The chirping of birds greeted the morning in Ndeke Compound, a modest neighborhood in Zambia's Copperbelt province. The sun's first rays filtered through the thin curtains of a tiny room where Blessings Banda sat on his worn-out mattress. His knees were drawn to his chest, and his hands clasped tightly around them as if holding himself together. The night had been long, and though his eyes burned with exhaustion, sleep had been a distant dream.
"Why do I even exist?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible above the crowing of a distant rooster.
It was a question that lingered in Blessings' mind, one that had plagued him for as long as he could remember. Life in Ndeke Compound was simple, yet for Blessings, it felt suffocating. The dusty streets, the chatter of neighbors, and the routine of survival seemed like a play he didn't belong in. Everyone else appeared content—or at least resigned—to their lot in life. But for Blessings, life felt like a cruel puzzle with missing pieces.
He ran a hand through his short, coarse hair and sighed. His gaze fell on the wooden desk in the corner of his room, cluttered with books, scraps of paper, and a small Bible. Among the papers was a collection of proverbs and riddles he had scribbled down over the years. Proverbs fascinated him; they held a mystery he couldn't quite unravel, a hidden truth he desperately sought.
"Life is like a parable," he often said to himself. "But what's the meaning of mine?"
Blessings was only fifteen, yet his thoughts weighed heavier than most adults'. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Banda, often dismissed his musings as childish ramblings. "You think too much," his mother would say, shaking her head. "Focus on your schoolwork and stop chasing shadows."
But it wasn't just shadows he was chasing. Blessings felt an emptiness inside, a longing for something he couldn't name. It wasn't material wealth—though the Banda family could certainly use more money. His father worked as a security guard, earning just enough to put food on the table, while his mother sold vegetables at the market. Their struggles were plain to see, but Blessings knew his yearning went deeper than poverty.
He often envied his younger siblings, who seemed perfectly content with life. While they played soccer in the dusty yard, laughing and shouting with carefree abandon, Blessings sat under the mango tree, lost in thought. "You're too serious," his sister Chipo would tease, tossing a soccer ball at him. But Blessings couldn't help it. There was a voice inside him—a nagging whisper—that refused to be silenced.
---
That morning, as the household stirred to life, Blessings remained in his room, staring blankly at the wall. The sound of pots clanging in the kitchen signaled that his mother was preparing breakfast. The aroma of fried sweet potatoes wafted through the air, but it did little to stir his appetite.
"Blessings!" his mother's voice rang out. "Come and eat before you're late for school!"
Reluctantly, he rose from the mattress and shuffled to the kitchen. The Banda family's home was small—a two-roomed house with cracked walls and a leaky roof. The kitchen doubled as the dining room, with a single wooden table that wobbled under the weight of mismatched plates and cups.
Mr. Banda sat at the head of the table, his face stern and weary. He was a man of few words, whose presence alone commanded respect. Beside him sat Mrs. Banda, a plump woman with kind eyes but a sharp tongue. She glanced at Blessings as he entered, her expression softening momentarily before hardening again.
"Are you still sulking about whatever it is you think about all day?" she asked, handing him a plate of sweet potatoes.
Blessings didn't answer. He picked at his food, his mind elsewhere.
"Leave the boy alone," Mr. Banda said gruffly, breaking the silence. "He's just growing up. Let him figure things out."
Blessings glanced at his father, surprised by the rare display of understanding. But even Mr. Banda didn't fully grasp the storm raging inside his son.
---
School that day was no different. Blessings walked the dusty path to Ndeke Secondary School, his satchel slung over his shoulder. The laughter and chatter of other students surrounded him, but he felt like a ghost among the living.
In class, the teacher droned on about history, but Blessings' mind wandered. His gaze drifted to the window, where a bird perched on a tree branch caught his attention. It chirped happily, hopping from one twig to another, seemingly unbothered by the world.
"Blessings Banda!"
The sharp voice of the teacher jolted him back to reality. The entire class turned to look at him, some stifling giggles.
"Are you with us, or are you daydreaming again?" the teacher asked, irritation evident in her tone.
"Sorry, Madam," Blessings mumbled, sinking lower into his seat.
After class, his friend Joseph approached him. Joseph was the closest thing Blessings had to a confidant, though their personalities couldn't have been more different. Where Blessings was introspective and reserved, Joseph was loud and carefree.
"Why do you always get lost in your thoughts, man?" Joseph asked, slapping Blessings on the back. "You're like some old philosopher trapped in a teenager's body."
Blessings managed a weak smile. "Maybe I was born in the wrong time."
Joseph laughed. "Or maybe you're just weird."
---
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Blessings found himself sitting under the mango tree in their yard. The day's events replayed in his mind, but they felt insignificant compared to the questions that consumed him.
"What is the point of it all?" he whispered, staring at the stars that dotted the night sky. "Why am I here?"
It was then that he heard it—a voice, soft yet clear, as though it came from within and around him at the same time.
"You are more than you know."
Blessings froze, his heart pounding. He looked around, but there was no one in sight.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice trembling.
Silence.
Had he imagined it? Was his mind playing tricks on him? But deep down, he knew the voice was real. It was the same voice he had heard in his dreams, the one that whispered riddles and truths he didn't yet understand.
"You are Peter," the voice said again, this time louder. "A rock. A foundation. A name greater than your own."
Blessings felt a chill run down his spine. "Peter?" he repeated, confused. "What does that mean?"
But the voice didn't answer. The night grew still, and the stars seemed to shine brighter, as if watching over him.
---
For the first time, Blessings felt something stir within him—a sense of purpose he couldn't yet define. The name Peter lingered in his mind, filling him with equal parts awe and fear.
Little did he know, this was only the beginning of a journey that would change his life forever.