GEORGE MWILA was walking home after a drink one day, but unknown to him was that he would be a victim of a mob that swooped on him and beat him up almost fatally after mistaking him for the much-wanted notorious neighbourhood womaniser. Here’s what happened.

ONE day way back in 1974, in September to be precise, I had a very terrible and embarrassing experience in Luanshya’s Roan Mine Township, Section One. This section is situated (or was) near what was called Hallaway near Roan Police Station.
Those of you who have been to, or stayed in, Luanshya may know this place especially you who patronise bars. I was working on the mines then at the general offices as chief cashier and pay master for the mines of Roan Antelope Copper Mines before it became part of Zambia Consolidated Copper Mines.
I had just returned from an accounts course and been accommodated in the newly- built houses of Section Six near Roan Market. It was not uncommon for miners to imbibe alcohol and, as a paymaster; I was very popular among the miners; a lot of them used to buy me beers.
So, on this particular day, I had gone for a drink at Zambia Star Bar. This was a routine for most miners as well as me.
However, I made it a point that I was, or got, home by 21:00 hours at the latest. I think this day I left the bar a bit later than usual, but not later than 22:00 hours.
As I was passing through Section One, I suddenly saw a group of people running towards me and shouting, “Uyo, uyo, uyo!” I did not panic. A man by-passed me, running very fast and then the mob came on to me shouting, “You are the one who knocks on peoples’ homes, you are after other peoples’ wives, we are going to teach you a lesson you will never forget!”
This shocked me and I tried to explain to them that they were mistaken because, maybe, the man they were looking for was the one who was running ahead of me. This was hogwash to them. They couldn’t listen to me.
My further explanation that if I was the one they were looking for how come I was not running, but just walking as they had seen for themselves, could not convince them, either.
One of them sided with me though, and tried to convince his friends that I was a wrong target, but it was too late. They descended on me one after another, punching, kicking and slapping me all over. I couldn’t run, I was so dazed and surprised.
Before long, I was pushed down on the side of the road and I fell into a flowerbed.
A huge man came over with a hoe handle and clobbered me on the shoulder with it, then again on the head. I passed out, but they continued raining blows on me which I felt faintly as I lay in Lunsonga flowers. After a long time, I think they thought I was dead. And they left.
When I woke up, it was around 05:00 hours and what woke me up was the coldness of the morning weather. I thought I was in bed, but then the rough surface I felt where I lay suggested otherwise. My whole body was in great pain. It was sore. It was then that I realised I was somewhere in a bush and not in my bed at home.
I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t, they were swollen. I forced and pushed my eyelids with my hands. Then I saw where I was. Slowly, I started to remember or recollect what had befallen me the night before.
I wanted to ask someone in the neighbourhood about what’d happened, but I was afraid I could again disturb a hornet’s nest. So, I stood up and, fortunately, found no bones were broken. I started walking in the direction of my home. Each time I met someone, I tried to behave normally not to show my embarrassment.
Of course, my demeanor must have given me away with some people thinking I was a drunkard with a hang-over. Each time I walked a short distance, I had to force my eyes open with my fingers in order to get my bearings right. It took me something like one hour to reach my home, a distance of 700 metres, which I’d cover in half that time under normal circumstances.
On reaching home, I managed to knock three times on the door then slumped on the doorsteps. When my wife opened the door, she was utterly shocked. She’d never seen me in such a state before.
Of course, she also thought that I’d been beaten over some love affair, though she had never ever suspected me to be a womaniser. But there was always a chance. It was a working day, but I couldn’t go for work, what with swollen eyes and looking more sick than being drunk.
As a good wife would, my wife warmed some water, washed me and then I slept. The whole day. Then around 17:00 hours, my workmates who’d heard about my misfortune, came to check on me and I narrated to them the whole story as it had happened to me.
Some tribal cousins, the Ngonis, however, took jibes at me, insisting I told them their own truth they could believe.
My friends, what comes does not always beat a drum. You can suffer misfortune like me anytime because of mistaken identity. I will never forget what happened to me.
Comments: 0955182697/0965956209
NB: Contributions to this column, the column you write, should be sent to The Editor, “It happened to me” P O Box 30394, Lusaka, email: tozletters@gmail.com or drop them at any of our Times Printpak offices. Please note that it may take some time before articles are published; this is because they are published on a first- come- first- served basis. Don’t lose hope. Keep sending in your valuable contributions. –Editor.