The air in Lusaka hangs heavy, thick with the scent of dust and the quiet hum of anticipation. You're sitting on the worn-out steps of your grandmother's house, the afternoon sun a harsh glare on the cracked concrete. You're supposed to be studying, but instead, you're watching the children in the street play a rambunctious game of tag, their laughter echoing through the narrow alleyways.
Your phone buzzes. It's your friend, Chuma, his voice laced with urgency. 'Where are you, man? You're supposed to be at the auditions!'
Panic claws at your throat. You'd forgotten about the auditions, the chance to escape the stifling routine of your life in Lusaka. The chance to become someone, to be seen, maybe even to leave. You were supposed to be there, to show them your talent, your voice, your burning desire to sing.
But you're not. And now, as Chuma's voice crackles with disappointment, you feel the weight of your inaction crushing you.
'I'm sick,' you lie, your voice a flimsy whisper.
'Sick? But you were fine this morning!' Chuma protests, his tone sharp with suspicion.
'Bad stomach ache,' you say, your palms slick with sweat. You've always been a good liar, but today, the lie feels different, heavy, suffocating.
'Well, get well soon, man,' Chuma says, the disappointment in his voice a tangible thing.
The call ends, and you feel a wave of shame wash over you. The lie, once a simple shield, now feels like a wall, insurmountable and isolating.
Days turn into weeks, and you watch from the sidelines as your friends, your classmates, talk excitedly about the auditions, the judges, the new opportunities that could be theirs. You tell them you're not interested, but the truth sits like a stone in your stomach, heavy and cold.
One afternoon, a flyer advertising a music festival is plastered on the wall outside your grandmother's house. Your eyes skim over the details, the name of the festival, the lineup, the date. And then, your breath catches in your throat. Your friend, Chuma, his name emblazoned at the top of the flyer, a star alongside his name. He's won the talent competition, he's going to perform at the festival.
A mixture of emotions rolls through you: pride, envy, shame. You're happy for Chuma, you really are, but there's a sharp pain in your chest, a throbbing reminder of your own inaction, your own lie.
The night of the festival, you find yourself drawn to the crowded square, a sea of faces lit by flashing lights and the booming rhythm of music. You watch Chuma perform, his voice soaring, his energy contagious. The crowd roars, their cheers a symphony of adulation.
You see him backstage, talking to a group of important people, laughing, his eyes alight with excitement. The music fades, the crowd disperses, leaving you alone in the empty square, the echo of Chuma's voice a haunting reminder of what could have been.
The lie, once a small, insignificant thing, has grown into a monstrous shadow, stretching long and dark, reaching out to touch everyone around you. You see it in Chuma's eyes, the flicker of disappointment that lingers beneath the surface of his joy. You hear it in the whispers of your classmates, the rumours that begin to circulate about your supposed lack of ambition.
You realize then that your lie has created a ripple effect, a cascade of consequences that spreads outwards, touching the lives of everyone around you. And the weight of it, the responsibility, crushes you.
You have to tell the truth, you realize, even if it means facing the consequences. It’s the only way to break free from the chains of your own deceit, to mend the cracks in the relationships you've shattered. It's a long and arduous path, a path paved with apologies and explanations, with the knowledge that the trust you've broken may never be fully restored. But you have to try.
As you walk away from the empty square, the echoes of music fading into the still air, you feel a weight lifting from your shoulders, a sliver of hope pushing through the darkness. For in the face of your lie, you've finally discovered the truth: honesty, even when it hurts, is the only way to truly heal, to truly move forward.
