Kidiz Clothing

15/04/2026

mmmm

Ndola uncle brutally murders 3-year-old niece

POLICE in Ndola are holding a 38-year-old man of Jacaranda Villa for allegedly murdering a poor little girl authorities have identified as Janet Mazimba.

It is alleged that, while on a drinking spree, Alimon Simulonda was seen lifting the little Janet, and hit her hard, to the ground, for no apparent reason.

Copperbelt Province Police Commanding Officer Mwala Yuyi tells TV Yatu that the incident occurred on Sunday around 02:00 hours.

He says the matter was reported by the deceased's grandmother, Eveness Nakamba.

He says the poor child bled from the noise and mouth.

Yuyi says the suspect did this without any reasonable cause.

“Eveness Nakamba, aged 55, reported that her granddaughter, Janet Mazimba, aged 3, was allegedly murdered by her uncle, Alimon Simukonda, aged 38,” Yuyi said.

Other reports suggest that, Simukonda had just returned from a drinking spree, when he lifted the three year old and tossed her in the air but failed to catch her.

More details on this shall be shared as they are made available.

©️ TV Yatu | Noel Ilyombwa | April 15, 2026.

04/04/2026

I'm not

02/04/2026

aA the memorial of Jehovah's witnesses us drunkards we almost drunk the wine!😂😂😂🤣🤦

01/04/2026

whatever you mean by that,🤣🤣🤣🤦

20/03/2026

sorry

19/03/2026

I HAD SPENT MY ENTIRE ADULT LIFE SHRINKING MYSELF IN PUBLIC SPACES TO MAKE OTHERS COMFORTABLE, SWALLOWING MY PRIDE UNTIL IT TASTED LIKE ASH, BUT WHEN THE ENTITLED PASSENGER DELIBERATELY EMPTIED HER ICE-COLD GIN OVER MY MOURNING SUIT AND THE FIRST-CLASS CABIN FELL INTO A DEADLY SILENCE, I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD THAT COMPLIANCE WOULD NEVER SAVE ME; SHE HELD HER EMPTY GLASS LIKE A TROPHY, EXPECTING ME TO BE RESTRAINED OR ARRESTED, UNTIL THE HEAVY COCKPIT DOOR SWUNG OPEN AND THE FLIGHT’S VETERAN CAPTAIN WALKED STRAIGHT DOWN THE NARROW AISLE WITH HIS EYES LOCKED EXCLUSIVELY ON ME.

The ice cubes hit my collarbone first.

They were sharp, freezing, and entirely unexpected.

I felt the sudden, shocking weight of the liquid soaking instantly through the thin cotton of my dress shirt, the icy dampness spreading rapidly across my chest and down my ribs.

The sharp, botanical smell of gin and the sweet fizz of tonic water filled the narrow, claustrophobic air of the first-class cabin.

For a fraction of a second, my brain refused to process the reality of what was happening.

I was thirty-six thousand feet in the air, somewhere over the American Midwest, flying back to Atlanta after burying my father in Seattle.

I was exhausted to my marrow, hollowed out by grief, functioning on perhaps three hours of sleep over the last four days.

I had paid for this seat, 2A, simply because I needed a few hours of undisturbed silence to piece my shattered mind back together before returning to the relentless demands of my architectural firm.

I had not spoken a single word to the woman sitting next to me in 2B since I boarded.

I had barely looked at her.

And yet, here I was, dripping wet, breathing in the scent of her spilled cocktail.

Her name, I would later learn, was Eleanor.

She was perhaps in her late fifties, draped in a cream-colored cashmere cardigan that looked softer than anything I had ever touched, with a heavy gold watch hanging loosely on her pale wrist.

From the mo

04/03/2026

people still do foreplay, ineh dabwa! 🤦😲

23/02/2026

A hundred kwacha ATI I want 1 apple. awe sure!!!

21/02/2026

And the lord says, "I will fight for you you need only be still."