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Kitwe’s winds were raging that morning, as I lay splayed out on the grass with nothing but my underwear and torn socks. I could see it in perfect view now—that Nkana skyline—stretching across the horizon, a stream of black smoke curling from the industries. There’s always smoke across Kitwe’s skylines. Just like there’s always chaos in Chimwemwe, crime in the town center, and corruption in the big buildings along the city square. Everything in this city is fast—the people, the cars, the life. Everything is mayhem, and yet everyone is calm.  

Why was I lying half-naked on the ground on a sunny Sunday morning? Well, the answer is simple: Kitwe is not for beginners.  

—

After 27 years of my parents telling me how much they loved me, they finally reached their breaking point. It was time for me to leave the nest. They never said it outright, of course. It was all subliminal, hidden in jokes and passing comments. I’d say things like, “Power has gone!” and my dad would reply, “You’re 27 years old, Chisanga. It’s you and your bad grammar that should be going.” After months of this, I finally got the hint. It was time for this little chicken to grow into the rooster I was always meant to be and fly free. (Yes, I know roosters can’t fly. It’s a metaphor. I plan to exceed society’s expectations, thank you very much.)  

So, one Saturday morning in mid-June, I set out to find myself. With nothing but a heart full of dreams, a bowl of yams packed by my mother, and K1,237.50 in my pocket, I boarded a bus to Kitwe.  

The road from Mpika was long and rough. After nine hours of choir music and two breakdowns, I finally arrived in Kitwe. It was exactly what I had imagined. As we sped past the “Welcome to Kitwe” sign, with the sunset painting a calming orange along our path, I could feel my luck begin to change. There were good things waiting for me here, hiding somewhere beyond that black mountain. I could almost taste it.  

Disembarking at the “Mama Africa” bus terminus, I was greeted by a face that had grown almost unfamiliar—my cousin Moses, or “Moze,” as people called him out here. Moze was well-known in most circles, a slick-talk savant. I swear, Moze could bullshit his way in and out of hell if he had to, and so far, he’d made an okay living out of it. He was, by all means, a hustler. I hadn’t seen him since I was four, but I couldn’t think of anyone better to help me survive in this city. So, I decided to stay with him for a few months until I got on my feet.  

We went straight to a bar from there. He said he lived in Nkana West, but we couldn’t go home sober on a Saturday night.  

“Mwaiche, life niyokaba mu land of work and joy,” he said, sipping the foam off his beer. “But don’t worry, that’s why you have me. These are my streets. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be a man.”  

I just laughed. He immediately got a phone call and left to get away from the noise, leaving me alone at the counter. I checked my phone and found seven missed calls from my mother and one from my father. I guess even after waiting so long for me to leave, they still missed me. Parents will be parents.  

Just as I was about to call them back, a bright, brown-skinned hand with red nail polish touched my wrist.  

“Hey, big boy,” she said. I turned to meet her big brown eyes, glimmering in the disco lights. She wore red lipstick on her wide lips, with two small black moles above them that accentuated her features. She looked like something out of a movie.  

“Hi,” I muttered nervously.  

“My name is Gladys, and I’ve never seen you around here.” 

“I’m Chisanga, and I’ve never been here.”  

“Oh yeah? Well, are you looking to have some fun? I can show you a really good time.”  

At this point, I gathered that she might be a prostitute. Beautiful as she was, I simply couldn’t afford her.  

“Are you new to the city?” she continued, noticing my hesitation.  

“Yes, I actually just got here today.”  

“Well, I can tell you this, Chisanga. There are two things you’ll love about Kitwe: the women and that Nkana skyline.”  

There was something about the way she said it—that Nkana skyline. She said it with so much feeling, as though she could see it right then.  

“Here’s my number,” she said, sliding a piece of paper to me. “Call me when you want to see that skyline, but I can show you the other thing right now.” She pressed her body slightly against mine.  

“I would love that,” I said, my voice shaking, “but maybe another night. Right now, I’m with my cousin, Moze. He just walked out to take a call.”  

“Wait, you’re with Moze?” She took a step back, looking almost frightened.  

“Yeah, you know him? In fact, here he comes right now.”  

She turned to see him. He was walking toward us but stopped, looked at me, and gestured for me to follow him outside.  

“Wait, but that’s not—”  

“I’m sorry, looks like I have to go,” I cut her off. “It was a pleasure meeting you, though.” I watched her expression grow even more curious as we walked out of the bar, tucking the piece of paper with her number into my coat pocket.  

—

“Listen, mwaiche,” Moze said when we were outside. “I have a quick job right now, and I was thinking you could come with me. We make some money and split it in half.”  

“No pressure, bro. What’s the job?” I asked, slightly scared but excited to see what Moze’s world was all about.  

“Nothing too big,” he said. “Just a delivery. We have to drop a package off in Chimwemwe, and the guy there will pay us. The cargo is already in my car.”  

“What’s the cargo?”  

“Lesson number one: never ask what’s in the package. Just get it from point A to point B and wash your hands afterward.”  

We chuckled and got on the road.  

The city was beautiful at night. The streets were silent, and the air tasted like early winter. As we drove deeper into Chimwemwe, prostitutes tapped on the car windows, and random noises echoed in the distance. We arrived at a torn-up building near Chimwemwe Secondary School, a dim light glimmering from inside.  

“Grab the bag from my trunk and take it to the door,” Moze said. “Knock three times and say, ‘I’m with Moze.’ A guy will come out to accept it. Quick and easy.”  

I got out of the car and grabbed the bag from the trunk, my heart racing and palms sweating. As I walked toward the door, my phone vibrated. It was my mother.  

“Mom, this is not a good time.”  

“Iwe ka Chisanga!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been calling all night! I’m worried about you, and you know I have BP! You want to kill your mother?” 

“Mom, I’m sorry, but can I call you later?” I whispered.  

“Where are you sleeping, Chisanga?”  

“I’m going to stay with Moses.”  

“What are you talking about? Moses hasn’t been in Kitwe for a while now. People have been looking for him.”  

“Mom, I’m with Moses right now. I’m helping him with a delivery.”  

“Chisanga, whoever you’re with is not Moses! Moses has been on the run. I just talked to his mother. I thought you knew.”  

I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. If Moses wasn’t here, then who was this man I had spent the night with? I turned slowly and saw him looking at me from the car. My mom kept talking, but I couldn’t hear a word. A shiver ran down my spine. My mind went blank. Who is this man? And what does he want with me?

In a panic, I threw the bag at the building’s entrance and ran in whatever direction I saw a path. I didn’t look back once. I had no idea where I was, but I had to keep going. I could hear his footsteps behind me—Moze, or whoever that man was—right on my tail.  

After running through a field of tall grass, I was covered in cuts and bruises. I barely had the strength to keep going when I saw a clearing. I ran straight for it, jumping onto a tarmac road. I could hear him coming, but I couldn’t run anymore. I turned around, raised my fists, and prepared to face him.  

Suddenly, a car screeched to a halt beside me.  

“Get in!” yelled a female voice. I squinted to see who it was—it was the woman from the bar.  

“Gladys? What? How did you find me?”  

“Not the time for questions, Chisanga!”  

I jumped into the car, and we sped off. I could see the Moze impersonator in the rearview mirror, fading into the distance.  

—

“His name is J.O,” Gladys said as we sped down the Chingola Road toward Miseshi. “He works for some very dangerous people.”  

“Who are you? What’s going on?” I yelled, barely catching my breath.  

She hesitated, glancing at me before pulling a photo from the glove compartment and handing it to me. It was a picture of her and a man. 

“That’s the man you were looking for,” she said. “That’s Moze.” 

We arrived at a house on the east side of Miseshi. She parked the car, and we rushed inside, locking the door behind us.  

“How do you know Moze?” I asked, still trying to piece everything together.  

“He was my partner,” she said. “That man who took you, J.O., works for Victor Mwaamba—a very rich and very dangerous man from a very rich and dangerous family. Moze was hired to smuggle millions of dollars’ worth of minerals out of the country for them. He was good at that kind of stuff, but he hadn’t handled that much merchandise before. He called me for help, and I agreed. But on the last day, he started talking about how he was tired of helping the rich get richer. He wanted some for himself. So, we came up with a plan to take the merch and disappear.”  

“So, you know where he is?”  

“Not exactly. We needed to monitor things before we could really disappear. I stayed here to watch Victor and his men since they don’t know me. Once things cooled down, I was supposed to contact Moze, and we’d meet at a rendezvous point. We were close to that… and then you showed up, hanging around with J.O. I had to know what was going on.”  

“Is that why you approached me at the bar?”  

“Yes. I needed to know your connection. When you said J.O. was pretending to be Moze, I knew something was up.”  

“But what does he want with me? I don’t know anything about all this!”  

“He doesn’t know that. He thinks you do, and if he finds out you don’t…”  

Gladys stopped talking when we heard a sound outside.  

“What is that?” I whispered.  

She put a finger to her lips, and we listened intently. A loud bang sent the door flying off its hinges. Three men rushed in, guns pointed at us. Gladys and I dropped to our knees, hands raised. One of the men walked toward me, raised his gun, and hit me on the forehead with so much force that everything went black.  

—

When I came to, I was half-naked, tied up, and bleeding. My arms were tied above my head, the ropes cutting into my wrists. Next to me was Gladys, with a bleeding cut on her forehead. The room was dark, and the air smelled like rust and despair.  

“If we’re gonna get naked” I coughed out, “you could at least buy me dinner gentlemen”.

J.O. walked in, standing in front of me with a cold expression. 

“Funny guy, huh? Listen, kid,” he said, raising my chin with his gun. “I want to help you, I really do. But I can’t do that until you tell me where your cousin is. The people I work for are very dangerous, and my boss will be here any moment. Trust me, you do not want to meet him.”  

“I swear,” I whispered, every word making my ribs ache, “I don’t know anything.”  

J.O. exhaled with disappointment. “Okay then,” he said. “You better start praying for that skyline.”  

The men left the room, and I turned to Gladys.  

“What did he mean by that? That skyline. You said something similar when we met.”  

She coughed before speaking. “There’s an unspoken rule in Kitwe,” she said. “At sundown, the city turns feral. Every criminal comes to life, and every crime you can think of is happening somewhere, especially murder. But when the sun comes up, and you can see the skyline, no one—and I mean no one—can kill anyone. Crime goes into hibernation. So, if you can survive the night, if you can make it to that Nkana skyline, you’ve been given a second chance.”  

J.O. walked back in, standing in front of me again.  

“Last chance,” he said. “Where is Moze?”  

“He doesn’t know!” Gladys yelled. “But I do. Or at least, I can find out. But only under one condition: you have to let him go.”  

“How do I know you’re not lying? I don’t know you.”  

“Your name is James, but people call you J.O. You live with your mother and little sister. You’ve worked for Victor and his father for over three years now. You dropped out of school two years before that. You might not know me, but I know you. And even if I am lying, killing me will be much more beneficial to you than killing him.”  

She turned to me. “Chisanga, wait for the skyline. And when you’re ready, you’ll find me beyond it.”  

Before I could ask what she meant, J.O. raised his gun and knocked me out again.  

—

When I woke up, I was lying on the lawn of the Kitwe police station, wearing nothing but my underwear and socks.  

—

Two weeks later, I was standing at a bar counter, typing a text to my mother. Not a day had gone by that I hadn’t thought about that night. Did Gladys ever find Moze? Or had they killed her? I wondered mostly about her last words: beyond the skyline. What could she have meant by that?  

As I was lost in thought, a bright, brown-skinned woman with red lipstick stood next to me. I stared at her for a moment.  

“May I help you?” she said.  

“No, no, sorry. You just remind me of someone I used to know.” 

“Oh. What was she like?”

“I actually never knew all that well, but she seemed like a good person. She definitely saved my ass.”

“Why did you lose touch?”

“We didn’t, she was… taken.”

“Where?”

“She never said, she just told me I’d find her beyond the skyline.”

“In Chingola?”

“Chingola?”

“Yeah, Chingola is right beyond Kitwe’s horizon, so it’s been known as ‘the place beyond the skyline’”.

“Actually, you wouldn’t happen to know where the Nkana skyline ends, would you?”  

I felt a smirk growing on my face.  

“Where can I get a bus ticket to Chingola?”  

—

EPILOGUE

She smiled when she saw me. “I told you you’d find me beyond the skyline.”  

“You did,” I said, returning her smile. “Now, tell me everything.”