Two years ago, a pair of cats—one a warm brown tabby, the other a sleek shade of grey—arrived at our home and were gently settled into the storeroom. We spared no effort to make their new quarters comfortable: bowls of nourishing food and cool water stood ready, alongside a sturdy tin filled with fine sand to serve as their litter tray. They seldom ventured beyond those walls, proving invaluable guardians against the ever-present threat of rodents. Despite the storeroom’s abundance of grain—sacks piled high in every corner—not a single rat has ever been glimpsed there, a testament to their vigilant presence.
As they grew accustomed to their surroundings, curiosity stirred within them. The cats began to explore beyond the storeroom, tentatively stepping into the broader world of our household and garden. On occasion, they would leap nimbly through an open window to roam the open spaces outside, only to return exhausted, clambering back inside when the allure of adventure waned.
Last week, a piercing, heart-wrenching meow shattered the quiet—a sound laced with unmistakable pain. My first instinct was that one of them was gravely ill, in need of urgent attention from the veterinary surgeon. I could not have been more wrong.
“The brown cat disappeared two days ago and hasn’t been seen since,” our maid explained calmly, and continued, “Apparently, the remaining one is missing its partner”. This revelation left me perplexed. How could a cat, often dismissed in popular wisdom as a creature devoid of deep emotions, register the absence of its companion so acutely? And grieve for it? The mournful cries persisted for several days, echoing through the house like a lament.
The household buzzed with theories about the brown cat’s fate. Some suggested it had fallen prey to neighbourhood dogs, savagely torn apart in a nocturnal skirmish. Others proposed a more whimsical explanation: perhaps it had joined a chisika troupe and would soon reappear. In Chichewa parlance, chisika describes a boisterous pack of amorous males—typically dogs—roaming in pursuit of a female in heat, their escapades a familiar sight in many of our communities.
That chisika hypothesis has long since been abandoned. More than a week has passed without a trace, leading us to darker surmises: maybe it strayed to the nearby road and met a tragic end beneath the wheels of a passing vehicle. Meanwhile, the grey cat appears to be adjusting, resigned to a life without its steadfast partner.
It is truly remarkable how animals, lacking the intellectual faculties we humans prize so highly, nonetheless form profound bonds and mourn lost associates. I recall accounts of elephants conducting elaborate grieving rituals—touching the bones of fallen kin with their trunks, lingering in silent vigil for days on end—a poignant display of communal sorrow.
A time-honoured Chichewa proverb captures this essence beautifully: “tiwiri tiwiri n’tiwanthu, kalikokha n’kanyama”—with companions, you are fully human; alone, you are as vulnerable as a beast. An individual may achieve commendable feats through solitary effort, yet when aligned in purposeful synergy with others, the results burgeon exponentially. We are schooled in basic arithmetic, where one plus one yields precisely two. But in the alchemy of teamwork, it becomes one plus one equals far more than two—a principle some might decry as mathematical heresy, yet one history repeatedly affirms.
We depend on others precisely because isolation leaves us exposed and limits our reach. No great accomplishment stands alone. Consider Jesus Christ Himself, the Divine made flesh, who recognised the imperative of collaboration. He did not labour in solitude but called forth Simon and Andrew from their fishing nets, James and John from their boat, Nathaniel, Bartholomew, and six others besides, forming an inner circle whose zeal propelled His message to every corner of the known world.
History echoes this truth. Karl Benz relied on his wife Marlene’s ingenuity and support; Steve Jobs partnered with Steve Wozniak’s technical brilliance; Bob Marley drew strength from Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer. Even tyrants like Adolf Hitler marshalled enablers such as Josef Goebbels to enact their nefarious visions. Closer to home, William Kamkwamba, the ingenious boy from Kasungu who captivated the world with his windmill crafted from scavenged scraps, collaborated closely with two friends—one the son of Chief Wimbe—transforming his solitary spark into communal triumph.
Dear readers, let us embrace our interconnectedness. Foster symbiotic ties with those near to us or sharing our passions. Reflect inwardly: do you have true collaborators in your endeavours? By synergising, we generate that ‘warped’ mathematics—yields surpassing individual limits. This is the path to elevating Malawi, and indeed the entire world. We exist for each other.