I got summoned to appear before the disciplinary committee. Apparently, the girl I had supposedly hit the previous night during a blackout had reported me for violence, and now I had to face the consequences.
As a Form 2 student at Chiradzulu Secondary School, I wasn’t into other people’s business. Yes, I had my own issues, but I loved school. Our class, 2C, was known as the hub of notorious kids—a stereotype that had followed C classes for generations. History had it that students in C (whether 1C, 2C, 3C, or 4C) were usually seen as troublesome or less intelligent. How we eventually disproved these misconceptions in Form 4 is a story for another day.
CZSS, as we called our school, is a co-ed government boarding school. We had mandatory study sessions from 18:30 to 20:30 every evening. Boys and girls studied together, and that was normal.
One day, during our study session, there was a blackout. Power outages were common in Malawi due to load shedding, and this one happened in the middle of our studies. As usual, the blackout caused a stir: girls screamed, boys shouted, and everyone rushed out of the classroom, excited to end the study session early. I, however, stayed seated, waiting for the crowd to leave, and was the last person out. I had no idea anything serious had happened that night.
The following day, I received a summons from the disciplinary committee. I was trembling and confused. Someone had accused me of Gender-Based Violence. I went to the committee room on the appointed day, still in shock. I was told that someone had formally reported me for beating her during the blackout. I was crying—I was young, scared, and had no clue what I was being accused of. I denied the allegations, but the girl insisted. I felt hopeless.
I asked myself: how could she be so certain? The blackout had thrown the entire class into darkness, and many people had left at the same time. How did she single me out? I was the last person to leave the classroom that night.
If I were found guilty, I could have been suspended for up to six weeks. If innocent, I would be acquitted. The Deputy Headteacher expressed disappointment, reminding me that I was one of the bright students expected to excel in both Junior (JCE) and Senior (MSCE) exams. I tried to defend myself, but they silenced me. On the wall of the discipline room hung a poster that read: “Khose sangawine mulandu pamaso pa mphaka”—a rat can never win a case against a cat.
In the end, I wasn’t suspended, but I wasn’t spared punishment either. I was given a task called “chibalo chofukula dzala”—digging the dump. I accepted the punishment, even though I was innocent, because the alternative—suspension—was far worse. Later, the two girls who accused me apologized, admitting I had done nothing wrong. I forgave them and moved on.
This experience taught me a valuable lesson: life is not always fair.
There are countless people who today are paying the price for things they never did. Some have lost money or property, others are serving prison sentences for crimes they didn’t commit, and some are judged or hated based on rumors or false accusations. I was punished for something I had no knowledge of, and I know many others have faced public ridicule or worse for no reason. That is the reality of life.
So, what can we learn from this? Treat others with kindness. Don’t be quick to judge based on rumors or accusations—they might be innocent. Life is full of challenges, and unfairness is one of them.
Courts and authorities do not always deliver justice. The innocent do not always receive what they deserve. But that does not mean we give up. Support those seeking justice, and when injustice comes your way, fight for what is right—but even if justice doesn’t arrive as expected, hold on to hope. Life goes on, and one day, you will overcome.
Shalom.
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