We are fast approaching the stage of the ultimate inversion: the stage where the government is free to do anything it pleases, while the citizens may act only by permission; which is the stage of the darkest periods of human history, the stage of rule by brute force." - Ayn Rand
In House No 1159, I write.
In House No 1159 and in all the houses in the neighbourhood there was no tribe. Of course our parents, when socialising together, always made snide remarks of which group of people were the nyamazai the most, who was insolent and uncouth the most, who downed lion larger the most, or who sent children to have their willies cut the most. Didn’t bother us much as kids. After all, we all admired Shumpi irrespective of her tribe, we all marveled at the driving exploits of chabwela kumanda, we all wished we could also go to mukanda as it seemed a nice break from school (we really didn’t know at the time that, that is where willies were cut. If we did, I don’t think we would have wanted to go)!
This was in thinking of my childhood in Ndeke, Kitwe. The lessons of oneness learnt therein, are lessons I live by and find sacrosanct.
In “Of rogues, ethnicity and beauty”, a Facebook post I further write.
In another time, in Livingstone… Walked into the house, and there was this monk sitting at the dining table pigging himself, just like he always did back at college. And this was, in my father's house!
"You! What are you doing in my father's house?" He asks me. Anger and surprise creasing his face. Was I stupefied!
"I live here," I said calmly. Though a million questions were trying to jump the thought queue in my head.
"Huh!" Now the monk was clearly confused.
"Since my father is your father, then you are my brother. Cousin, I mean." Turns out the monk was visiting his uncle, my father, for the first time.
"I am sorry. I just cannot believe I called my own brother a tribalist. I am really sorry," he stuttered after reality came to roost.
"But why were you campaigning for Patrick Mpundu in the UNZASU elections?" He asked, when it seemed that his marbles were in equilibria.
"Because he made more sense than you," I had replied. 
Having been subjected to tribal rhetoric from political persons in Government and the Patriotic Front, yet again, there is no longer doubt in my mind that we are dealing with suffering souls that are imprisoned in the boundaries of binary unthinking.
They are trapped between exhibiting careful thought on how to continue being in government and, on how to make sense to the electorate.
Hence, in their convoluted ingenuity they scamper back to their hamlets. Puke all manner of lies about other ethnic groups, in the hope that someone will believe they think. They even sing, “One land and one nation is our cry”!
Fact is. Their ‘cry’ is always a lie. For if it were not, they would respect the laws of the country that seek to protect citizens against hate speech. And deep down they know, a people now know who they really are. The unthinking.
Thus, it is evident, as it has been for a while now, that we need to liberate these suffering souls from the boundaries of binary unthinking. For if we do not, we will continue stoking the fires of unthought governance.
Ora pro nobis.