A Tale of Two Provinces: Betrayal in Luapula, Loyalty in Eastern Province
Dr. Mwelwa
In the heart of Zambia, where the rivers carry the whispers of history and the soil remembers the footsteps of those who have walked before, two provinces have etched their fate into the book of time—one with the ink of betrayal, the other with the ink of unwavering loyalty. Luapula has traded its warriors for a bowl of Jacob’s soup, while Eastern Province has refused to sell its own.
It is said among the elders, “A man who sells his brother today will be sold by his children tomorrow.” And yet, in Luapula, this wisdom has fallen on deaf ears. They have turned their backs on Nickson Chilangwa and Ronald Chitotela, two men who once stood at the forefront of their cause. They have handed over their destiny to the very hands that have shackled them, choosing to feast on the promises of those who see them only as pawns in a grander game.
How does one explain a people who cry out for justice one day and kneel before their oppressors the next? Have they not heard the wisdom of old—that “A goat that rejoices at the butcher’s kindness does not know that its fate is sealed”? Those who danced in Luapula, celebrating their newfound allegiance, will soon realize that they have merely placed themselves on the altar of sacrifice.
While Luapula has dined at the table of betrayal, Eastern Province has stood tall, rejecting the temptations of temporary riches.
They have refused to abandon their son, Jay Jay Banda, a man who has borne the brunt of injustice and persecution. Unlike their northern counterparts, the people of Eastern Province have shown that some things cannot be bought—not with silver, not with grain, and not with the false promises of those who seek to control them.
It is said, “A river that forgets its source will dry up.” The people of Eastern Province understand this well. They know that when a brother is taken and silenced, the whole village suffers. They have refused to drink from the same cup of forgetfulness that has been passed around in Luapula. Their message is clear: “You may take one of us, but you will never take our spirit.”
The elders remind us, “A tree with strong roots laughs at the storm.” Petauke, Chadiza, and the rest of Eastern Province have proven that their roots run deep. They have seen through the games, through the deceptive handouts, through the false smiles of those who come bearing gifts only when elections are near. They have refused to trade loyalty for momentary relief, choosing instead to hold onto their dignity and their truth.
But what of those who believe that power is eternal? Have they not learned from the mighty who have fallen before them? The ancestors whisper warnings in the wind, telling us that “A king who does not listen to the people will one day be carried away by the same crowd that once cheered him.”
Will Luapula awaken before it is too late? Will they realize that they have placed their future into the hands of those who see them only as votes, not as people? Or will they continue on this path, only to wake up and find that their so-called victory was but a well-decorated defeat?
And what of Eastern Province? Will they hold the line, standing firm in their defiance, or will they be tempted when the stakes grow higher? Will they remember that “A man who refuses to sell his brothers today secures the future of his children”?
The days ahead will test the hearts of many. The drums of 2026 are already beating, and when the time comes, Zambia will once again be faced with a choice. The people of Luapula have already written their chapter—for now. Eastern Province has chosen its side.
But in the end, history will remember one thing: A people who trade their dignity for a bowl of soup will always find themselves hungry again. And when that hunger comes, when the promises fade, when the reality of their choices dawns upon them—who will they blame?
For the will of the people is like a river. You may try to dam it, to change its course, to buy its silence. But in the end, it will always find its way.