Stand and sing of Zambia….
As a child, I admired our security forces, and those who surrounded the president. With big bellies, they majestically took their seats. I venerated Supper Ken, as we called Zambia’s first President Kenneth Kaunda. Since my favorite color was green, I revered the Zambian flag. Each school day, the flag would be raised, and we would sing our national anthem—usually in English, which I did not even understand. Once in the while, we would sing the national anthem in vernacular—which we all knew as “ulwimbo lwacishipa.” The anthem started with the words—Lumbanyeni Zambia no kwaanga (stand, and sing of Zambia proud, and free). I memorized this anthem word for word in English.
But then I went to secondary school, and soon started questioning the meaning of the national anthem. I realized that if you were among those who sat with the president, you had all the reasons to “Stand, and Sing of Zambia proud, and free!” I finally resolved not to attend any political event at which the President of Zambia was officiating, as a protest against the plight of the masses—the pledge I have kept.
My protest has not stopped me from being a very proud Zambian—I am a very proud Zambian, and I will always be. I have lived in Europe, America, and other African countries—but I never left the Zambian flag behind. I have one on my desk, and in my house. I have never thought of giving up my citizenship—Zambia will always be my home. However, my childhood questions linger within me. Each independence celebration, I cry for mother Zambia, the country so rich in resources, but plugged into extreme poverty.
This year of Jubilee, I honor the people who fought so that we can be proud and free—little did they know that they only replaced white slave masters for black ones—we, their people are still slaves to our politicians, the people we elect as our leaders.
In 2006, when I was doing field research among the Tonga of lake Kariba, I overheard Zimbabwean migration officials teasing Zambia. One of the officers brought the newspaper, which carried a story about Zambia’s booming copper prices, and its failure to address poverty. “Do you know that Zambia is one of the largest copper producing nations?,” he asked. “Imagine, copper prices are booming at international markets, but the country is still very poor.”
What caught my attention to this discussion was that the man was speaking negatively of Zambia at the time when the Zimbabwean economy was in a mess. It was the time when Zimbabweans flocked to Zambia to sell their products and Kwacha was deeply sought after in Siavonga town. Each day, poor Zimbabweans roamed the streets of Siavonga with their merchandise—pleading for Kwachas. Others came to wash clothes just to get some Kwacha. My wife is Zimbabwean, and I don’t mean to demean that country—but this was the reality of that time.
I almost protested, but then I realized that his observations were right. Zambia is the one of the leading copper producing countries; we also have countless hectors of fertile land, and abundant waters, but the national wealth benefits only those who surround the president. As for the masses, we are cursed into perpetual poverty. Our duty is to help politicians amass more wealth—while we shout party slogans.
Unless they are sick (which is common nowadays), generally, those who surround the president are easily identifiable—they all have big bellies, and drive big cars using taxpayers money. These are the people who really “Stand and sing of Zambia proud, and free.” As for the poor crowds who will flood the jubilee celebrations, I wonder whether they are proud or ashamed of being Zambians without jobs, medication, decent accommodation, running water, and proper sanitation.
HH had a point
When United Party for National Development (UNDP) president, Hakainde Hichilema called on Zambians to shun the 2013 independence celebrations due to lawlessness, and the economic policies of the Patriotic Front, Mr. Sata condemned him for politicking on the issue of independence—and rightly so. “Independence Day celebrations are well beyond partisan politics,” the President said, “as they signify the country’s historical victory, and remind us of where we are coming from as a people.”
But the president missed the major point—Independence Day provides an opportunity to re-examine our achievements, and failures as a nation, and our resolve to forge a better future. What is the value of the historical victory if people are not free to speak, find jobs, educate their children, and feed their families? What is the value of the historical victory if people are condemned into perpetual poverty and are fired when they ask for a fair share of national wealth?
If those who died for independence were to return, they will surely suffer heart attacks and die the second death–never to return again. At 50, we have nothing to show for it. Unless numbers lie, at 50, Zambia is still among the poorest countries in the world; at 50, our life expectancy is among the lowest; at 50, infant mortality rates are among the highest; as for employment rates, very few Zambians are in formal employment! On this point, Mr. Hichilema had a point; we need to stand up, and fight for Zambia proud, and free—currently there is little to celebrate or to be proud of as a nation.
Pray for Zambia
“Priestly Tears: My Jubilee Cry for Mother Zambia” is my reminder to my fellow Zambians to pray for beloved nation. Since I believe in the priesthood of believers, and the royal priesthood we share in Christ (1 Peter 2:9), I invite you to bring the problems our nation faces before God, the Creator. Our God will surely answer our prayers if we faithfully seek God’s face. For many years, we have put our trust in politicians; for so many years, we have entrusted power to self-seeking individuals; and for so many years, we have been led to believe that politicians care for us—which unfortunately is not the case.
Priestly Tears is the title of my forthcoming book made up of a combination of short articles I have written about Zambia since 2011. Most of these articles were published online—but knowing too well that they are buried on the web, I decided to republish them in one volume. The book is written with you in mind—knowing too well that you care for mother Zambia. It is meant to force us to reflect on what we should do to put Zambia on the right path again. As the title suggests, Priestly Tears is written out of my reflections as a Zambian citizen, priest and human rights defender with a strong heart for mother Zambia. It is an invitation to a new beginning; a call to reflect on our dire socio-political and economic situation, while remaining patriotically focused on resolving them. It is an invitation to politicians, and citizens alike to realize that our cries are always before the Almighty— for “our help is in the name of the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth” (Ps 124:8), who has always stood with the oppressed, and the voiceless. Our God is just, and God will judge us for failing to do what is right for all God’s people—“To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).
Accepting that some politicians will take my writing as an attack on their leadership, the book is written from the perspective of the jubilee. In the bible, the year of Jubilee was meant to set slaves flee, and to cancel the debts people owed. It was also the year for every citizen to forget the past, and start anew. It is this perspective that this small book seeks to address—calling on all Zambians to refocus our common energies on rebuilding our motherland and fatherland. We are an independent nation, and our fathers and mothers fought for this beloved nation so that we can be proud and free! However, amidst police brutality; amidst untold corruption; amidst political violence and untold injustice in the nation, Priestly Tears should flood God’s throne. Please look out for the second part of Priestly Tears.
By Rev. Canon Dr. Kapya John Kaoma
