"HERE we go again," whined Zonda, dusting off the mud from his shoes as he walked towards the seat. "The rains have arrived and guess what, bosses --
people have already rolled out the red carpet to welcome our annual festival of
dirt."
"Wait, wait, buddy!" I crackled.
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"Who has arrived, and what do you mean 'festival of dirt'? Since when did you start speaking in parables, man?"
He crossed his legs and leaned forward, smiling frivolously.
"Ehhh, bosses! I thought you would immediately decode what I said. The rains have arrived, and
with them, Zambia's annual festival of dirt. And right on cue, cholera peeks through the doorway like a
neighbour who knows we never lock the door."
"Oh, geez, man... you meant cholera, right?" I sighed. "You got me confused with your unbiblical
parable of the festival of dirt."
"Yes, bosses," he chuckled. "It doesn't even need an invitation -- haven't we already thrown
enough garbage into the streets, drainages, and open spaces to make it feel at home?"
"Ah, yes -- the red carpet you mentioned earlier!" I laughed nervously. "I hear
you, buddy. You're concerned about the outbreak of cholera, and rightly so.
Already it has broken out in some districts while Lusaka,
Chongwe and others are on red alert."
·THE rains return, gutters clog, and rubbish finds new ways to float around.
"Exactly!" snapped Zonda. "The rains return, gutters clog, and rubbish finds new ways to float around.
It's the season when cholera doesn't need a passport -- it only needs a little encouragement, and
we've already given it that even before the rains arrived."
I shook my head, half amused, half exasperated. "So we're literally inviting the disease into our
homes every rainy season?"
"Precisely, bosses," he said, leaning back. "And then we act surprised when it shows up. As if it just
landed from Mars."
His smile suddenly vanished, and he rubbed his forehead.
"Take a walk in our townships right now -- litter everywhere.
Garbage bags decorating the streets like Christmas lights.
People waiting for the dark so they can offload their bins into the drainage -- the same drainage they
expect to carry storm water safely past their homes."
Cholera is not clever, no. We are the ones who keep giving it the perfect environment to thrive. Every rainy season, it's the same predictable script; only the year changes.
I sighed, looking out the window at the rainwater dotted with floating plastic bottles. "Despite the
repetitive nature of the disease, we don't seem to learn. We either accept it as a normal annual occurrence or simply refuse to take precautionary measures laid out by health authorities."
"I totally agree with your concerns, Zonda, and can only hope people take the Ministry of Health
advisory messages seriously. But so far, this doesn't seem to be the case. For many, issues of bread and
butter overshadow these messages."
"Of course, government can only do so much, bosses -- the rest depends on us taking the health guidelines seriously and keeping our surroundings clean."
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"There's something else worrying me," I continued. "Water shortages."
Zonda raised an eyebrow.
"Like adding insult to injury, bosses," he said. "During this season, the taps shouldn't run dry -- clean water is needed most when the rains arrive and cholera is around."
I nodded. "Exactly. Clean water is half the
fight."
Zonda stood up, wiping imaginary dust off his trousers.
"Bosses, let me go before this cholera hears me talking about it and decides to follow me home.
These days even diseases have good ears."
He winked and added with a chuckle, "But seriously... Zambians, maybe it's time we keep the red
carpet rolled up for cholera!"
