Raw. Real. Zambia.
By Derek Mwale
There is a version of Zambia that exists in tourism brochures.
It is beautiful.
Victoria Falls.
Safari sunsets.
The Zambezi River.
Wild animals walking through landscapes that look like someone opened Photoshop and forgot to close it.
A smiling child.
A traditional dancer.
A woman selling handmade crafts.
A man standing next to a Toyota Hilux somewhere in the bush.
And underneath it all, the familiar sentence:
“Come and experience the real Africa.”
But there is another Zambia.
A Zambia that doesn’t fit neatly inside a tourism brochure.
A Zambia of potholes and startups.
Of load shedding and late-night coding.
Of WhatsApp groups and mobile money.
Of churches on every corner and nightclubs down the road.
Of people who complain about the economy at 08:00 and start a side hustle at 09:00.
A Zambia where someone can be unemployed and still somehow be running three businesses.
A Zambia where a university graduate drives a taxi during the day, writes software at night, and is still expected to attend a family meeting on Sunday.
A Zambia where people are simultaneously optimistic and exhausted.
This is Raw. Real. Zambia.
Not the Zambia we want foreigners to see.
Not the Zambia politicians describe during campaign season.
Not the Zambia we post on Instagram.
The Zambia we actually live in.
Zambia Is Not One Story
One of the biggest mistakes we make when talking about Zambia is pretending there is a single Zambian experience.
There isn’t.
There are many Zambias.
There is the Zambia of Lusaka.
The Zambia of Ndola.
The Zambia of Kitwe.
The Zambia of Livingstone.
The Zambia of Chipata.
The Zambia of Solwezi.
The Zambia of Kasama.
The Zambia of Mongu.
The Zambia of Kabwe.
And then there are the thousands of rural communities that rarely appear in international conversations about the country.
Even within Lusaka, there are different universes.
There are people waking up in expensive houses, ordering breakfast through an app, driving German cars and discussing investments.
A few kilometres away, someone is waking up wondering whether the money in their mobile wallet will be enough for breakfast.
Both are Zambia.
Both are real.
That contradiction is part of what makes the country fascinating.
We are not poor.
We are not rich.
We are somewhere in between, depending on who you ask.
We are developing.
We are underdeveloped.
We are modern.
We are traditional.
We are ambitious.
We are tired.
We are proud.
We are frustrated.
Sometimes all at the same time.
The Zambian Dream Is Alive
People sometimes talk about Africa as if ambition is something imported from Silicon Valley.
It isn’t.
Spend enough time around young Zambians and you will see something interesting.
They want more.
More money.
More opportunities.
More technology.
Better cities.
Better roads.
Better universities.
Better companies.
Better government.
Better entertainment.
Better lives.
And increasingly, they don’t want to wait for someone else to build those things.
They are building them themselves.
A young developer is sitting in a bedroom in Lusaka writing software.
A designer is creating logos for businesses from a laptop.
A musician is recording an album in a makeshift studio.
A farmer is experimenting with irrigation.
Someone is selling clothes through Facebook.
Someone is selling food through WhatsApp.
Someone is importing electronics.
Someone is building a fintech startup.
Someone is creating a YouTube channel.
Someone is trying to turn a TikTok account into a business.
Someone is learning programming at 02:00 because they believe technology might be their escape route.
That is Zambia too.
And perhaps one of the most underestimated things about this country is how entrepreneurial ordinary people are.
We call it hustling.
But sometimes I think “hustling” is just entrepreneurship without the fancy vocabulary.
We Are a Nation of Side Hustles
There is something uniquely Zambian about the side hustle.
You can have a full-time job and still sell something on the side.
You can be a teacher and run a farm.
A nurse and sell cosmetics.
An accountant and own a boutique.
A developer and build SaaS products.
A civil servant and run a poultry project.
A student and run an online store.
A musician and drive a taxi.
Nobody really believes one income stream is enough anymore.
And honestly?
They might be right.
The modern Zambian economy has created a generation that understands something previous generations didn’t have to understand to the same degree:
You cannot always depend on one institution to save you.
Not your employer.
Not government.
Not your degree.
Not your parents.
Not your relatives.
You have to build something.
Even if that something starts with K50.
Even if it starts with one customer.
Even if it starts with a Facebook page.
Even if nobody takes you seriously.
Zambia and the Internet
The internet has quietly changed Zambia.
Not perfectly.
Not equally.
But significantly.
A young Zambian today can learn almost anything.
Programming.
Music production.
Graphic design.
Artificial intelligence.
Marketing.
Finance.
Engineering.
Photography.
Video editing.
Writing.
Entrepreneurship.
You don’t necessarily need to attend an elite university somewhere overseas.
You can sit in your room and learn from the same material someone in London, Lagos, Nairobi or New York is consuming.
That changes the psychology of a generation.
Because once you discover what is possible, ignorance becomes impossible.
You start asking questions.
Why doesn’t Zambia have this?
Why can’t we build that?
Why are our systems so slow?
Why can’t our cities look like this?
Why can’t our startups compete globally?
Why can’t African developers build world-class software?
Why can’t Zambian musicians dominate international charts?
Why can’t Lusaka become a technology hub?
Why can’t Ndola become a manufacturing powerhouse?
Why can’t Livingstone become one of the greatest tourism cities in Africa?
These questions are dangerous.
In a good way.
Because they create people who refuse to accept the status quo.
The Copperbelt Still Matters
You cannot understand Zambia without understanding the Copperbelt.
For decades, the Copperbelt represented something bigger than copper.
It represented industrial Zambia.
Mining.
Factories.
Railways.
Unions.
Urbanisation.
Working-class communities.
Entire towns whose identities were shaped by the mines.
Ndola.
Kitwe.
Chingola.
Mufulira.
Luanshya.
Cities built around an economic engine buried underground.
But Zambia’s challenge is that the world has changed.
The Copperbelt cannot simply depend on copper forever.
We need to ask:
What happens after mining?
What industries come next?
Technology?
Manufacturing?
Energy?
Agriculture?
Logistics?
Data centres?
Electric vehicles?
Battery production?
Software?
Education?
Tourism?
The Copperbelt has something many African regions would love to have:
industrial DNA.
The challenge is converting that history into the next economy.
Lusaka Is Becoming Something Else
Lusaka is chaotic.
Let’s just start there.
Traffic.
Construction.
Dust.
Noise.
Power problems.
Water problems.
Traffic again.
New shopping malls.
New apartment complexes.
New restaurants.
New churches.
New offices.
New startups.
New roads.
Old problems.
Lusaka feels like a city constantly trying to become a city.
It is unfinished.
But perhaps that is exactly why it is exciting.
You can feel the ambition.
Buildings are going up.
Businesses are opening.
Young professionals are moving around.
Technology companies are emerging.
Creative communities are forming.
People are experimenting.
There is energy.
Sometimes too much energy.
But energy nonetheless.
Lusaka is not Nairobi.
It is not Johannesburg.
It is not Lagos.
And it shouldn’t try to become any of them.
Lusaka needs to become Lusaka.
A modern Zambian city with its own identity.
The Nigerian Question
Africa’s largest cultural economies have shown what is possible.
Nigeria has Afrobeats.
South Africa has a massive entertainment and financial ecosystem.
Kenya has become synonymous with mobile money innovation.
Rwanda has built a reputation around governance and digital transformation.
Ghana has developed a powerful creative and startup ecosystem.
Zambia often sits quietly in the middle.
And sometimes I wonder:
Why?
Why don’t we market ourselves harder?
Why don’t we export our culture more aggressively?
Why don’t we build companies that think beyond Zambia?
Why do we sometimes act as if a Zambian company serving one million Zambians is the final destination?
It shouldn’t be.
The Zambian market can be the laboratory.
It cannot always be the ceiling.
We Need to Stop Thinking Small
There is a dangerous phrase in Zambia:
“This is Zambia.”
It can mean many things.
Sometimes it is realistic.
Sometimes it is wisdom.
But sometimes it is an excuse.
“This is Zambia.”
So the website doesn’t need to be good.
“This is Zambia.”
So customer service doesn’t matter.
“This is Zambia.”
So corruption is inevitable.
“This is Zambia.”
So innovation isn’t possible.
“This is Zambia.”
So our products don’t need to compete internationally.
No.
That mindset has to die.
Because Zambia’s biggest limitation isn’t always money.
Sometimes it is imagination.
If we believe something cannot be built here, nobody tries.
If nobody tries, nothing gets built.
If nothing gets built, we point at the absence of infrastructure as proof that it was impossible.
And the cycle continues.
But Let’s Not Romanticise Zambia
There is another trap.
We can become so desperate to tell a positive African story that we refuse to acknowledge reality.
I don’t want that.
Zambia has problems.
Real problems.
Youth unemployment.
Infrastructure gaps.
Energy challenges.
Economic pressure.
Healthcare challenges.
Education challenges.
Political frustrations.
Corruption.
Poverty.
Inequality.
Limited industrialisation.
These aren’t talking points.
They affect real people.
A mother doesn’t care about GDP growth when she can’t afford school fees.
A student doesn’t care about economic projections when they graduate and cannot find work.
A business owner doesn’t care about motivational speeches when electricity cuts destroy their operations.
A developer doesn’t care about innovation rhetoric when internet access is unreliable.
Reality matters.
Optimism without honesty becomes propaganda.
And criticism without hope becomes nihilism.
We need both.
Tell the truth. Then build anyway.
The Load-Shedding Generation
There is an entire generation of Zambians that has learned to plan life around electricity.
Laptop charged?
Check.
Phone charged?
Check.
Power bank charged?
Check.
Internet backup?
Hopefully.
Project deadline?
Maybe.
Power disappears.
You wait.
Sometimes you laugh.
Sometimes you complain.
Sometimes you continue working from somewhere else.
And eventually you develop a strange relationship with electricity.
You don’t assume it will be there.
You appreciate it when it is.
This is not normal.
But it has produced something interesting.
Resilience.
Zambians are extremely good at adapting.
When one thing doesn’t work, we improvise.
No electricity?
Generator.
No generator?
Inverter.
No inverter?
Power bank.
No power bank?
Find a place with power.
No internet?
Hotspot.
No money?
Find a hustle.
No job?
Create one.
There is a certain stubbornness in the Zambian personality.
We complain.
Then we continue.
The Culture Is Bigger Than We Think
Zambia has always had culture.
But we haven’t always treated it like an economic asset.
Music.
Fashion.
Food.
Language.
Dance.
Comedy.
Art.
Film.
Stories.
Architecture.
Traditions.
These are not merely cultural decorations.
They are industries.
Look at what music has done for Nigeria.
Look at Korean entertainment.
Look at American film.
Culture can become infrastructure.
A successful music industry creates producers.
Producers create studios.
Studios create engineers.
Engineers create businesses.
Businesses create jobs.
Fashion creates designers.
Designers create brands.
Brands create exports.
Film creates actors, editors, writers, directors, cinematographers and distributors.
Culture creates economies.
Zambia should understand this much more aggressively.
Zambian Music Deserves More
Zambian musicians have been creating music for generations.
From Kalifunku to Zamrock.
From legendary musicians to contemporary artists.
From live bands to modern digital production.
The country has a sound.
But we haven’t fully commercialised it.
The world is increasingly interested in African music.
That is an opportunity.
Not to imitate Nigeria.
Not to imitate South Africa.
Not to imitate America.
But to make something that sounds unmistakably Zambian.
Imagine a Zambian sound becoming globally recognisable.
You hear the first ten seconds of a song and immediately know:
That’s Zambia.
That is cultural power.
Technology Could Change Everything
Technology is perhaps the biggest opportunity Zambia has ever had.
Why?
Because technology doesn’t always require the same physical infrastructure as traditional industries.
A talented Zambian developer can build software for someone in Canada.
A designer in Lusaka can work with a company in Germany.
A programmer in Ndola can contribute to an open-source project used by millions.
A startup can build a product for Africa.
A content creator can reach millions without owning a television station.
A musician can distribute globally without signing with a major label.
This is revolutionary.
The geography of opportunity has changed.
Your location still matters.
But it matters less than it used to.
AI Changes the Game Again
And now artificial intelligence has arrived.
This could either widen the gap or close it.
It depends on what we do.
If Zambia only consumes AI products, we remain customers.
If Zambia builds AI products, we become producers.
That distinction matters.
We should not only ask:
“How can AI help Zambia?”
We should also ask:
“What AI can Zambia build for the world?”
AI for African agriculture.
AI for mining.
AI for local languages.
AI for education.
AI for healthcare.
AI for financial inclusion.
AI for logistics.
AI for government services.
AI for tourism.
AI for climate resilience.
The opportunity is enormous.
But somebody has to build.
The Next Zambia Will Be Built by Builders
Not politicians alone.
Not corporations alone.
Not NGOs alone.
Not universities alone.
Builders.
Engineers.
Farmers.
Artists.
Entrepreneurs.
Teachers.
Scientists.
Designers.
Musicians.
Writers.
Developers.
Manufacturers.
Students.
Ordinary people with extraordinary levels of stubbornness.
The next Zambia won’t magically appear.
Someone has to write the software.
Someone has to build the factory.
Someone has to plant the crop.
Someone has to design the product.
Someone has to create the company.
Someone has to write the book.
Someone has to make the film.
Someone has to make the music.
Someone has to fix the road.
Someone has to teach the child.
Someone has to invent the machine.
Someone has to take the first risk.
We Don’t Need Permission
This might be the most important thing I have learned about ambition:
You rarely receive permission to become who you want to become.
Nobody is going to officially announce:
“Congratulations. You are now allowed to build something important.”
You start.
You build.
You fail.
You rebuild.
You learn.
You find people.
You try again.
And eventually something works.
That is how countries develop too.
Not through one magical policy.
Through millions of people doing useful things.
Raw Zambia
Raw Zambia is not perfect.
It is loud.
It is complicated.
It is beautiful.
It is frustrating.
It is young.
It is ambitious.
It is conservative in some ways and incredibly progressive in others.
It is deeply traditional and increasingly digital.
It is poor in some places and wealthy in others.
It is full of problems.
It is also full of people solving problems every single day.
That contradiction is Zambia.
And maybe we should stop trying to hide it.
Because there is something powerful about telling the truth.
This is who we are.
We have potholes.
We have entrepreneurs.
We have load shedding.
We have engineers.
We have unemployment.
We have creators.
We have economic problems.
We have billion-dollar opportunities.
We have political frustrations.
We have incredible natural resources.
We have young people who refuse to give up.
We have a country that hasn’t reached its potential.
And perhaps most importantly:
We have time.
Time to build.
Time to experiment.
Time to fail.
Time to create industries that don’t exist yet.
Time to turn raw materials into finished products.
Time to turn talent into companies.
Time to turn culture into exports.
Time to turn technology into economic power.
Time to turn Zambia from a consumer of other people’s ideas into a producer of its own.
Zambia, Unfiltered
I don’t want a perfect Zambia.
I want a real Zambia.
A Zambia where we can admit that things are broken without hating the country.
A Zambia where we can celebrate progress without pretending everything is fine.
A Zambia where young people don’t have to leave to prove that they are talented.
A Zambia where leaving is a choice, not the only escape route.
A Zambia where a kid from a township can become an engineer.
Where an engineer can become an entrepreneur.
Where an entrepreneur can build a global company.
Where an artist can build a global audience.
Where a farmer can become an industrialist.
Where a university student can build technology used around the world.
Where a Zambian idea doesn’t have to become successful somewhere else before we take it seriously at home.
That is the Zambia I want.
Not imaginary Zambia.
Not brochure Zambia.
Not political Zambia.
Not social-media Zambia.
Raw Zambia.
Real Zambia.
And maybe that is the most beautiful thing about this country.
We are unfinished.
Which means we are still being written.
The story is not over.
The infrastructure is not finished.
The cities are not finished.
The industries are not finished.
The technology ecosystem is not finished.
The culture is not finished.
The dream is not finished.
Zambia is still becoming Zambia.
And somewhere right now, a young Zambian is sitting in a small room, staring at a laptop, a phone, a notebook, a musical instrument, a business idea, a farm, a camera, a machine or simply a problem nobody has solved yet.
They might not have funding.
They might not have connections.
They might not have permission.
They might not even know exactly what they are doing.
But they are trying.
And perhaps that is where the next chapter begins.
Not in Parliament.
Not in a boardroom.
Not in a five-star hotel.
Not in a foreign conference.
But somewhere ordinary.
Someone deciding:
“I can build this.”
That is Zambia.
Raw.
Real.
Unfinished.
Unapologetic.
And still becoming.
This is our country.
This is our mess.
This is our opportunity.
This is Zambia.
