The Syndicate

 It was then that she realized the world was never the same to everyone. The World was many different things to many different people. There was no clear definition of what constituted it. Its parameters were too complicated to be idealized. Many scholars attempted but could not even come close. The social-economical interactive forces were beyond anyone’s understanding. Some people turned to God for an explanation until faith became the only reasonable excuse. Her grandmother tried in her native and traditional way to make the young girl understand the world in which she lived by using songs and proverbs prevalent in the village in her quest to explain the complications of life and living. Even her education didn’t do much, the more she got educated the more she felt illiterate, the void was too deep and broad. The urge to fill it grew stronger each day; but with what? She didn’t know. She stood by the bank of river, Kafue with her hands akimbo, when suddenly, like a lighte

 Tamara was the Senior Manager in charge of the Vault room on the fourth floor of the Bank of Zambia Building along Cairo Road. The building’s entrances featured allegorical sculptures by Mpundu Chisanga, a famous sculptor in Zambia, representing security and integrity flanking the Cairo road while the chained hand faced the adjacent close. She reported to the Director of Corporate Affairs and National Debt Management on all matters related to the strong room. Her boss was the one directly responsible for the macroeconomic policies and indicators of the domestic economy. Of late, the director had pressure since the Kwacha had depreciated markedly amid increasing concerns over the state of Zambia’s public finances, which, coupled with rising inflation and deteriorating sentiments, likely bruised private consumption and investment activities. The economic growth outlook remained bleak amid concerns over macroeconomic stability due to soaring public debt, an increasing fiscal defic

 General Zulu sat outside his Ngwerere farm house smoking. In spite of the 1997 coup attempt, he considered himself a successful man. He was trained to control the minds of the young soldiers and officers. To date he could not remember how many trainees passed through his hands in both combat and regimentation. His specialty in infiltration and espionage gave him an incomparable advantage in coming out clean even when it was inconceivable to do so. The court martial proceedings were fierce and expeditiously conducted. Soldiers were condemned even before trial. President Chiluba was afraid and wished every soldier enlisted seven years before the coup to be executed without the due process.He sat facing the western side watching the setting sun. Even though he was over seventy-five years old, he was as powerful as a recruit straight from MILTEZ. The young civilian recruit was impressive, he was more intelligent than he imagined. Kelly knew what he was talking about concerning th

 She left her luxurious office on the fifth floor and stepped out for a cigarette. She made it a habit to smoke from the spare office she rarely used directly opposite hers for the sake of non-smoking visitors. Very few people knew that the boss at the most prestigious bank in the country was struggling with tobacco addiction. She smoked anything that contained nicotine especially when under stress. The addiction could be traced back to the military days when smoking was a luxury and a practice for the minority rich. Those who smoked assumed a different seat in society and were viewed with an eye of admiration. However, she tried many treatments available for the addiction including the patch as a nicotine replacement therapy. This was a small bandage-like sticker that could be applied to the arm or back. The patch delivered low levels of nicotine to the body thereby gradually weaning the body off it. Further, she tried the Nicotine gum and spray or inhaler until she gave up the

 She was in the house, not sure which part of Lusaka. She did not ask the taxi driver any question but allowed herself to be chauffeured as per instructions. She needed to be like a lamb silently being taken to the sacrificial altar. She didn’t know what was going on in the mind of the driver, at least she didn’t care to know. Her achievements were greater than anything else. The bus with her fortunes drove to the opposite direction as per her strict instructions as well. He left her at the door and drove off. She was to wait for the doctor to alter her looks permanently. She looked forward with shimmering hope at how she was going to spend the money as a new metamorphosed individual. Tamara was going to be dead and resurrected into a new and pressure free woman. She did not care to start a new life as long as its roots were anchored in the wealth she walked away with. It was a well-known fact that in as much as money brought happiness, it also brought death and miseries as at