The Price of Scones in Lusaka: A Heartbreaking Insight into Everyday Struggles

As I walked along the rain-soaked Lumumba Road in Lusaka, the waterlogged streets mirrored the growing despair of daily life in Zambia. Each step demanded careful negotiation of the flooded pathway until a scene unfolded before me—sheer and haunting—an economic tale of countless trials faced by masses under the Hakainde Hichilema (HH) regime.

An elderly woman, her gnarled hands carrying a battered plastic container of scones, suddenly lost her balance and tumbled to the ground. The precious pastries, representing her modest earnings, splattered into the murky water—an all-too-cruel fate for her daily labor. This moment symbolized more than mere misfortune; it optimized the cruel plight of ordinary Zambians. In tears, she watched over her scones as the crowd looked in dead silence, seemingly torn between the instinct to retrieve them and the stern thought that they had become tainted, destined to poison any unsuspecting consumer.

Yet, amidst her despair, something extraordinary unfolded. A young woman, approached and pressed a crisp hundred kwacha note into her hands. “Mulundepo,” she softly said—a phrase rich with empathy that translates to “you can use this to start again, mom.” In that moment, the woman rose, enveloping her benefactor in a heartfelt embrace, her sobs a cathartic release for both.

Soon after, a soldier in uniform stepped forward, offering a handful of twenty kwacha notes, and the tears continued to flow—this time accompanied by a glimmer of hope. “Zikomo,” she whispered, gratitude filled in every syllable. Another man joined the scene, pressing three K100 notes into her palms after inquiring about the value of her scones. “Yaciba ya K250,” she replied through her tears—just over ten dollars for her dignity, her livelihood now sullied in both water and shame.

As she walked away empty-handed, weary but unbroken, the atmosphere shifted ominously. A throng of onlookers descended upon the discarded scones like vultures drawn to carrion, undeterred by the fetid water surrounding them. What ensued was a striking spectacle, reminiscent of desperate scavengers—a fight over remnants with little regard for the rising cholera cases in Lusaka. Within moments, every morsel had vanished, consumed by hunger that eclipsed sanitation.

Later, as I pondered this heart-wrenching scene, I recalled the Sunday interview I had watched the previous week featuring disgraced UPND spokesperson Elvis Nkandu. He touted how Zambians are supposedly thriving under President Hakainde Hichilema’s administration, boasting of hollow achievements that seemed to ring false against the grim realities of daily life. Are we to believe that the country is flourishing while the elderly scramble in floodwaters for sustenance? Do the lost scones symbolize mere collateral in a grand narrative of progress?

Is Nkandu so ensnared in party rhetoric that he cannot see how dangerously disconnected it is from the lived experiences of the common person? In an era when scrounging through rubbish was once relegated to the mentally ill, ordinary citizens now find themselves sifting for scraps—desensitized to adversity while political elites bask in luxury, flaunting lifestyles that reveal the misuse of state resources. How can he, cocooned in the comforts of privilege, dismiss the cries of a nation grappling with poverty and desperation?

The billions spent transporting President HH from his private residence, the funds allocated for modifications and security, and the personnel costs exemplify a profound disconnect from the struggles of everyday Zambians.

It is essential to confront a difficult truth: the struggles of the Zambian people cannot be hidden behind empty promises or scapegoating past administrations. Blaming former President Edgar Lungu for the current plight is merely a deflection of responsibility. The suffering we witness today stems from institutional negligence and misguided policies. It’s time for the HH administration to recognize its own failures and transition from finger-pointing to genuine accountability.

Enough is enough. Though the scones may have been tainted by filth, the hunger of the Zambian people is undeniable—empty words and broken promises don’t fill stomachs. As a nation, we must tackle these challenges by uniting. As demonstrated by the woman on Lumumba Road, the Zambian spirit cannot be broken by one regime. We will rise together, embracing each other’s struggles in a quest to reclaim our dignity, confront the tide of poverty, and pursue solutions that uplift all Zambians—not just the privileged few. must tackle these challenges by uniting. As proved by the woman on Lumumba Road, the Zambian spirit cannot be broken by one regime; we will surely rise together, embracing each other’s struggles in a quest to reclaim our dignity, confront the tide of poverty, and pursue solutions that uplift all Zambians—not just the privileged few.

By Kapya Kaoma