Audacious Destiny: A journey of resilience, faith, and discovery of a purposeful future amidst tragedy

By Grace Mulenga

What if everything that happens to us, good and bad, is leading to something much bigger than us? What if the discovery of our earthly purpose is hidden in the tapestry of seemingly coincidental occurrences? This inspirational and spiritual memoir by Grace Mulenga tells of her journey of faith, resilience, and the discovery of God's intentionali

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Jul 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885902465

Grace Mulenga

Grace Mulenga was born and raised in the beautiful country of Zambia, aka the smile of Africa. She currently lives and works in Austin, Texas, where she enjoys serving her community through various initiatives. In all her accomplishments, Grace is most proud of the opportunities to serve and uplift the human circle. She is a public speaker on various platforms and events, including keynote speaker at charity fundraisers, church ministry, community youth programs, and for several years has served on the alumni bootcamp panel for first year MBA students. On whatever platform she has the opportunity to serve, her goal and passion remains to help people realize their purpose and motivate them to reach for the stars, no matter who they are or what circumstances they're living under.Grace truly believes that every human being was brought onto this earth with a gift that they can share with the world, no matter how big or small.

Book preview

BLISS

Dusty little children gather around an old tin can on a red-dirt playground. They chatter quietly but with an obvious child-like mischief in their demeanor as they carefully observe the designated tin can guard. It’s been at least 20 minutes of anxiously waiting on a rescue sign when suddenly a loud exclamation is heard. Chidunune!! The tin can guard has no time to react as this exclaiming hero simultaneously kicks the can in another direction while all the other kids scamper in several different directions to take their position in hiding. Some run to the nearby shrubs while others fight for space in an old, abandoned, beat down vehicle which looks like it has been parked in one spot for decades. The guard desperately gathers himself to start the count once again as he simultaneously turns to try and get a glimpse of where everybody is hiding. It is the fifth time this is happening and the obvious crack in the little guard’s voice indicates every bit of frustration. This was the nature of Chidunune, our Zambian version of outdoor hide and seek. It called only for the players strongest at heart.

On this fateful, yet exciting game day, the contender was almost cracking under pressure; but showing weakness was not an option. Eventually, the game ended at about the 7thround. Definitely one of the longest games any of us had ever played. The little gang of our neighborhood kids once again gathered excitedly reliving each exciting moment of the game with loud recounts of the action. The gorgeous red sunset was just beginning to disappear behind the beautiful summer skies, which was also a sure sign that it was time to say our goodbyes for the day. Every kid was literally covered in dust and sand from head to toe, walking home, not knowing what the verdict would be for getting this messy. It didn’t matter anyway. All the enjoyment obtained from the fierce playground adventures would be worth any consequences ahead. And so, it was----a perfect day in my childhood of the early 1990s.

My family lived in a small three-bedroom house, about 850 square feet, in a township neighborhood commonly known as Libala. Our household had ten members which consisted of eight girls and two parents. Yes, you heard right, eight girls! The joke was, and still is, that my parents tried so many times to have a son until they ended up with that many girls. Whatever the case, they seemed proud of their girl team. Perhaps the question you’re asking is, how on earth did we all fit in that tiny little house?! I know---I too, wonder about that sometimes. Especially at the time when the ages ranged from about four to fifteen. Therefore, to say our household was loud is an understatement. But somehow in that loud, seemingly crowded space, we found true joy and contentment. Our beautiful mother who had only a high school education ran a successful business selling vegetables at a tiny little shop in the neighborhood market. She was probably my first example of a great work ethic. Most days, she was out of the house by 5am to get fresh produce from local farmer’s markets. The only weekdays I saw mom around the house in broad daylight was when she would come home to take care of household chores, and then return to her shop. As a child, I thought she was the most successful woman, and indeed she was. We never heard her talk down on what she did as a vegetable sales lady. Instead, she had a healthy pride regarding what she did for a living. She was a petite lady beautiful in form, with long dark thick hair which she mostly wrapped in a bun. She had such a distinct, loud laughter that you could tell her apart from the crowd. Most evenings at the end of the day, you could hear my mother loudly laughing by the yard entrance with her best friend. This was usually a clear sign that mama was close to the house. Though a sanguine by nature, her switches in personality could almost terrify you sometimes as she would switch from loud laughs to commander in chief when she needed to call for order in our household. Perhaps this was a way for her to keep eight girls in line and it seemed to work perfectly. My siblings even nicknamed her Margaret Thatcher, a former British prime minister, popularly known in history for her stern and prudent nature.

My father, on the other hand, was calm, collected and always thought-out, which helped balance out the very sanguine nature of our mother. He had some form of college training and worked for the city as a Mechanic/Auto Electrician. We thought our dad was the Einstein of his time as he loved to fix things and play with experimental science. Since nicknames were a thing in our household, he got one too! MacGyver. If you don’t know who MacGyver is, please look him up. He was a famous American actor of our time, popularly known for his superior intelligence and making atomic bombs with ridiculous combinations like eggs and water. Maybe I am exaggerating but I’m sure you get the picture. One of those wooing and memorable things our dad did was how he often generated electricity from a car battery to power the television, when our neighborhood encountered power outages. Of course, we were the envy of all our friends as we would be the only family watching TV when the rest of the neighborhood was pitch black.

Church days were also critical in our household. Preparation was key to making it on time for church. As sabbath keeping believers, our parents ensured we understood the importance of being intentional with the day of worship. Friday afternoons and evenings were filled with yard cleanup, house scrubbing, and overall preparation work. To this day, I do not know how we all managed to get ready for church and make it in time, with one tiny bathroom, but we did.

We typically walked to church as we did not have a vehicle large enough for 10, but again, we just didn’t have a vehicle at all. Our Sabbath afternoons made for great song practice with dad. We would gather around him as he taught us various hymns, while he periodically teased those who couldn’t hold a note to save their lives if they had to. These made great moments of loud laughter for everyone. That was our life in a nutshell. Simple, happy, content and for 5-year-old me, it was BLISS. Oh, how I wished it stayed that way.

Sometime in the 1990’s. Church day in the Mulenga household. Dad with the girls. Little Grace (Me) in the front center.

Undated photo: Mom & Dad. Jean and Matthews Mulenga

UNINVITED SEASON

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.

~Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)

If you have lived in a tropical climate such as the one I grew up in Zambia, you know to prepare for and expect at least three seasons. For me, it was associating certain foods with specific seasons that added just a little extra excitement to the changes. We had the cold season between June and July, which was great harvest time for delicious, creamy sweet potatoes and oversized avocados (at least 5 inches in diameter) amongst other foods. Rainy seasons brought juicy mangos of all kinds, and tasty mushrooms which most of the world do not even know exist. Then, there was the hot and dry season which to this day, I do not understand the significance of. The temperatures were at least 32 degrees Celsius (approx. 90 degrees Fahrenheit) --- and no, we didn’t have air conditioning. In the 1990s, not many families had refrigerators, especially in our middle-class neighborhood. However, the few who had refrigerators were always willing to share with others in the community. Whether it was sharing a space for ice cubes, a pack of meat or a container of water, nobody really complained. It was one of those unspoken community norms that we can now look back on and truly appreciate. Additionally, the hot season was also a time we saw creativity at its best---probably resulting from people’s desperation to deal with the unforgiving heat. One of those ingenuities was the famous Jo- Saka. Honestly, nobody really knew the origin of the name but the word saka is Zambian vernacular for pronouncing sack. It was a plastic container skillfully knitted with a thick layer of dark, brown sack. The container would be filled with water, closed tightly, roped around a shady tree and had water poured over it throughout the day. As crazy as it may sound, this technique worked like magic! That water was as good as any refrigerator water you’ve ever tasted. While this system worked wonders, it also came with a stereotype of the poor man’s last resort to cooling water. The mere word of a Jo-Saka would spark laughter followed by silly and comic remarks in any conversation.

Before I lose you here, those were the seasons we experienced. And year after year, everyone, consciously and subconsciously knew to expect and prepare for them. But then came an uninvited and unexpected season in our lives. It wasn’t one that would be characterized by climate or food.

It all started when our mother fell ill one day. The energetic woman I described earlier would be home laying on the sofa in the middle of the day. She was not regularly going to her place of business and her loud/infectious laughter had reduced to faint smiles. It was clear that she was experiencing severe headaches as she had a cold/wet towel over her forehead for long periods of time. Dad had started coming home a little earlier from work to take care of mom. My older siblings had also taken up more responsibility, doing household chores without the usual commanding prompts from Margarete Thatcher as they nicknamed her. Even though I knew things were not the same in our household, my childlike supposition was that mommy was home and that seemed to be enough. As far as I was concerned, everything would be okay. If only I was right.

A day came when there was a difference in what had become somewhat of a new norm in our household for a few months. Whatever pain my mom was feeling seemed worse. The faint smile was not there. I could sense the uneasiness from our normally calm dad, as he moved from one room to another, organizing items for what seemed like preparation for travel. Before I knew it, there was a vehicle outside and mom was carried into it. I can’t say I vividly remember my mother saying anything to me as she was obviously too sick to speak. The doors of the car were still open, as my dad and somebody else continued loading bags. There were no formal goodbyes or explanations. All I had was that one last look. Days after that trip occurred, on October 31st, 1993, we got news that our beloved mother had passed away. I didn’t have a clue as to what death was, nor did I have the full comprehension of how to grieve. Consequently, what followed that dreadful event was a blare. I remember a few people gathering at our house for a short time, but there was no funeral service. Not that I had ever attended one to know what a funeral was. I later learned, as I got a little older, that our mother’s funeral took place in another city—the very place they had transported her to, for medical care. Some of my siblings might have attended the funeral but myself and the younger siblings stayed behind. All I was told was that mom was never coming back. And just like that, life changed. Unlike the cyclical and imminent seasons I had learned to expect in my few years on earth, this one creeped up on my family, and with no reference point. There was not a knowing of what it brought with it, the type of fruit or food it would produce, or the temperatures to expect. One thing that seemed clear about this season, however, was that it brought with it a permanent change. Our family would never be the same again.

THE GIFT OF VISION

The power of imagination created the illusion that my vision went much farther than the naked eye could actually see.

~Nelson Mandela

Like most children, I had simply adapted to the changes in our lives. Even though I somewhat knew our mom was not coming back, the fact that dad was there provided enough comfort. It wasn’t just dad being around that brought comfort, but how he literally took on the role of both parents. With Mom gone, he was now making our meals whenever he could, cleaned the house and washed our clothes. During this time, we also went through another transition which was not exactly easy. We had to move to another part of town, to a house my parents were in the process of building but wasn’t all