Last night I had a dream. It was her again, that familiar face. I couldn’t miss it, I have seen it many a time. 

Something had changed though. She had aged, looked troubled and it was as though life had been sucked out of her. Whatever it was, it ran deep and was gnawing somewhere deep in her soul. 

Then she spoke and I finally understood why.

Her children. Her land. Her dreams. Her happiness. They had all changed. They were fast vanishing. With a tear wheeling its way down her wrinkled face, she opened up about how a once rich, happy and fulfilling existence had been or was being decapitated. 

Her children had once upon a time been united, proud and free. With a future as bright as the eastern sunrise. Prosperity beckoned. But now that future had dimmed, the glow gone. What changed? What happened to her children?

Because now they had been enveloped in behaviors that kept her awake, wallowing in sadness. They were tribal, lashing out at each other on the basis of where one hails. They were divided and polarized by political persuasion and affiliation. The side one picked made them an enemy of the other. They were quick to unleash fists, hurl insults and even use weapons against each other. They had to be on the same side or else forget the blood that flowed through their veins. Zambian blood.

Her children had been subdued by the weight of poverty. Sucked in by illiteracy. Hopelessness now ruled. With ease, her children had given in to defeat. They had stopped working their hands and land for food and a livelihood. They did not try anymore. It was far easier to moan and groan, about yesterday. About the good days gone by and the days ahead that promised a better tomorrow. Only that she could not see who among them would get them into the promises held by tomorrow.

Her children had become fatally despondent. They were their worst enemy. They effortlessly and systematically had managed to crush their tomorrow. Everyone around could see that their confidence and beauty had been defiled. When that happens, you lose it all. Now they were even the first to speak ill of her, to throw out her dirt for all to see and they now sided with those that had nothing but negativity to say about Mother Zambia.

What had changed? How could her children hate her this much? How could her children be at each other’s necks just because of tribe or political inclination? East, West, South and North it did not matter, they were all her children! How could they not see this?

Her face was wet now, the tears had created their paths and flowed like her Mighty Zambezi. She could not hold back her tears. Her children had changed. They did not care about her anymore. Neither did they care about what they said or did or what they would leave behind for their children. It did not matter if they were in leadership or if they were the led. It was no trouble if they stole…..if they persecuted those below them….if they ignored virtuous counsel…..if they turned a blind eye to doing good for the benefit of all now and tomorrow. They now simply did as they pleased. To satisfy their greed and unchecked appetite for destruction.

What had gone wrong? What had changed? They had changed. Her children. She was still the same. She was still there. She still loved them. 

But they had changed. Every one of them. Some knew the wrong but did nothing. Others knew not the wrong but did it anyway. They had continued hurting her……through mediocrity, through self hatred, through tribalism, through corruption, through laziness, through divisive politics, through disloyalty…….through the silent voices that said nothing when they saw these things happen…..through the loud voices that were first to speak ill of her whenever she was discussed. They had changed. Every one of them. Through their actions and inactions. Through their words. They were complicit in this crime, her destruction and her progressive decline. 

She mused as she watched each of her children point a self-righteous dirty finger at the other, assigning responsibility for the damage. Some even spoke about her special day, her birthday…..that it was no longer the same, it was flat and lifeless. Yes one could see some flags dotted here and there but they all just went about their lives like they did on any other day. 

They had changed. They had forgotten that her birthday was a day so cherished in her heart. She remembered all her children that had worn painful chains like jewelry, beaten as they confronted a common enemy with boldness, guns pointed at them, shed blood so their own children and next generations could taste freedom…..incarcerated simply for wanting to be independent and free. Children of ChaChaCha. The memories were as fresh as they come.

Alas, her children today cared less. The flag held no value to them. The national anthem was just another song, not one of those popular trending songs they swung their bodies to. The black and white waves….the man and woman….the noble eagle…at the heart of the coat of arms, were all worthless like the litter along the filthy city roadsides. 

She could not hold back the tears.

Something had to change. They had to change. Her children needed to see the light one more time. Or all else was lost.

She had to remind them to stand and sing of Zambia, proud and free. They needed to remember their land of work and joy in unity. They were victors in the struggle. The struggles gone, the struggles today and the struggles ahead. 

She had to remind them of their wealth. Their heritage. Their culture. Their identity. Their land. Their unity. They had it all and they were one.

She had to remind them of what she had gifted them with. 

The mineral resources far and wide……Copper, Cobalt, Uranium, Gold, Emeralds and a lot more.

The endless flow of water…rivers, lakes and waterfalls…..the Mighty Zambezi….the Kafue…the Luangwa….the Chambeshi….Bangweulu…..Mweru….Mweru Wantipa…….Mosi-oa-Tunya……Ntumbachushi…..Kabwelume…..Lumangwe.  

The wildlife that gave her unmatched status……the powerful elephant, the famed king of the jungle, the athletic antelopes, water’s royalty-the hippos, the angelic birds, the straw colored fruit bats, the beastly reptiles,………..all sauntering and flying across the vast stretches of Kafue, Luangwa, Mfuwe,  Kasanka, Lochinvar…….name them and Mother Zambia could boast of such wonders. 

The rich culture. Whether it was the majestic Kuomboka across the Lozi plains of the West, the Ncwala with ground stomping Impis of the East, the Umutomboko conquest dance of Luapula, the proud parade of the Ng’wena in the North, the mystical Likumbi Lya Mize of North Western or the unique youthful Kopala culture of the 21st century, celebration was never far off. There was immense pride she adorned from her history and heritage.

She had it all. And by birth, they had it all too.

How could they be throwing this away? How could their greed blind them like this? How could they let tribe drive a wedge between them? How could they let evil egoistical intentions divide them along partisan lines? How could they watch as they tore at her heart and destroyed the land she loved with her all? 

It was time they came back home. Back to her. Back to her wealth. Back to their heritage. Back to a place of pride. Where their loyalty was to her, the present and the future. 

Where patriotism would trump partisanship. 

Accountability would dwarf self aggrandizement.

Credibility would be more valuable than corruption.

Tribalism would pave way for togetherness.

Ideas and ideals would take precedence over pettiness and provocation.

Divergent thought would be embraced rather than despised.

Principle would outmuscle patronage.

Genuine hard work would define the path to prosperity and not connections of privilege. 

Long term development would be foremost on leaders’ minds in the place of myopic acts for praise.

Freedom would be society’s mainstay rather than the suppression of voices

Leaders would serve than be served.

The welfare of future generations would come first before selfish ambition. 

Where the green, red, black and orange would restore pride in the flag. The National Anthem would be a loud verbal show of identity. Where being Zambian would be the ultimate pride that every one of her own defended at all costs. 

Yes they had gone astray. They had lost their way. They needed to see it. They could no longer ask each other what had gone wrong or who was responsible or what had changed about her. They had all changed. They had gone wrong. They were the reason for her misery and decline. 

But they were also the only hope she had, for her happiness.

She wiped the tears off her face and I could see a slight smile forming at the corner of her mouth. She would not give up on them.

I woke up. I dreamt about Zambia. There was a long road ahead. But all hope was not lost. Her future and prosperity lay squarely on her children’s shoulders.

You and I.