There’s a certain Zambian man who no longer exists.

There was a time a man would never leave the house without a handkerchief. He would also be at the table when it was time for the family to eat what he had worked hard to put on their plates. There were things that were non-negotiable for a certain type of man. A man, it seems, who no longer exists in our homes, workplaces and society.

It’s not a stretch to say that this type of Zambian man is extinct and was last seen wearing a safari suit in the city, driving a Toyota Cressida to work and patiently waiting for his turn in a queue. 

But his common sense was prone to buffering. 

This man had the capacity to be head of the household of two families who would only meet for the first time around his deathbed at UTH or as he was lowered six feet into his plot at Old Leopards Hill Cemetery.

But the man would have standards, even with his faults. The old Zambian man had non-negotiables about how he lived his life.

While he may have tried out a few night spots in the city, he was a creature of habit at his favourite bar or restaurant. This gave him the sort of routine that he applied to his work, marriage or social circle. 

Times have changed, I can hear you as I write this. But old Zambian man gave one company decades of the best years of his life. He loved his mother so so dearly and had friendships that lasted beyond that weekend’s marathon or food market in the city.

Our grandfathers and fathers were consistent alcoholics, family men, disciplinarians, name it. 

Their cars had a wash on specific days and they maintained the same barber for years. Clothes were immaculately laundered and ironed. If a man had a lager with his lunch, he not only did it with flamboyance but without fail. 

We cannot say the same thing about today’s man. His is the epitome of erratic. An equal opportunity womaniser who terrorizes marriages as much as he does boarding houses, night clubs and supermarket cashiers. 

Drinks whatever is in front of him. Whiskey on Monday night, lager on Wednesday and wine on Friday afternoon. Liberal husband, conservative father. Dances at the staff party, orders everyone to sit down at the family lunch. 

Men used to be consistent as fathers, husbands, colleagues. You knew a man was either unreliable or was one you could count on. He didn’t pick the moments when he was a disciplinarian or allowed his children to run rings around him. 

And maybe that’s why we’re struggling with our friendships, finances, marriages, relationships, careers and life. We’re blending in too willingly into what’s convenient and not what’s right. We’re picky about our principles.

It might be worth our time to step back and answer the question why we’re still lucky to be among the living but are not alive.