Thursday, June 5

At our shared office space, my colleague suddenly interrupts an otherwise casual afternoon chat:

“Have you heard what people are saying on social media? Edgar Lungu has died.”

Instantly, the mood shifts. From lighthearted banter to dead seriousness. Everyone looks up from their screens, and within a few minutes, phones start to ring: A mother wants to reach her son. A neighbor calls in with the latest news:

“Is it really true? Has Lungu died?” someone in front of me asks.

Diamond TV and News Diggers are the first Zambian media to break the story. No one at the office dares to post anything about the former president’s death on the WhatsApp threads which are now burning with rumors.

Just a few weeks earlier, the government passed the so-called Cyber Security Act, granting the authorities new (and broader) powers to restrict freedom of speech if deemed necessary to maintain law and order.

Twitter crashes. I refresh and refresh, but in vain.

Several Zambian media outlets now report Lungu’s death, and a video circulates showing the former president’s daughter, Tasila Lungu, confirming the sad news.

To the astonishment of many, President Hakainde Hichilema is yet to say a word. Even the state broadcaster, ZNBC, hesitates surprisingly long before announcing what, after a few hours, seems inevitable.

Well, Hichilema and Lungu had, to put it mildly, a rather tense relationship. During Lungu’s seven years in power (2015–2021), he used nearly every opportunity to persecute Hichilema, most famously when the latter spent three months in the cells after overtaking Lungu’s presidential convoy.

After Hichilema took over the keys in 2021, the roles were, broadly speaking, reversed.

Lungu was now on the receiving end of political harassment. His morning jogs were banned by the authorities when too many Patriotic Front supporters began following him, cheering him along the streets of Lusaka’s Ibex Hill neighborhood. Lungu was also denied entry to a major church service in Ndola, and during the lunch break of a court case in Lusaka, where he was being questioned for one of his many misdeeds during his tenure, he was forbidden from simply taking a walk. The government feared his stroll around High Court could spark unrest (don’t ask me exactly how).

The evening of Lungu’s demise, his former party, Patriotic Front (PF), hosts a memorial event streamed live on Facebook. Acting PF President Given Lubinda delivers a speech which I at first believe to be a sermon, politics and Christianity often separated only rhetorically.

PF declares the party secretariat to be Lungu’s official mourning place, and, minutes later, I realize that a real pastor (whatever that means) has been invited into the secretariat.

Now, a race to invoke God in the most convincing way has begun, PF and the government each wanting the man upstairs to help them solve the puzzle of Lungu’s sudden departure.

Friday, June 6

It’s now a regional and international event. Al Jazeera, New York Times, BBC. They all report on Zambia’s late president.

The same goes for Zimbabwe, Zambia’s southern neighbor, whose recent history is marred by autocracy, economic collapse(s), and interference in its neighbors’ domestic affairs. 

Zimbabwe head of state Emmerson Mnangagwa quickly declares that Lungu “fought for justice and unity across our region,” and that his “legacy will continue to inspire us all.” Many Zambians roll their eyes, wishing for Zimbabwe to kindly mind their own business (they rarely do that).

President Hichilema declares Belvedere Lodge, a state-owned hotel in Lusaka’s upscale area of Kabulonga, as the official mourning place. PF has, as mentioned, already picked another location, parallel systems of mourning thus geographically encapsulated.

Today, needless to say, Lungu dominates the front pages of all national newspapers.

During my lunch break, I pop into the local supermarket for a fresh paper, not usually on high demand, only to find The Mast, the government-critical daily, alone on the shelves. Social media might be entertaining, but paper print is apparently (and fortunately, the freelance journalist must add) more valued in times of political turmoil.

Saturday, June 7

Sport matches, festivals, and public events are now canceled. Flags fly at half-mast in the capital and across the country. We are mourning.

President Hichilema declares seven days of national mourning in a press release in which he says very little.

No one knows exactly when the former president will be buried or how the funeral will unfold. The government is widely criticized for its poor communication. Or rather, for barely communicating at all!

Lungu’s cause of death has now become a political hot potato.

The late president suffered from what is believed to be an esophageal condition that required treatment in South Africa, and on several occasions, the government allegedly denied him permission to travel. At least that’s what the Lungu family’s spokesperson, lawyer Makebi Zulu, wants us to believe:

“Had the state granted his request to leave for treatment, the former president might still be alive,” Zulu says, followed by the government’s foreseeable denial.

The investigative newspaper, News Diggers, publishes an editorial insisting that “this is not a time for politics,” which is, of course, exactly what is now happening. Patriotic Front is fragmented to the core, split into at least two, probably more, factions. Now, they are fighting for Lungu’s seat at the top of the pyramid, just a year before the presidential election kicks off.

Meanwhile, the influential pastor Charles Musonda publicly urges PF to name Lungu’s successor without much delay. The party responds with a classic: “An announcement will be made soon.”

Sunday, June 8

The uncertainty surrounding the state funeral only deepens, especially after the Lungu family, through spokesperson Makebi Zulu, announces that they want to personally transport the body back to Zambia. Only then, they say, can the government proceed with its state protocols, once the late president’s remains have safely touched Zambian soil.

But why, we wonder?

The family’s message is polite, but the subtext is loud: We’ll handle this part ourselves, thank you.

Rumors swirl that a few PF members have already made their way to South Africa. What exactly they’re doing there remains rather unclear. Logistics, support, or maybe just a quiet political pilgrimage. Either way, the plot is thickening, and the government, once again, seems one step behind events.

Monday, June 9

PF holds not one, not two, but three press conferences at their party secretariat. The battle to become Lungu’s successor is intensifying.

Meanwhile, the late president’s family claims they’ve been pressured into cooperating with the government’s funeral plans. We don’t really know what to believe at this point.

Staff at the South African hospital where Lungu died report having been intimidated and threatened by Zambian authorities. According to sources at the hospital, government officials supposedly attempted to repatriate Lungu’s body to Zambia without the family’s consent.

Also, one of the acting PF presidents, Given Lubinda, is allegedly contacted by the government to help plan the funeral logistics. He declines, with a flourish, saying the state has never officially recognized his PF leadership. So why should he start cooperating now?

The government-aligned Times of Zambia goes to press with the front-page headline: “Let Us Mourn in Peace.” Most people agree, really.

In the meantime, a PF politician offers a quite different, controversial take: if President Hichilema is so desperate to hold a state funeral, he should pick one of his own ministers and ask them to commit suicide. Then he can get his ceremony.

I call my journalist friend Given Chikeu on the Copperbelt to ask what people there make of that quote. He immediately bursts into laughter: “A political thriller is unfolding, and we’re all in it.”

PF loyalists are convinced the former president was poisoned. Things are escalating. Fast.

Tuesday, June 10

Today, former Vice President Enoch Kavindele says aloud what everyone’s thinking: PF needs to stop exploiting Lungu’s death for political gain.

Given Lubinda confirms he’s in contact with the Lungu family but still has no idea when the late president’s body will be returned to Zambia. At least, that’s what he says.

At the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart in Pretoria, a memorial service is held. Lubinda sits beside the family in the front pew, practically under the pulpit. The service is live streamed to Zambian homes as Lubinda opens with an emotionally charged speech:

“Why was he not allowed to seek medical attention? God, tell us why? Why? Tell me why,” Lubinda pleads melodramatically before asking again: “Why? Even in death, he was treated differently.”

Lubinda argues that Lungu was never given the chance to run on the very roads he himself had paved during his presidency, a direct nod to the ban on the former president’s morning jogs.

“Why wasn’t his death announced by the government, like those of other presidents? It took more than 48 hours for a government official to declare seven days of national mourning,” he laments, then asks:

“Is this how deeply rooted hate can be?” In the background, women weep softly. Lubinda continues:

“Three times denying a former president access to medication. That is what happened to the man. The spirit of Edgar Chagwa Lungu is not dead. More Edgar Chagwa Lungus shall rise. His resilience and courage shall rise, and no one, no one, has the ability to stop it.”

“Your spirit will flourish, Edgar Chagwa Lungu. Go well, we will not let you down. The fight has only begun.”

Esther Lungu, the widow, rocks back and forth, grief etched into every inch of her body.

The next speaker is Zambia’s former high commissioner to South Africa. The political tension briefly dissipates as Lungu is remembered as a family man and a man of the people:

“Ordinary Zambians saw themselves in him, and he saw them.” Sincerity has finally shown itself, and while streaming the ceremony, I, for a short moment, find myself with wet eyes behind my laptop.

Well, tomorrow, Lungu is getting repatriated to Zambia. It might be a unifying moment after all, I post on Twitter (or X, or whatever, Musk), accompanied by a picture of one of Lusaka’s many gorgeous sunsets.

Wednesday, June 11

Late in the morning, the government announces that Lungu’s repatriation will not happen today after all.

“Any inconvenience caused is deeply regretted,” writes the secretary to the Cabinet robotically in a press release.

We wonder. What exactly is going on here?

Meanwhile, a memorial service takes place in Ndola, attended by prominent figures among the mourners.

At one of the PF events, supporters shout down a Tonga song playing over the speakers. The party later issues a public apology. Beneath the political surface, a simmering ethnic tension bubbles, one that Zambia rarely discusses openly.

Thursday, June 12

I’m barely awake when the Lungu family spokesperson announces that the family does not want President Hichilema “anywhere near the body” of the late president. Full-scale drama (the phrase “anywhere near the body” later becomes iconic, which, if I ever have grandkids, they’ll surely grasp the meaning of).

On social media, it circulates that the family’s funeral conditions have been rejected by the government. Among them: the right of the family to select the speakers at the funeral and for ceremonies to be held not just in Lusaka but also in Ndola and Eastern Province. Conditions the government couldn’t accept.

Late in the afternoon, it’s announced that Hichilema will address the nation at 7 p.m.

Zambians across the country are ready in front of their TV screens when the president, a full hour late, appears in a carefully edited and amateurly choreographed broadcast on ZNBC. Disappointingly to many, including myself, the president utters nothing concretely about funeral arrangements but merely urges the nation to unite around the funeral:

“I will not accept lawlessness,” President Hichilema concludes.

Friday, June 13

My Yango driver (Yango is a popular, Russian-owned co-driving service in Zambia and beyond) jokes that the president might as well have sent a voice note on WhatsApp. The speech, after all, contained barely any substance.

“Next time, he doesn’t need to keep the whole nation waiting in front of their TVs to say so little,” the driver laughs. I find it hard to disagree.

Edgar Lungu’s son, Dalitso Lungu, and several other close family members reportedly had their passports confiscated when they traveled to South Africa. A smaller media outlet published the story, which Dalitso is now allegedly suing. He insists the claims are false and demands five million kwacha (app. USD 210,000) in damages for the “emotional distress” caused to him and the family.

Meanwhile, Parliament is heating up. A PF member representing the Lusaka district of Matero asks the vice president, Mutale Nalumango, whether the government plans to honor the family’s wish that the president shouldn’t be “anywhere near the body” (again, iconic words).

A visibly moved vice president rises from her seat and delivers a long, fiery speech. The atmosphere feels something in between a family reunion and a political showdown:

“Those who try to politicize the president’s death are worse than Satan himself.”

She turns toward the PF member on the balcony and says:

“We may disagree politically, but when you die, I will be your mother.”

In the afternoon, President Hichilema visits Belvedere Lodge, tightly guarded by political allies and security forces. Like many others, the president signs Lungu’s memorial book, and in an interview with the press, he repeats the same message from the day before: It’s all about unity and togetherness.

Blablabla, still no concrete details on when the funeral will take place, and we are slowly losing patience with this whole thing when President Hichilema receives a “special envoy” from Zimbabwe in State House. The group is led by Zimbabwe’s vice president, Constantino Chiwenga, who has traveled up north to offer condolences:

“At one time, we were known as the same state. We still remain the same. What affects Zambia also affects Zimbabwe. We cannot just pretend nothing is happening and stay home. We know a funeral will happen soon, but we wanted to come early to pay our respects,” Chiwenga starts.

Hichilema responds:

“When people say there are conflicts between Zambia and Zimbabwe, I always say there can be no conflicts. When you raise your finger at someone across the river, you are raising your finger at your nephew or uncle.”

Beneath the surface, however, relations between the two countries are less warm.

The president struggles to hide an irritated grimace, perhaps trying to suppress his fresh memory of Zimbabwe President Mnangagwa telling Russian President Putin that the US has been militarizing Zambia to consolidate power in the region and isolate Zimbabwe.

Zambia last year called on the African Union (AU) and the Southern African Development Community (SADC) to mediate talks between the two countries.

Saturday, June 14

On a cold winter day in the capital, I drop by Belvedere Lodge to sign Edgar Lungu’s memorial book. I take a seat on a row of chairs, waiting for my turn. Under a pavilion, a table is set up with candles flickering softly. Everyone gets a full page in the book to sign. The president’s portrait is framed by a wreath of white flowers, and for a long time, I hesitate to write something meaningful to our late president.

Between 1:30 and 2 p.m., free food is offered to all visitors, but I arrive a bit late, so the place is rather empty. People come to sign the book, but they also come to eat. Oh, most definitely, they come to eat.

In front of the state-owned lodge, a choir of women dressed in chitenge fabric assembles. A handful of men stand before them, pounding large drums, searching for the perfect rhythm to keep the Lungu memory alive, since the food has now finished.

Later that day, Paramount Chief Mpezani of the Ngoni people, who are primarily found in Zambia’s Eastern Province, Malawi, South Africa, and beyond, declares that there has been “enough drama.” At a press conference that he himself announces, he urges peace and unity:

“Young politicians” must stop politicizing Lungu’s death, he says.

By mid-evening, word leaks that government talks with the Lungu family have reached an advanced stage. Hallelujah (!!!). Cabinet Secretary Patrick Kangwa calls for calm, promising the nation will be updated soon.

Sunday, June 15

It’s finally happening!

Early in the morning, the government announces that an agreement has been reached with the family.

At long freaking last.

The ten-point deal includes, among other things, a nonnegotiable family demand: President Hichilema will not attend the funeral. The family insists the president stay away, no exceptions.

To avoid further confusion, the family and the government will jointly select who gets to speak at the funeral. Even the resting place of the former president is split between the two parties. The government wants Lungu displayed at Mulungushi Conference Center, Zambia’s finest conference venue, while the family insists he be transported to the late president’s former residence every day after the Mulungushi display.

Family spokesperson Makebi Zulu firmly denies rumors that the family tried to blackmail the government as part of a deal to have outstanding charges against them dropped. Among other charges, the late president’s widow, Esther Lungu, is accused of vehicle theft.

Tuesday, June 17

One day before Lungu’s remains were scheduled to leave South Africa, a Zambian government agency announced that the road partially leading to his residence would be closed for maintenance. For a full week. A coincidence? I think not.

Wednesday, June 18

Early morning, I try to secure media accreditation for the airport. Lungu’s remains are set to arrive around 2 p.m. I text the Zambian Association of National Information Services (ZANIS), but it’s a no-go. I’m too late, damn.

However, I barely have time to stew over the accreditation refusal before news breaks: The family has rejected the repatriation, claiming the government has failed to meet its obligations under the agreement. Lungu’s remains are going nowhere, a spectacular event given that Zambian (online) media has already published pictures from the runway of the airplane, which had rolled out to fly the late president’s remains back home.

The government has announced that only invited guests will be allowed when the former president’s body touches Zambian soil, to be received with full military honors The government’s decision to block public access to receive the body, along with militarizing the airport grounds (Airport Road is full of men in uniform) has supposedly angered the family.

Moreover, one of the sore points is the Road Development Agency’s June 16 announcement of roadworks along the planned funeral procession route leading to Lungu’s old residence, allegedly done without consulting the family beforehand.

“It is our hope that someday his remains will be repatriated back home and buried,” says family spokesperson Makebi Zulu (“Someday.” Many Zambians take note of that word: “Someday.”)

Thursday, June 19

HH apologizes to South Africa and officially ends the seven days of mourning. No more sad music on the radio. That’s a plus.

The South African government had rolled out the red carpet and made extensive preparations, including military honors from its Defence Force, all ultimately in vain.

In a speech to the nation, the president states that the government has done everything in their capacity to collaborate with the family but “the country cannot afford a state of indefinite mourning,” he says.

In the streets of Lusaka, funeral fatigue reaches new heights. Many had expected the dispute would now finally be over and that people could move on. No such luck.

Around the same time, the family announces they now want to bury Lungu in South Africa. The funeral is scheduled for June 24.

All of Zambia’s former presidents are buried at Embassy Park in Lusaka. Lungu now might be the first exception.

Tuesday, June 24

In Johannesburg, minutes before the funeral (like, literally minutes) is about to take place, Zambian Attorney General Mulilo Kabesha files a case in a high court in Johannesburg.

The Zambian government wants the funeral canceled, and while mourners dressed in black coats wait in the cathedral, the funeral ceremony is—no longer to the disbelief of anyone, really—halted.

The attorney general later presents three reasons for filing the case and stopping the scheduled funeral of Zambia’s sixth president:

1. The need to grant Lungu a state funeral with full military honors, and
2. A precedent from a previous court ruling involving the family of first republican president Kenneth Kaunda against the State, and lastly
3. Public interest (whatever that means. By now, we all just wanted to think about something else!)

For most Zambians, the attorney general’s move comes as a surprise. Just days earlier, the president had unanimously ended national mourning and declared that the government had exhausted all channels to secure a state funeral, widely interpreted as a let’s-get-on-with-our-lives statement.

Now, Kabesha and the government jump back into the ring. Why? We don’t really know.

Tuesday, July 1

In a characteristic marathon-long write-up, Zambia’s by far finest political commentator Sishuwa Sishuwa states that in his view “the decision by Kabesha to sue the Lungu family in South Africa over his remains has little to do with any of the official reasons provided” above.

Instead, Sishuwa sees three reasons behind the government’s lawsuit.

While the first are legal coercion and the second political positioning (campaigning for the August 2026 presidential election just a few months down the line), the third is the by far most interesting point of analysis.

Thus, Sishuwa alludes that there’s a spiritual warfare ongoing between President Hichilima and the Lungu family:

“The family seems to firmly believe that there are items from Lungu’s body that may be taken for ritual purposes by Hichilema if the President is anywhere near the corpse or if it is left, even briefly, in the sole custody of the state,” the political analyst writes.

Apparently, Sishuwa continues, there “appears to be a general belief that Lungu may have been eliminated by actors linked to the State, one that is accompanied by another belief: that individuals who may have contributed to his death are set follow him to the grave imminently unless certain rituals are done to immunize themselves, using his body items, from premature departure from the Earth.”

While I’m scrolling the five points in the agreement that the family later claimed the government had breached, it’s clear to me that several of these clearly state that the family would at no point allow the government to be alone with the body. Interesting.

Back to Sishuwa. He writes:

“The family’s insistence on always guarding the body, chartering a private aircraft for its transportation to Lusaka, and resisting government-led funeral arrangements may be interpreted as precautionary actions rooted in these fears. Even the family’s court-endorsed decision that no one should secure access to Lungu’s body throughout the court proceedings without their authorisation is rooted in the same fears. Similarly, Hichilema’s apparent determination to secure access to the body, despite the family’s objections, has further fuelled public suspicion, particularly in a society where past political transitions have often been accompanied by accusations of spiritual warfare.”

Moreover, it has come to the fore that government agents allegedly, and ultimately unsuccessfully, tried to steal Lungu’s corpse from the South African mortuary in which he was kept. This has only reiterated the vague rumors that President Hichilema believes in the occult.

However, it should be noted that political dissatisfaction and witchcraft accusations in Zambia have a close historical bond. Thus, an unpopular politician is more likely to be associated with juju, witchcraft, magic, sorcery, or any of the other demeaning colonial terms for contemporary African religion, frequently demonized by Christian pastors.

“While such fears may seem extreme, they are deeply rooted in Zambia’s political imagination and have shaped the family’s refusal to hand over the remains,” Sishuwa Sishuwa concludes.

Thursday, July 3

So, well, here we are.

It’s early July, nearly four weeks after the tragic passing of the late president, and yet his body hasn’t returned to the country he once governed.

In a way, none of this is surprising. Lungu’s and Hichilema’s battle was always deeply personal, and with current levels of suspicion and distrust, who knows what the next weeks will hold?

We do know, however, that a full court hearing will take place on August 4 in Johannesburg, and, as Arise News recently wrote:

“As the legal battle continues, one thing is clear: even in death, Edgar Lungu remains at the centre of Zambia’s political crosscurrents.”