Edgar Lungu Frozen at 68: A Cry for Burial, A Call for Unity

Edgar Lungu Frozen at 68: A Cry for Burial, A Call for Unity

By Amb. Anthony Mukwita, author of Edgar Lungu’s official autobiography, Against All Odds, a Rough Journey to State House
6th November 2025

On 11th November, Edgar Chagwa Lungu would have turned 68. But instead of hymns, flowers, and tea, Zambia will mark his birthday with silence and frost.

He was the last existing former President of the republic of independent Zambia.

Frozen in time since 5 June, the sixth president of Zambia lies unburied, caught in a diplomatic and legal rut that mocks the humility he lived by and the dignity he died with.

President Lungu was no ordinary man. Born to humble parents, his father Padule Saili Lungu, a missionary’s servant, and his mother, a market vendor, he rose from the dust of Chimwemwe to become a trained lawyer, a military man, and eventually Zambia’s Commander-in-Chief.

He ruled from 2015 to 2021, and when power beckoned him to cling, he let go. Peacefully.

He built roads, bridges, hospitals. He expanded social cash transfers and maize production. He gave jobs to opposition leaders who loathed him, and refused to fire civil servants because, as he said, “Who will feed their children?” Power humbled him. It did not inflate him.

Edgar Lungu laughed easily, cracked jokes, and once ate a mango on the street, saying, “I don’t think anyone wants me dead.” But death came. And now, five months later, he remains frozen in a South African morgue—not by nature, but by bureaucracy. His widow, Esther Lungu, has cried enough tears to fill the Zambezi. “He is my man, my hubby. I want to bury him,” she pleads.

But the government insists on full state honours honours they denied him in life. Why now? Why the sudden embrace of a man they once pulled off planes, barred from travel, and humiliated in public?

The question echoes: Why does the government want the body in death they despised in life? Mystery.

President Lungu’s plight is not without precedent. In Africa, a Ghanain President was caught in political wrangling with politics.
In medieval Europe, the excommunication of Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV led to his burial being denied in consecrated ground, his body left in limbo until political tides shifted.

These examples remind us: death does not always bring peace when politics intervene.

Let this 11th November be a turning point. Let Zambia give Edgar Lungu the gift of burial. Not for pomp. Not for politics.

But for peace. “Let the dead bury the dead. I am a living man. I have work to do.” These words, echoing through the corridors of grief, remind us that Zambia must move forward. But it cannot do so with a frozen past.

President Lungu founded the National Day of Prayer. He cried for starving people. He resented tribalism. He wanted unity. And now, in death, he is denied the very peace he preached.

What sin did he commit to remain frozen? Was it humility? Was it love?

A senior church leader, speaking anonymously, said, “President Lungu was not perfect, but he was a man of prayer. He gave us space to worship, to gather, to seek God. His legacy must not be buried on ice.”

Another close friend, a lawyer who stood by him in court and in crisis, whispered through tears, “He was a man of the people. He didn’t just lead—he listened, he cried for poor people.”
Zambia is a Christian nation. And in that spirit, let us remember three truths:

“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all the darkness.” — Desmond Tutu
“Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into a friend.” — Martin Luther King Jr.
“Faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” — 1 Corinthians 13:13

President Lungu’s frozen fate must be the last of its kind. Zambia has no law on burying dead presidents. Let his pain birth policy. Let his death unite Zambia, not divide it.

Everything is funny until it happens to you. Today, it has happened to Zambia—and to Madam Esther Lungu.

Yet even in grief, we remember the man behind the title. Edgar Lungu’s presidency was not without its lighter moments—his humor often disarmed tension and reminded Zambians that leadership could still be human.

One unforgettable instance was the “mango moment,” when he casually picked a mango from a street vendor and ate it without security checks, joking, “I don’t think anyone wants me dead.” It was a simple act that made him relatable.

At a public event, he removed his jacket mid-speech, quipping, “Even presidents sweat!”—a line that drew laughter and applause. His dance moves at a youth gathering were famously awkward, but he laughed along, saying, “I may not dance well, but I know how to move the country forward.”

After leaving office, when authorities pulled him off a plane citing travel clearance issues, he reportedly joked, “Maybe they think I’m flying to Mars,” turning humiliation into humor.
And during a market visit, when asked if he missed power, he replied with a grin, “Power is like a tomato—sweet when ripe, sour when forced.”

These moments weren’t just comic relief; they were windows into a man who never let the weight of office crush his spirit. They showed a president who could laugh with the people, not just rule over them.

He was a favourite of traditional leaders, a friend to the vulnerable, and a father figure to many. In Shangombo and Shiwang’andu, old women wept when they heard of his passing. “He gave us maize, he gave us dignity,” one said. “He was our son.”

After leaving office, President Lungu was denied the simple joys of retirement. He was barred from attending church, funerals, and even walking in markets he helped build according to his lawyers.
He was pulled from planes, denied exit to seek medical treatment abroad. He was humiliated. And now, in death, he is denied burial. Frozen in a fridge in SA.

His confidantes—Brian Mundubile, Makebi Zulu, and others—ask the same question: Why? Why must a man who gave so much be denied the peace of the grave?

Let us be clear: Edgar Lungu was not a perfect man. But he was a man of grace, of grit, of generosity. He was a man who believed in Zambia.

He was a man who cried over starving children and prayed for unity. He was a man who said, “Family above duty,” and lived it.

As the author of Against All Odds, Edgar Lungu’s only official autobiography, I say this not as a diplomat, but as a son of the soil: Bury Edgar Lungu. Let his spirit rest. Let Zambia heal. Let love win.
Let this be our birthday gift to him. Frozen at 68. Finally buried. Finally free.

Against all Odd, President Edgar Chagwa Lungu’s Rough Journey to State House is availbale on Amazon.