October 24, 2025

by BWALYA S. KONDWANI

Mwaiseni KTK

Kitwe roars awake and immediately springs into chaos
Before black mountain's first taste of sunlight, those boys sleeping in her slopes begin their chase for “almosts.”
Stretching bruised palms in the wind, and only catching smoke.
Of course, he’s been high since he woke; his whole life’s been low.

If you listen close, you could almost hear his burnt lungs shudder when he laughs like life is a joke.
If you listen close, you could almost hear the drugs and the streets feast on the innocence lost.

The ground in Nkana shakes sometimes
On the other end, is a boy digging for a better life in abandoned mines.
He could die tonight, he knows this.
But what's left to risk?
Cracked lips, a life lived in dirt and sand
Or dusty promises of help at hand, from politicians he's never met.
His only options are to leave this cave having struck gold, or leave in a casket
Nkana boys rarely grow old.

There’s a boy next door,
Who let his temper render his friend lifeless. A friend whose body was left to bleed out on the floor.
All the boy asks, is if you visit his prison cell, "wamuletelako chi pall mall".

With that said,
In a seamless segway
The city tucks her chaos into her waist as you drive in from Ndola at sunset
She falls asleep.
Welcome to Kitwe.

Kitwe roars awake and immediately springs into chaos. Before black mountain's 

first taste of sunlight, those boys sleeping in her slopes begin their chase for “almosts.”

Stretching bruised palms in the wind, and only catching smoke.
Of course, he’s been high since he woke; his whole life’s been low.

If you listen close, you could almost hear his burnt lungs

 shudder when he laughs like life is a joke.

If you listen close, you could almost hear the drugs 

and the streets feast on the innocence lost.

The ground in Nkana shakes sometimes
On the other end, is a boy digging for a better life in abandoned mines.

He could die tonight, he knows this.
But what's left to risk?

Cracked lips, a life lived in dirt and sand
Or dusty promises of help at hand, from politicians he's never met.

His only options are to leave this cave having struck gold, or leave in a casket
Nkana boys rarely grow old.

There’s a boy next door,
Who let his temper render his friend lifeless and left his body to bleed out on the floor.

All he asks, is if you visit his prison cell, "wamuletelako chi pall mall".
With that said, In a seamless segway

The city tucks her chaos into her waist 

as you drive in from Ndola at sunset

She falls asleep.
Welcome to Kitwe.