Hello.
My name is Morton. Some call me Grana. An interesting name, I know – and I bet you are wondering how I came to be known by this name.
Behold, my testimony.
Like every other teen in the ghetto, I used to harbour ambitions of being a rapper (ha ha). The passion was there, obviously. It was the talent that was in abundant short supply.
In secondary school, intoxicated by a strong concoction of ambition, youth naivety and loads of time to waste, a name crossed my mind one cold night at Champira. A vision of some sort. I woke up the next morning calling myself ‘Granadilla’. I wasted a couple of thousands on studio bills under that name. It was later in college when I decided that just ‘Grana’ had more swagger than a whole fruit name. After years of chasing my dreams in futility and considerable amounts of money down the drain, I embraced my reality- it was not a fancy stage name I needed. It was the talent, which sadly, I was in dire poverty of. I called it quits.
In hindsight, it was a laudable show of confidence for a rapper aspiring to be popular to name himself after a not so popular fruit. As on some days I mull at one of the many stupid choices of my childhood, I convince myself that I never really made it big because of my stage name. (ha ha)
Welcome me to ByNtha. Here, call me The News Monger – and we will be tackling all matters of current affairs, arts and trivia, covering any topic that comes in the vicinities of my news mongering instincts. I hope my stay here will be longer than my music career.
I have been told times a plenty that am a better writer, than I was a musician. The first time was back in college, by this friend, a classmate, sleeping in the same hostel as me. Whenever I was making my budgets, I had to include this friend. Often, for 7.30 classes, I needed not to set the alarm because he woke me up, on some days to ask for body spray, on others, for sugar, coffee, hot water and cremora.
One evening, he called me while I was in the library. I delayed picking. See, he had used my perfume that morning, and he knew the bottle was almost empty. I had told him that until I go into town to buy another one, there was not enough for him to use any longer.
I managed to pick his call the second time.
“Boss, I just read your short story in last week’s newspaper.” He said, “your writing is impressive, I really like it”.
It was strange. He was not someone who gave out compliments willy-nilly. But I took it anyway, unsuspecting. And surprisingly enough, he ended the call without asking for anything.
But he came immediately I set foot in. By work of a miracle, he had managed to convince his long-time crush to come to his room, and she was on her way. He wanted get the bottle and use up whatever remained of it, just for this moment. It was his only shot, he said. College days.
The second time someone told me I was a good writer was on Facebook. This one sent me a private message. He wanted to know why I did not have a blog yet and encouraged me to have one. I had just sent my ‘thank you’ when his next message came; “Bro, could you help me with 30 thousand Kwacha, I will give back month-end.”
That’s an intro enough for today, without risking boring you out of your minds. I hope we will be together during this ride. And your feedback will be greatly welcome. Get in touch on Twitter @Morton_Sibale, or Facebook; Morton Grana Sibale, or via email at [email protected].
Till next time.
The News Monger
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