part 1 A gift is something acceptable around the world , no matter how humble it may be . It might be small but we find it rude to complain. Nevertheless quantity, texture or size does not change its name. Even if you have not yet discovered it’s really is a gift. We call it Mphatso . I still remember when I first received my gift, it actually reached me disguised as a curse . ‘if you don’t tell me who gave you that, you will not sleep in my house’ these were the words of my father, the man who had been very loving in my life. There were tears in my eyes that I could hardly see his face. I shifted my view to the floor to allow my tear drip to the floor. The next thing I felt was a sharp pain against my cheeks that set my head on fire and a sharper sound that accompanied it was left ringing in my ears like a reminder . He did not even hear me cry because he was already gone by the time I cried out aloud. My mother stared at me from a protective distance. She
**CHAPTER ONE** 11th January Dear Diary……. I had it all calculated until it went so wrong, A nightmare I cannot fathom. Was I really a criminal? I have no idea where my dear family is…maybe this is how dying feels like, to call and not be heard, to be there and not be seen. Afraid of my own shadow, to fear night but shiver in terror at the break of dawn. Allow me to take you back to the day I actually died and How it all begun…. It was a rainy cold boring day. There was a power cut and my buttery was dead earlier than I had planned. I later decided to start writing, maybe a piece of mind is really what I needed. But who was Melisa? Well Melisa was a simple girl with large ideas…lol.. her full names were Melisa Likando Banda…I know what you might be thinking, how come? Funny names right? if you are so traditional, but hey my parents decided to get married and they wanted me to have both their identities. Melz ( short of Melisa ) grew up in Lusaka’s Kabulonga