When my younger self walked through the dusty streets of Chilenje South, I longed for the abroad tarred roads. When the tarred streets of Perth became my home, I longed for those dusty gravel streets.

It was the stares on that Perth bus that made me realise something was wrong. The clutching of the handbag close to the chest as I walked past that surprised me. It was my angry response to “you speak good English” that frightened me. I loathed the looks of pity people gave me. They had obviously consumed too many World Vision ads. If only they knew that Chilenje South didn’t have lions, thatched huts and savannah grasslands. It is in fact like parts of Alice Springs’ dusty roads with red earth.

Some were glad their country pulled me out of my hardship. But my hardships were fighting with bus conductors for change that they didn’t want to return, among other things. Others were fearful that I was bringing war to their quiet neighbourhoods. I fear war just as much as them. Needless to say, we had the same fears but mine were neither seen nor heard.

I decided I’d had enough of feeling othered and returned to Zambia. Walking through Chilenje, the streets were not the same anymore. My feet failed to find comfort in the red earth. I was angry that electricity didn’t flow interrupted. I was frustrated that it took me 2 days at government offices to get my National Registration Card (NRC). Are we not in the 21st century? Why are we using an old typewriter to print NRC's? I raged as we waited for over 2 hours to get our meals at a local eatery and my aunt wanted to tip the unhelpful waiter. I mean, why do we accept mediocre service?

I was disappointed in myself for not loving the home I had craved so much while I was away. What was happening? Why wasn’t home the same anymore? Is this what they mean when they say ‘you go abroad and you change?’ Had I changed? No one bothered to listen to my “this must change” or “that must stop” sermons. They gave me pitied “poor Western you” looks. I guess now I have to accept that whether I’m at home or abroad, the pitied looks will always follow me.

I remember a show on ZNBC called Home is Here. It was a sit-down interview with foreigners who have settled in Zambia. I was too young to fully comprehend why that was a thing but now I get it.

We crave belonging and finding a home, whether it is with someone or in a location. That belonging makes us whole. When that sense of belonging is not there, we are lonely islands. They say home is where the heart is. I have found that it doesn’t always have to be a full heart. It can be part of a heart here and part of the heart there. I love to laugh with my Zed family. I love that we face the struggle together. I love the community. We rally around each other in times of joy and sorrow. I love that I can be lost in a river of melanin and never stick out. I miss that when I’m Down Under.

So let me be frustrated with the pace of progress while believing "Bally will fix it". Let my righteous anger be on those who benefit from corruption. I rage at their profiting from the power bestowed upon them to change many lives. Alas, they only change their own. I’m sure our freedom fighters are sad too.

I choose to stay Down Under because the passport gets me to many countries without the whole visa shenanigans. Don’t get me wrong, wilful ignorance still annoys me but how people perceive me is slowly becoming something that I don't give the power to care about. Home to me is a time and place that changes like seasons. Yes, I don't fit here or there. I fit perfectly in my third space that is Zambian, Australian and everything else I create outside my geographical coordinates.

I buried the pain under dreams of a black caucus.

It is six feet deep in dreams of the first indigenous prime mister and African Australian billionaire.

Ooh my the euphoria of that day has me cheering so hard for black people that no one hears the screams from crowded prisons, or looks of suspicion when we enter stores or the trauma of being locked in high rises.

I don't face today any more. I look for a thousand tomorrows where my chest is loosened from the you don't belong here looks.

I face the tomorrows where I don't need to bury the pain but can let it run free as it sees me flying above its clenched fits.

Popo the hare set out looking for her meal for the day. As she walked through the forest she saw honey up high on the Mutunguruni tree. She could not get to it herself so she went looking for someone to help her climb up the tree. Popo found Wira the squirrel munching away at a nut. “Hi Wira are you hungry for something sweet?"  “Sure, What do you have" replied Wira. "Nothing on me right now but the Mutunguruni tree by the river has plenty of honey. If you help me get up the tree we can both enjoy it” Wira the Squirrel not one to miss an opportunity to eat something sweet went with Popo. Up the tree they climbed.  

Paka the lion passing by heard jovial chatter and laughter. Ahh finally he had his meal. He followed the chatter up the tree. "Hello, who is up there?" Popo and Wira stopped their laughter. Maybe if they kept quiet he would go away. "I heard you laughing. Who is up there? What are you doing?”  Too scared to keep silent any longer Wira the Squirrel answered "we are eating honey." "Ohh how wonderful, I too want to enjoy your stories. Come eat the honey down here and I will tell you of my adventures in the forest across the river”  

Popo the hare sensed that Paka’s intentions were not genuine. She whispered to Wira “If we go down he will eat us." Popo came up with a plan they would throw down the beehive and run away. Paka heard movement and smiled finally his meal was coming down.

Paka felt a huge blow on his heard and then the stings began. He ran off kicking the hive as he went. Popo wasted no time jumping off the tree and running away. Wira overcome by fear took his time getting down making sure that Paka was nowhere to be seen. Just as he was about to make a run for it he felt Paka's claws on his neck. "Ahh so you thought you could deceive me?" Tell me who was up there with you and I won’t eat you. I was with Popo the Hare. Ahh so Popo thinks she is clever huh. No-one ever saw Wira the squirrel again.

A few days later remembering the honey Popo convinced Nuru the tortoise to come climb the mutunguruni tree with her. Paka the lion heard jovial chatter again and thought this time I will have that Hare. "Hello, Who is up there?" Silence. "Popo I know you are up there.  I want some honey too. Come share your honey and I will tell you of my adventures in the forest across the river”. Popo whispered to Nuru “ its a lie, we will end up like Wira. Nuru the tortoise grew terrified. How would they make it home without ending up as Paka’s dinner?

Popo thought Nuru you must get into your shell I will throw you down and make a run for it. Paka cannot eat you while you are in your shell. Nuru was not sure about this plan but agreed that her shell could not be cracked by a lions teeth.  
Paka felt a thump on his head but this time he was prepared the bees would not distract him from catching Popo as they came down the tree. They were no stings no buzzing sounds. A little confused Paka searched for what fell on him. Then he saw Nuru the tortoise on the ground upside down.
Grabbing her by the legs he shook her. "Where is Popo?” Stop shaking me she yelled. Then Paka heard it, the rusting of the grass as Popo made her get away from the other side of the tree. Well I guess you are my dinner. Nuru asked Paka “Will you just eat my leg? If you want me to come out of my shell you will have to spin around a 100 times". Paka took Nuru's leg span around as fast as he could. Out slipped Nuru the tortoise’s leg from his hand into the forest. Dizzy from the spin Paka realised he had been tricked and his meal was gone. Paka was angry that the silly hare had tricked him twice.

"Where is Popo?" a roar was heard in the village. All the animals fell silent when they realised who was asking. Topi the antelope pointed to the hut at the end of the village as all the animals scamped. Paka went in and settled himself. Today Popo will not escape me.

Singing from a successful day out Popo noticed lion's paws near the village. Lion’s never come to this village what is going on. As she got close to her house she shouted "My house how are you today?" Silence. "House I said how are you today?" Silence. Well this is strange she thought out loudly. Everyday I come home greet the house it replies what is happening today? Something must be wrong in there. Paka not wanting to be found answered "Am well, come in.” "Aha I thought it was you in there Paka. My house does not speak" and off she ran. Paka the lion gave out a frustrated roar that Popo, that hare had outsmarted him again.  

From this tale we learn that not everything that appears good at first is always good. That honey cost Popo her friend and had her running from Paka the lion for the rest of her life.

This tale is adapted from a Kenyan tale about the hare and the lion.

Till next time. Shalenipo, Stay wise, Stay connected.

Giraffe walked through the savannah admiring its luscious green grass.  
On her daily stroll giraffe came across herders with various animals. Giraffe grew envious of the herders she saw each day tending to their flock.

She too could be a great animal herder she thought.  She went out and got a flock of sheep and goats.  One day as the animals grazed giraffe took a nap under a tree. The animals slowly started to wander away. The goats headed east the sheep headed west.  
When giraffe woke up she found that her animals had gone in opposite directions.  She didn’t know whether to follow the goats or the sheep. She decided to stretch herself to the east and the west so she could bring back her both the goats and sheep. As she stretched to the east and the west her body was ripped apart  

The moral of this tale is to be aware of the dangers of envy. Just because someone is doing something doesn’t mean you too must do it. Find your own path, remove distractions and move in your own lane with confidence

This tale comes from Bostwana

In a kingdom far beyond the savannah a tree grew so big that its leaves almost touched heaven. The King was worried that the fields in his land would not yield good crop as they were overshadowed by the tree. He called his people and proclaimed that whoever succeeded in cutting down the tree with a wooden axe would have an elephant as payment.

The crowd grumbled, realising that it was impossible to cut down the big tree with a wooden axe. Ananse the spider however was ready to take up the job. He pushed through the crowd, bowed down before the King and said he had the power to cut down the tree."Only a wooden axe shall be used Ananse. If you use anything else, the elephant will not be yours”. "Yes, my King I shall use a wooden axe".

The King knowing how cunning Ananse was sent a guard to keep an eye on him.True to his character Ananse the spider hid a metal axe in his bag. He pondered on how he would keep the Kings guard from seeing him use his metal axe. "How wonderful it would be to have an antelope to take home to the family" Ananse spoke. "Yes that would be great, my family would be very happy to eat meat on this day” the guard responded. “Quiet, I hear an antelope heading our way. Go quickly to catch it. I will not tell the King you left”

The guard dashed towards the antelope and Ananse grabbed his metal axe and began chopping the tree. The guard was not fast enough to catch the antelope. As he approached Ananse down came the big tree.The King gave Ananse the elephant as promised pondering whether Ananse had used his tricks again.

On his way home Ananse the spider thought about sharing the elephant with his family. I will hide the elephant in the forest and it eat all by myself.  I will catch a bird for them to eat.Ananse left the elephant in search of a bird. He found one perched in a tree but when he got close enough to stone it, the bird flew away. All the birds he found got away from him. "Well, too bad my family will not have meat today". He decided to check on his elephant before heading home. When he returned to the place he left the elephant it was not there. He searched for it and could not find it. He went home with nothing and his energy spent.

The moral of the story is recognise what you have and don't risk it for selfish pursuits. Many a times we are searching for the next high, the next goal, the next adventure that we do not take time to be grateful for what we have right here right now.

This tale comes from Ghana

There was drought in the land. The hare and the hyena we hungry, they had not eaten for days. As luck would have it they came across a field with luscious crop. They dug a hole in the fence to help themselves to the crop.  

Once inside the hare ate slowly and just enough to satisfy its hunger. It sang "timpu timpu fyabene, timpu timpu fyabene” taking little here taking little there it's somebody else.  The hyena ate everything in sight singing out loudly "pululu pululu fyakumena fimbi, pululu fyakumena fimbi” grab everything other crops will grow.

Suddenly they heard the farmers footsteps in the field. They dashed towards the hole in the fence. The hare quickly made it through the hole but the hyena was slowed down by its big belly. When it reached the hole in the fence it could not get through.
The farmer found hyena stuck in the fence and killed it for eating his crop.

The moral of the story according to my grandmother was not to be greedy. Eat only what you need  For a young me I failed constantly to heed this wisdom….making myself sick for eating too much or wasting food when my eyes were bigger than my stomach

This tale comes from Zambia.

We all need that someone who sees greatness in us, in those times when we are feeling unworthy, unloved and deranged with littleness.

Many a time we look to the outside for someone to tell us we are loved. We look for their hand to pull us out of our derangement.

We wait for them to show up. Forgetting that we too can be the hand that reaches down to lift thyself out.

You can unshackle yourself from the chains when you remember your worth is more than gold.

As we walk through the fires of life remember that our perfection hides underneath the unworthiness we carry.

Your love is enough

Your life is enough

You are more than enough

Working in a distributed team re-enforces the importance of cross-cultural communication. I remember an argument on how to do a calculation with a colleague. I said it should be 3 times 2, they said 3 by 2. This we went on this for a while until another team member said: “hey you know you are saying the same thing, right?”

Cross-cultural communication is about learning the lingo from each region your team is in. Don’t expect other team members to learn the nuances from the English-speaking region. Take the time to understand how the other side speaks English.

English add complexity to those with a different mother tongue. They will translate to their mother tongue then back to English for understanding. You lose a lot during that period. Slowing down your speaking never killed anyone.

Many times, we will go over requirements on screens over sketchy networks. When a feature developed looks nothing like what you had discussed. The finger pointing results in “they never do anything right”. Usually aimed at the non-English speaking region.

The thing with communication though, is you need to make sure everyone is on the same page. Even if it means saying the same thing over and over again. In a team where you rely on each other to get things done, it is easy to blame someone for not understanding. Forgetting you may have used words that were complex or examples that did not make sense to the other person.

I have found checking in on development progress at least once a day to be useful. If you wait till the end of the week there will be too much to be angry about.

When you have team discussions always remember to be inclusive. Ask the quiet ones what they think. Get those over the screen nodders involved. Create an environment that allows everyone in the team to contribute to the solution. Not only the people who speak up the most.

Do not assume anything, whether spoken or written. Make sure you clarify it.

To set a distributed team up for success, ensure the team members:

• Ask questions
• In doubt always clarify
• Minimise using complex words and local lingo (unless they teach each other what the lingo means)
• Check in at least once a day
• Repeat agreed upon points or actions at the end of each discussion.
• If someone hasn’t participated in a discussion, ask for their opinion
• Celebrate small wins
• Communicate! Communicate! Communicate!

I remember landing in Perth on a hot February afternoon. I wondered how I would survive Australia. I have lived all my life on the African continent. Most people looked like me and for the first time, I felt the sting of being a minority.

I wondered why people stared at me when I entered public places. It was the stares in stores and public transport that made me aware of my difference. I understood then that in this land there would always be something that made me stand out.

I shocked myself when I got angry because someone complimented how good my English was. I failed to understand why it was a compliment for a person like me to speak good English. I started to speak in what I imagined were clearer tones. I stopped rolling my words like I used to, lest people confuse it for not knowing English.

Later I understood that some people here had not had encounters with a variety of people like me. We all had different stories but in this land, we all had lived the same lives and spoke the same language. Here all we were, was forever grateful for opportunities that were not in our lands.

I loathed the “poor you” looks people gave me. They pitied me, as they thought of the poverty and hard life I had come from. Some people were happy that their country could pull me out of that hardship. Others were fearful that I would bring violence to their quiet neighbourhoods.

It took me a long time to understand that the fear came from what they saw and heard in the media. They did not know any better or want to know any better. I made it my mission not to notice their uneasiness. Now my mission is to break that ignorance.

In most of my professional roles, it was the norm for me to be the only person of African heritage in the workplace. I remember a few years back asking someone who was on my hiring panel why they hired me? He said my African heritage was a major factor. They needed diversity in their organisation. The reply disappointed me. He did add that I was a very capable candidate, but I could not shake off the token feeling.

When my workplace all over sudden had more people like me, it was weird and uncomfortable. Why did this diversity that I had longed for, become weird and uncomfortable?

I felt if we hang out together at work, it looked as if we were segregating ourselves. I remember the “how are you brother/sister” looks we gave each other in the streets. I wanted to do that instead of having a proper conversation like everyone else. It was ok for us to socialise outside work but at work, people would find it weird.

I had become attached to being the token person of African heritage. Being around other people of African heritage in the office took away my specialness. I did not know what to do but feel uneasy about this change in the same way the locals were uneasy about my existence.

The problems I have found with token persons are:

• Accepting your specialness. There is no glory in being the first unless others join you

• Organisations thinking they have diversity when they have a few people they point to

• Others in the organisation feeling the tokens do not deserve to be there.

The first half of 2018 found me training graduate hires from all over the globe in our graduate training program: ThoughtWorks University. The 5-week training program runs in our Xi’an (China) and Pune (India) offices. It prepares our graduate hires for life as a consultant.

The role of the trainer is both rewarding and challenging. It is true that teaching others provides opportunities for the teacher to learn too. Little did I realise that a conversation with one of my trainees would do exactly that. It led to my acceptance of a part of me that I have been hiding. It also created an urge for me to advocate for more discussions on diversity.

The conversation

Her: Hey Mayase, do you have a minute?
Me: Yeah sure, I could use a distraction from replying to this email
Her: I have been wanting to talk to you since the first day. I wanted to tell you that seeing you here has comforted me.
Me: Ooh (a hesitant) Thank you, am glad.
Her: I love seeing women of colour here, let’s have dinner and talk more. I would love to hear your story.
Me: (Excited) Yes sure let me know when.

The reality check

Someone else came to me and said they wanted to have lunch with me and hear my story. What story I wondered. I am an Australian of African heritage. Was that a reason to share my story?

I was suddenly fearful of what this meant. I never imagined that one day I would be proud of being a woman of colour in the workplace

For most of my professional life, I have worked hard to not focus on the racial part of me. Working in Australia, I stand out because of my race. I was also usually the only person of African heritage in the organisation. I did everything I could to not stand out because of it. All I wanted was to go to work, head down, do the best job I could, and get rewarded for it. The more I thought about identifying as a woman of colour the more it terrified me. It meant I would have to stop trying to be invisible, or to try to blend in. I know now that I was never invisible. I was the brown bear in the room. I figured if I identified myself as the brown bear, then I would be calling out that I was different. I didn’t want to be different, but I owed it to myself to own this part of me and know that different doesn’t mean bad.

If I was different and it was ok, then why did it feel like a burden to acknowledge it? For one, I felt the pressure of speaking for women of colour when mine was only part of the story. How do we act around the brown bear in the room Mayase? I am afraid I don’t know. I can tell you from my experience, what not to do. Is that enough? Was I a fraud for not knowing? Shouldn’t I as a person of colour know the answers? I do not want to affect anyone else’s chances because of my not knowing how to change my industry. I found wisdom from a female leader who said ‘you don’t need to know the answers to this. It is not your job to educate everyone. That burden is not yours to carry’. I understood, but it still weighs heavy on my heart. I am the example of women like me all over the world, but cannot be the voice of them all.

I discovered many of us are uncomfortable talking about diversity. Be it race, gender, culture, etc., because we don’t know what to say about it. Some of us don’t want to expose ourselves as douche bags. But in not talking about it we all fail to the right the wrongs that continue to shroud our industry and society. The truth is, even minorities get tired/frustrated about talks on minorities. Why can’t we move on? Our world is now equal why keep harping on about it? But we know it’s not true. Every day prejudice reminds us of the aftershocks of the lack of diversity.

The silence of others makes it hard to discuss diversity. I couldn’t always share my story for fear of disturbing the silent ones. Those that switched off at any hint of the diversity topic. Someone told me they were not into identity politics. They did not focus on this in the workplace. Everyone was the same to them. I guess it’s easier not to get into identity politics when you are the dominant race/gender.

Then there is the danger zone of using the race or gender card. I did not want to be that person seen as playing the race or gender card when I was not. I had these things counting against me, but it was not going to be an excuse for not being exceptional at what am doing. I worked 200% to make sure that those were not the things that played on people’s minds. Even though deep down I knew these aspects were always in play.

Then there is the big question of who can talk about diversity? Is it only minorities? Can someone from a dominant race/gender/social & economic talk? I say, be an ally. Don’t speak on behalf of others but listen and believe when someone tells you their story.

Others feel we have talked about this for so long. I hear things like “Let’s make real change happen. Enough talk.”  I agree that we need to act, but action stems from acknowledging and accepting the brown bear in the room.

The acceptance

Feeling terrified of my diversity, made me realise that I was diminishing the light I can shine. By embracing this part of me, I allow more people like me to take this journey. Who knew an acknowledgement of a part of me I had been hiding would bring me confidence. It has allowed me to own who I am and accept my place in the Technology Industry.

It finally rang true to me that my presence in the technology world means more than another person in Tech. It gives courage to those with some kind of otherness that this industry is theirs as well. I see myself and future generations facing this industry with confidence.

Workplaces should work towards making it safe for people to share their experiences. We must remain conscious of those around us, to overcome the frustration, fear, and apathy about the brown bear in the room.

At ThoughtWorks our open culture allows people to come forward and express their varied experience. Through our social justice pillar, we strive to create a positive social change. ThoughtWorks has prioritised growing other aspects of diversity not only gender. They acknowledge there is more they need to do and are not shying away from the challenge.

Workplaces must encourage more people to open up and share their discomfort and fears. Only then can we have conversations that are inclusive and begin to address these fears. Diverse workspaces will come when we become comfortable sharing the uncomfortable.

First published on ThoughtWorks Insights

She sat at the top of the hill. In the same spot that she always had. It was her little haven. Her secret place to be and to become. In this little sacred space her thoughts could roam freely and loudly. It is here that she had learnt to be comfortable with the voices in her head. They would carry on in conversation without her. She sometimes felt like an eavesdropper listening in on private discussion.

The sky grew darker, losing the golden hues of the evening sun. She watched the lights in the distant houses come on, one at a time. She liked to pretend that she was a conductor and the windows in the distant houses were her orchestra. One by one, the conductor would instruct the windows to light up , creating beautiful harmonies that only her eyes could hear.

For 15 year old Beatrice, the ears were not meant for just hearing, the eyes were not meant for just seeing. She could see the emotion released in every note when her favourite singer took the pew in sunday mass. She could hear the harmonies in every ray of light and every colour released by the sun at dusk.

In her little haven on top of the hill, she could be and she could become.
She could become the courage her mother needed to leave a man that gave heavy gifts. Bruised faces and broken ribs were gifts Beatrice’s father showered his wife with most drunken nights.
Here she could become the hands that could mend her mother’s tattered heart. She saw her mothers broken heart the same way she saw complex lego puzzles. With enough love and practice those skilled hands could put her mother’s heart back together.

Here in this secret place, Beatrice could wrestle with the voices in her head that were trying hard to reconcile her love for her father with his actions. Her love for him was as strong and present as her heart beat. The priest in sunday mass had talked about hating the sin but loving the sinner. But just like the darkness consumed the that evening’s sky, the sin consumed her father. Merging the sinner and the sin into one.

As the last rays of daylight bid their farewell. Beatrice sat and watched a little longer as her orchestra of lights expanded and littered across all the hills and valley below. In all those little windows lives different from her own continued to play on. Standing up to leave, She could not help but wonder if all lives that existed in those distant lights were as broken as her own.

With our sport-obsessed culture it sometimes frightens me when I see the value in dollars we give our professional athletes. If the value of sport can be summed up by the exorbitant amounts we give professional athletes then I fear we place more value on these stars than the sport itself. Is our obsession fuelling these ridiculous salary amounts? which can easily be equivalent to the national budget of a developing country. Not to digress into a rant on whether this is the best way to spend our well-earned monies when there are people in the world that could do with the financial resources, but just think about it, all things being equal are professional athletes worth all that money? I do love sports, I just question the value we put on the game and the players and what it means if that is a reflection of our society.

Sport has the power to change lives and its impact on bringing people together is immeasurable. The story of David Yohan coach and founder of PAWES (Providing Awareness With Education & Sport) is one of sports making a difference in young people's lives. He is an amazing young man using Basketball to change the lives of youths in his community.

David founded PAWES a non-profit voluntary association targeting at risk, marginalised and disadvantaged young people. They provide support and safe environments allowing young people to positively interact with the community.  They also offer recreation and educational opportunities, teaching their young people where to seek support and how to deal with issues they may encounter.

He had a tough start with his father being brutally taken away from him before he could ever get to meet and know him. From Ethiopia to Sudan to Australia, his mother fought for a better life and opportunity for her only son. He spent many days with her on the streets of Sudan with no shelter and to him this would be a great testament that for every dark tunnel, there is a light at the end, you just have to go and switch it on sometimes.

He credits Basketball for saving his life. He first saw it played on the streets of Sudan and as a soccer player, he and his friends could not understand this game where the ball was not kicked. They laughed at this funny use of the ball. When he moved to Australia he saw his neighbours playing and this time he asked them to teach him how to play. It was a good way to make friends and join this new community he was trying to fit in and stay out of trouble.

David believes sports bring communities together, get people to understand others and bridge the gaps of prejudice and discrimination. For young people that are finding it hard to belong and find their own path in life, it's the perfect opportunity to grow, connect with others and have fun.

In 2010 David was awarded Queensland Young Citizen of the Year and in 2011 he was a Young Australian of the Year finalist. He doesn't talk too much about his awards because accolades are great but his work is not about fame but keeping young people off the streets and giving them the tools to build a fulfilling life for themselves.

He uses his experience to coach and spread the message not to let situations and backgrounds stop any young person from achieving their goals. The young people in his Basketball teams are taught to learn from their mistakes and keep taking chances.

His goals are simple, as a business owner and community leader he wants to encourage youths to be contributing members of our communities and stop any kind of discrimination, especially in sport.

Seeing how much sports are a big part of our lives and will continue to be high on our entertainment lists, it is great to see people like David who are not only inspiring young people but building the future generations of African Australian youths.

It all began with Malcolm Gladwell's TED talk, Choice, happiness and spaghetti sauce or as I tend to recall it, Malcolm Gladwell's spaghetti sauce talk. I read an article about his TED talk in a magazine, in a fish and chips shop at the corner of Harborne Street and Jon Sanders Drive in Glendalough, Perth, Western Australia. This was many years ago. What began was the making of a TED Evangelist.

At the writing of this article, Malcolm Gladwell's TED talk, Choice, happiness and spaghetti sauce has been viewed close to 5 million times. What really is the best spaghetti sauce?

In the talk, Malcolm Gladwell's tells the story of Howard Moskowitz who is most famous for the detailed study he made of the types of spaghetti sauce. Campbell Soup approached Howard to help them improve their spaghetti sauce product line. From the work that Howard did for Pepsi, Howard didn't believe in the perfect spaghetti sauce, so he set out to find the perfect spaghetti sauces. Howard performed a detailed study using 45 varieties of spaghetti sauce; he varied them in every conceivable way. After months of study, Howard found that all Americans fell into three distinct groups, those who liked their spaghetti sauce plain, spicy and extra chunky. His study led Campbell Soup to introduce extra varieties of spaghetti sauce, notably, extra chunky spaghetti sauce.

Malcolm Gladwell then concludes, that Howard made us realise a number of things, that we do not always know what we want, or we may not always say what we want, there are many different products that suit different people, the focus away from universal principles to variability, and finally that by embracing the diversity of human begins, we will find a sure way to happiness.

That was the spaghetti sauce, now for the education. What is school for? What is university for? What is education? What is education for? I bet if you asked a few people, you would get as many answers.

Sir Ken Robinson has a definition that I like, and now use when thinking about education.

“Education has three main roles: personal, cultural and economic.

• Individual: to develop individual talents and sensibilities

• Cultural: to deepen understanding of the world

• Economic: to provide the skills required to earn a living and be economically productive.”

Sir Ken Robinson's talk on Education, How schools kill creativity is the most viewed talk on www.ted.com [www.ted.com] The talk has been viewed over 27 million times as of this writing.

Given this definition or understanding of education, there are students (pupils) in Zambia that never make it to secondary school, or college or university. Would you say that such students are done a disservice by the current education curriculum and system*?

Think of primary school, secondary school, college and university like an overflowing funnel that can't handle what's being put into it. It's not a mistake that fewer people make it to secondary school, or make it to college or university, it is designed that way. Even if all primary school students scored very high scores, there would still be a cutoff point, and so many with their very high scores would still not make it to secondary school.

What is primary school for? To lead you into secondary school? What is secondary school for? To lead you into college or university? If this is the case, how well does the current education curriculum and system in Zambia serve those who never make it to secondary school or college or university?

Let's finish off from where we started, if you have watched the TED talk by Malcolm Gladwell, you know that there isn't the perfect spaghetti sauce, but that there are many perfect sauces. Even if the current Zambian curriculum is perfect, which it's far from being, we know that we need more perfect education curricula and not just one. We need many pathways to gaining an education, and hopefully an education according to Sir Ken Robinson's definition of education.

What are your thoughts on education?

*Education system – meaning everything to do with education that is not the education curriculum.

Disclaimer: These are my current thoughts as of this writing and the thoughts of others. I have either given credit to others or remixed their thoughts with mine over time that I no longer know where the thoughts came from.

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"Kalibu", we say in Zambia as we welcome you into our homes and hearts. We welcome you with the spirit that a guest is the most important person in the home. We will share our very last meal, our very last drink, our very last item of clothing or even sleep on the floor to give a guest our own bed to make them feel comfortable. It's simply just what we do. This same spirit simmers through several African countries whose cultures I am so proud to call my own.

So one would think that the spirit of "Kalibu" that has been ingrained in our very being from childhood would trickle into every walk of life right?

Well in the business world, sadly, no. I love my gorgeous little country Zambia but we need a customer service revolution.

The following are a few of the issues that I think need addressing:

1. The queue:

The humidity of a stranger's breath undulating down the back of my neck as I queue patiently in a bank. Yes Lusaka, Kitwe the same uncomfortable experience. I appeal to my fellow people to respect the notion of personal space, for hygiene  reasons at the very least if not simply as a courtesy to your fellow customer. Trust me, you will not get to the counter any faster by breathing down my neck.

Then there are those establishments that don't enforce a queue at all or choose to continue to serve people that have no respect for a queue. This is something that companies need to take a lead on to ensure that their customers have a good experience and will keep coming back to their establishments. Do not, under any circumstances, serve anybody that does not have the courtesy to wait patiently in line. This only perpetuates the poor behaviour of some customers and creates a poor image of your business. Every customer deserves equal respect so wait your turn and the respect will be given back to you a hundred fold.

2. The smile, the welcome, the hello "Kalibu"

Beautiful Zambian women, my wonder at your brilliance shall never waver but please put on a smile to compliment that pretty face!

I have heard this several times and never believed it till I experienced it myself. I enter your store, no hello, no good afternoon, no how can I help you.... I ask for help and I get a sour facial expression that seems to imply that my bringing my money to your business is somewhat an inconvenience to you. Have you ever wondered why some people never come back to your store?

This is not just the ladies by the way. Gentlemen do it too. The disregard of the presence of a customer is unacceptable and if we are to succeed in business this must change.

How you make a person feel when they come to seek a service from you will determine whether they come back next time, whether or not they refer you to their friends so you have more customers or whether they will walk out, never come back and tell all their friends to never bother coming to your store.

It certainly is your choice.... But I know there are only so many customers you can afford to lose so make your choice wisely.

3. The perception of status:

Societal status is part of living in a community. How people perceive you in society is bound to affect how they treat you. But I believe a good business is one that treats all customers equally because the one Kwacha spent by a 10 year old schoolboy is the same one Kwacha spent by a 60 year  old struggling retiree and the same one Kwacha spent by the 30 year old millionaire.

Let's discuss the following:

Age status:

Respecting one's elders is one thing but choosing to ignore someone because they appear younger and thus choosing to serve an older person first when the younger was next in line is not acceptable. One is no less important than the other...."First come" should indeed be "First served".

Marriage status:

So you got married..... Congratulations..... chances are you were not the first and definitely will not be the last. In fact, I can bet money that this coming Saturday there is a wedding happening in your local community right? So do you consider the person you were a year before you got married someone less deserving of respect? Was the Kwacha you spent back then any less valuable than the one you spend today? (Depreciation excepted of course:) I don't think so. So why then do some businesses and community groups seem to treat unmarried persons with less respect? Ponder that for a second and take a look around you the next time you are out in public. Perhaps you too will consider how unacceptable this is.

4. The inferiority complex, the lighter, the whiter, the more important. ( the unspoken killer of our dignity)

This topic is so close to my heart and I never realised what an issue it was until I was fortunate to visit a western Caucasian country.

Why do I get to a restaurant in my gorgeous Zambian cities and receive poor unacceptable service but then, like magic, a Caucasian (white) person walks in, and they receive gold star service with a smile? This makes me very angry because what message does that send to my children and to yours? Is my gorgeous chocolate daughter any less of a person than a white person? And how can we as a people demand respect from other countries and other races when we consistently show them that we hold less value for people who look like us?

A lot of this behaviour is not intentional I know but nevertheless it is unacceptable. We are equal. Let's act like we are equal. Let's act like we are black and proud of who we are. Think of how you would feel if someone treated your own mother like she deserved anything less than the best. If I treat a white customer like a king I should treat a black customer like a king.... It's that simple.

I shall leave you to consider these sentiments. I challenge my fellow Zambians to start a "Kalibu" Good Rumour movement. The next time you receive exceptional service with a smile, post it on Facebook or any other social media platform as an encouragement to other businesses to do the same. Let's crowd out the bad with good positive stories of our nation.

I will start my "Kalibu" Good Rumour Movement by Thanking the young lady at Takina Hair Dynamic at Manda Hill shopping centre in Lusaka for the exceptional service you gave me in December last year when I was looking for Braid spray. I will definitely come back and would recommend your store to anyone looking for hair products and hair product advice.

Finally, I leave you with this thought, the late great Dr Maya Angelou famously said,"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

So I dare you Zambia to make people feel good every time they walk into your shop, supermarket, government office, school, hospital or any other business. Let's show everyone an equal level of respect and courtesy. Let's honour the spirit of "Kalibu" and make them want to come back to you.