Wisdom of the Aged
From African Folktales from Matero Boys’ School Lusaka, Zambia
Chief Chiluba, even at the age of 92, was a well-poised and confident man. He greeted each day with a smile and a thankful prayer. He would rise with the African sun, the wildebeests, and the weaverbirds. His blindness developed a half-decade ago, yet the chief still was able to carry out his daily morning rituals.
From the first day of being chief, Chiluba adorned himself with an apron of leopard, armlets of lion fur, leather sandals, and a crown of zebra hide. In his left hand the chief clutched a short assegai, the sword of his courage. In his right hand he held a divination wand, the symbol of his authority and power. His queen of sixty years recently died, and concern was raised for the chief’s happiness. Being apprehensive for the chief’s welfare, his eldest daughter Faustina asked him to move into her family’s rondoval [a circular building with a thatched roof] in her husband’s community. Giving up the throne of the Makuni Village caused Chiluba some pain yet he knew the village was being left in good hands.
As his daughter and grandchildren walked with the chief to his new home, Faustina began describing to her father what his room would be like. Abruptly he stopped her.
“I do not need a description of my new home.” Then he continued in his authoritative yet loving voice, and with the enthusiasm of a child he exclaimed, “I love it!”
Faustina and the children looked at the old chief with wonderment. Then they gazed at each other. “You haven’t seen the room yet,” his granddaughter stated.
“Just wait until you enter, grandfather, and see it. You will be overjoyed,” exclaimed the grandsons.
Chiluba’s paternal instincts and intelligence came to the fore, “Children, that doesn’t have anything to do with it. Happiness is something one decides on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not does not depend on how the furniture is arranged, if the ground is swept, or if the raffia [a natural fiber that can be woven like straw] is woven tightly. Happiness is how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it.”
Faustina looked shocked. “But father, you are moving from your village, you will no longer be chief, and all your friends have been left behind.”
“Daughter, happiness is a decision I make every morning when I wake up. Daily I am faced with two choices. I can spend the day in my hut recounting the difficulty I have growing old and focus on body parts that no longer work. I can also concentrate on what should have been. Or I can go throughout my village and be thankful for what I now have and spotlight the parts of the body that do work.”
“I think we understand,” said the grandchildren.
“Each day is a gift,” said the chief, “and as long as my eyes open, even though they fail me, I’ll concentrate on the new day and all the happy memories I’ve stored away. Old age is like a food depository. You withdraw from it what you’ve stored into it. My advice to you would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the maize hut. Even as we walk, I’m still adding to it!”
As the chief kissed each family member he spoke words of love to them. “Thank you for your part in filling my memory bank.”
Chief Chiluba died at the age of 107.