Whether
we like it or not, life is competitive. You either have an edge—or you need a
little luck (or, as some would call it, God’s favor or grace).
My father has five sons and
three daughters. I’m the second son. Of the two eldest boys, my older brother
is three years older than me, though we were only a year apart in school. But
that single year felt like a lifetime. He seemed to be great at
everything—academics, sports, dancing, social charm—and some of our siblings
might even swear he was Dad’s favorite. There I was, always trying to catch up,
to compete, to be noticed. Most times, it felt like I was stuck in a game I
couldn’t win.
Our relationship wasn’t
complementary. We were more like rivals than brothers. Whether it was
schoolyard games, football matches, or even our sports idols—we always backed
opposite sides. He supported Real Madrid, I was all in for Barcelona. He
cheered for Federer; I stood by Nadal. He admired Pete Sampras, I was all about
Agassi. That contrast wasn’t just for fun—it defined much of how we related to
each other.
Then something shifted
Our family moved from Ndola to
Lusaka when I was in Grade 6. Since my older siblings were in examination
classes, they stayed behind to avoid disruption. For the first time, I was the
eldest at home. At church, I was introduced simply as “the child.” In school
and around our new neighborhood, I wasn’t someone’s younger brother—I was just
me.
That taste of individuality was
sweet... and short-lived. After exams, my siblings joined us in Lusaka, and the
dynamic quickly reset.
Looking
back, I looked up
to him. Sure, I wanted to beat him at something, but I also wanted to be like
him. I wanted to lead at something—anything. But every time we competed, it was
close. And frustrating sometimes it resulted in an actual fight.
After my secondary school
finals didn’t go very well,
I moved in with our eldest sister and her husband. I enrolled in a certificate
program in power electrical at Lusaka Trades Training Institute—but it didn’t
challenge me. So, I quit and decided to pursue accountancy—on my own. I didn’t
enrol at any institution. I simply grabbed the syllabus and thus began my self-study explorations.
Most days, I studied at
Chilenje Library. It’s still open today—though these days it’s surrounded by a lot more trading
shops. Just passing by, you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s no longer the
quiet, serene space it once was.
Occasionally, I had access to
the British Council Library using my brother In-laws membership, then located near Cairo Road
in Lusaka’s CBD. That space was special—disciplined, quiet, structured.
Ironically, my older brother
was also studying accountancy. He advised me on how to register with the Zambia
Institute of Chartered Accountants (ZICA) which was
then located in Rhodes park. I
sat for my first NAtech Foundation Level exams in June 2002. Out of three
papers, I passed two. That small win was Great.
By July, I had joined the same
college my brother had attended. It felt like familiar ground—some lecturers warmed
up to me well because of the relationship with my sibling. Many of his friends were
still in school—some even repeating courses I was now taking—so I blended into
the social circles with ease. In December that year, I cleared the remaining
four papers of the Foundation Level.
When Dad retired and the family
returned to Ndola, I stayed back in Lusaka with my brother. He had landed a job
early and was already financially independent. We still supported different
football teams—but we were on the same side in life, trying to build a future.
When he succeeded, I felt it too.
I remember the day he finally
cleared his most stubborn final NAtech paper and graduated. I was the camera
guy. The one carrying his graduation gifts while he soaked in the
spotlight. And I couldn’t have been happier.
Later, when I struggled to find
work, my brother—who was now working at Spar Zambia—tipped me off about a job
opening during an expansion phase. He wasn’t on the interview panel, but silently his
name was in the room. If he’d been lazy, difficult, or careless at work,
there’s no way I would’ve gotten in. But because he had built a good reputation,
the door opened for me. I got the job—and yes, he became my supervisor.
Looking back, I’ve come to
understand that competition isn’t always opposition. Sometimes, the person
pushing you the hardest is the one lifting you the highest.
In the workplace, striking the
balance between healthy competition and genuine collaboration isn’t easy. Too
much competition breeds division. Too much collaboration without direction
stalls progress. Either extreme kills alignment and keeps teams from hitting
their strategic goals.
And it gets worse when people
don’t play fair—taking credit for others’ work or stepping on colleagues to
rise. But I’ve found that celebrating others and complimenting their strengths
does far more for my peace of mind and productivity than complaining and comparing scores
ever has.
As someone wisely said, “Who
has ever made things better by sulking or complaining?” Sometimes, the best
thing you can do is accept what you can’t change, shift your attitude, and keep
moving forward.
I love and support my
siblings—loudly. I celebrate their wins with pride and feel deeply sad when
they stumble. Some of my happiest moments in life are when all my siblings are
in one place, laughing, sharing stories, simply being family.
Your feedback helps me grow, so don’t hesitate to leave a comment or share your thoughts—it’s always a pleasure hearing from you!
You can also explore more insightful articles I’ve shared in the past by visiting my blog homepage:
https://chilukakula.blogspot.com/
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Thank you once again!
— Pritchard C. Bweupe
