried. My brother and I stayed with our father and stepmother. Our stepmother treated us very badly. She would deny us food, only preparing meals for us when our father was around. We got used to sitting in hunger after knocking off from school. Our neighbor used to call us secretly and give us food after school.
After some time, our neighbor called our father and asked him if he was aware that we stayed without food when he went to work and were only given food when he returned. Our father couldn’t believe it. So, the neighbor asked him to one day pretend he was going to work and then come back. He did just that, and for sure, he found out the truth for himself.
When he asked us, we were scared to tell him the truth. Our stepmother defended herself by saying she would only cook for us if her own biological children were brought to live with us.
While in Grade 9, I dropped out of school and found a job working in a shop to survive. Eventually, I got married in 1991. My husband really loved and cared for me. But after four years of marriage, I was unable to conceive. Instead of finding comfort from my husband’s family, I was ridiculed and rejected. They mocked me for not being able to have children. The pressure and emotional abuse drove me into a deep depression. I stopped eating, lost a lot of weight, and felt like the life inside me was slowly fading.
My husband always encouraged me and comforted me, but his family never gave me peace.
In the year 1995, my father, seeing how broken I was, removed me from my marriage. My husband begged my father to allow me to stay, but my father refused. That’s how my marriage ended.
From that time, I made a vow to myself never to get married again, and it has been 20 years now since I got divorced and I have never remarried.