green cotton salwar kameez patterned with little Black Power fists. She drove to Showgrounds to pick up a generator and the rental audio equipment and then on to Kalingalinga. The fever for malls that had gripped Lusaka in the first decade of the twenty-first century had spread to the compounds. She read the signs as she drove past: WALKERS MALL, JUBILEE MALL, NDEKE MALL, MADINA MALL. More the size of grocers, these buildings now lined the roads, as if they’d just devoured the wares that used to be displayed on the ground. Some had their escalators on the outside, for show. The painted signage had been upgraded, too – fluorescent screens advertising stock photos – though the names of the businesses still had their Zinglish charm: THUMBS NAIL HARDWARE, GOD KNOWZ HAIR SALON, THE HIGHEST BEEDER.
They had chosen the least busy part of Kalingalinga to set up, an empty field where two roads met under an old billboard. As Naila parked, she saw a raised platform ten feet above the ground. Jacob and Joseph were crouched at its base, knocking together a set of steps up to it using tools borrowed from RIP Beds & Coffins. She winced – they had set up the stage on the wrong side. The plan had been to mount it facing east, under the blank back of the billboard, so they could paint their slogan on it. Instead, the guys had built it facing west, under the front of the billboard, which showed a multicoloured advert.
Naila got out of the car and walked up to the stage, passing through a football game in the field. Some kids had gathered to play, hoping for handouts or gossip. She beckoned for Joseph to come down from the stage, then took him aside to point out the mistake.
‘Fuck!’ He blinked up at the billboard, then whirled around with his hands on top of his head. His bare chest was sweaty from the exertion of lifting and hammering, and she could almost feel his rage beaming off it.
‘We can’t move the whole stage now!’ he shouted. ‘It’s too heavy.’
The kids stopped kicking their plastic-bag football and stared at the angry coloured man.
‘Then we have to take it apart and rebuild,’ she said.
‘What’s up?’ Jacob called out from the stage, standing slowly, hitching his jeans. He was bare-chested too. She pointed at the billboard. He walked a few feet forward, turned, and looked at it. He started laughing, his mouth snapping up at the sky. The kids giggled and pointed too, as if they got the joke.
BOOM POWER.
YOUR SMART DETERGENT CHOICE.
‘I guess it is a message?’ Jacob shrugged.
‘It’s an embarrassment.’ Joseph shook his head and stormed off in a huff.
Naila raised an eyebrow at Jacob, but he was still looking at the billboard.
‘You know what? We can fix it,’ he said and loped off. He came back moments later, carrying a ladder, two cans of paint and a paint brush. The kids sat on the ground in a line in front of the stage to watch like it was field day.
* * *
Naila didn’t see Joseph again until hours later. She and Jacob were climbing the steps up to the stage, holding either end of the giant speaker they’d rented. Joseph emerged in the distance, wearing a suit, carrying a sheaf of pages – a speech, no doubt – and his little red book. She and Jacob shuffled along the creaking wood planks and levered the speaker into place. She dusted off her hands as Joseph came up on the stage.
‘Yikes. Where d’you get that Kaunda suit, men?’ she said. ‘Sally’s?’
‘It’s not salaula,’ Joseph said indignantly, looking down his chin at it. ‘It’s my grandpa’s.’
Jacob was leaning over the edge of the stage, dousing his head with a bottle of water. He shook his head like a dog, flinging droplets. Naila stepped away, clucking – he was still covered in paint like a Nyau dancer from whitewashing the billboard. Joseph approached the mic and tapped it.
‘Microphone testing. One-two—’ His voice boomed then screeched and he ducked.
The kids sitting on the ground in front of the stage covered their ears – the littlest one covered his eyes. Jacob gave a shout and jogged over to a nest of cables by the speaker to fix the feedback. Naila went to stand next to Joseph at centre stage. The sun was setting right into their eyes.
‘So you wrote a little speech?’
He looked hurt by the question. He paused.
‘Are you fucking Jacob?’ he