Locked and Frozen in space: The sad Tale of Zambia’s sixth President Edgar Lungu’s 69th Birthday
“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
Amb. Anthony Mukwita reflects-
12th Nov. 25
He turns 69 on 11th November, having been born of Padule Saili Lungu and Tasila Jere years ago. Think of that.
But unlike any other birthday of any departed Zambian head of state, this one is uniquely tragic because Edgar Chagwa Lungu, the sixth President of Zambia, lies frozen, entombed in a sub-zero Alaskan-grade mortuary fridge in Pretoria, stretching 7 feet long to accommodate his six-foot frame.
No cake. No song. No curried chicken. No awkward, loveable Lungu dance moves and easy laughs. Just ice. Cold. Sorrow, alone.
No family no grandchildren and friends.
Madame Esther Nyawa Lungu, widow of the sixth President, may shed a tear if she has any left after half a year of mourning since her husband breathed his last in Pretoria on June 5, 2025.
His wish was to be buried in Johannesburg according to the spouse, but the Zambian government, in a move both ironic and sardonically poetic, obtained a court order the night before the burial to halt it.
A man once entrusted with the nation’s soul was denied his final wish by the very state he once led in the name of honour.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” — Matthew 5:4
“The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18
From Chimwemwe, a dusty mining township where poverty and wealth share fences, Edgar Lungu rose like a quiet tide.
Six months before President Michael Chilufya Sata’s death, Edgar Lungu was nowhere in the succession race. But fate, like a mischievous playwright, cast him as king.
WAS PRESIDENT SATA SENDING A MESSAGE THAT HE SOUGHT
LUNGU TO SUCCEED HIM?
President Sata, in what now feels like prophecy, piled Lungu with ministerial responsibilities—Justice, Defence, Home Affairs—like a man preparing his heir. And when Sata passed, Lungu emerged from the shadows, not with a roar, but with a whisper.
When his colleagues fought him, he withdrew, citing the wisdom of King Solomon. Two women claimed one baby. Solomon said, “Split the child.” One woman agreed.
The other cried, “Let her have him.” Solomon declared her the true mother. Lungu, like the second woman, chose peace over power. And Zambia chose him.
“Il est parti trop tôt, mais son esprit reste parmi nous.”
(He left too soon, but his spirit remains among us.)
“La douleur est profonde, mais l’amour est éternel.”
(The pain is deep, but love is eternal.)
“Que la paix soit son manteau éternel.”
(May peace be his eternal cloak.)
President Lungu governed with a gospel playlist and a hand that often felt like a prayer. He built bridges, airports, and ports, not just of concrete, but of diplomacy.
He was a grassroots man, a Chimwemwe son, who wore his suits like armor—navy blue, charcoal grey, and one rebellious tie that whispered, “I’m still Edgar.” Very immaculate.
His legacy includes the Kenneth Kaunda International Airport expansion, the Kazungula Bridge, and a diplomatic footprint that reached Beijing, Washington, and Brussels.
He was not loud, but he was legal. Not flashy, but he was fashionable. His stroll was presidential, his naps strategic, his silence eloquent.
And yet, beneath the soft-spoken demeanor lay a spine of steel. “I may speak with a small voice,” he once said, “but I carry a huge stick. I can fall on you like a tonne of bricks if you fall out of line.”
It was the kind of warning that made even seasoned politicians sit straighter in their chairs.
But he was also kind. When pressed to fire underperforming officials, he refused. “The problem with you Zambians,” he said, “is you love bloodletting. Everyone deserves a second chance. If I fire these guys, who will feed their children? Do you ever think of that?” He added, “Even in soccer, the referee first wags his finger and shows a yellow card before the red.”
Now, his restless spirit flutters between Lusaka and Pretoria. Zambia mourns. Mrs. Lungu weeps. And the nation wonders: could Makebi Zulu, the family consigliere, and Secretary to the Cabinet Patrick Kangwa meet and freeze this burial dispute once and for all?
This should have been a moment to unite Zambia in love and memory, not in legal fandango and diplomatic frost.
Across the world, echoes of similar sagas ring. In Africa, the burial of Malawi’s President Bingu wa Mutharika sparked controversy over location and rites.
HAS THIS HAPPENED ANYWHERE ELSE?
In Europe, Napoleon Bonaparte’s remains were moved from Saint Helena to Paris decades after his death. In America, the body of James Polk was relocated twice before resting in Tennessee.
“Peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice.” — Martin Luther King Jr.
“Love never fails.” — 1 Corinthians 13:8
Imagine this:
You are sealed in a 7-foot steel coffin, the kind used for long-haul preservation under sub-zero Siberian temperatures. The walls are not just close, they press in like frozen fists.
There’s no room to stretch, no space to shift. Your body, once warm with gospel rhythms and presidential strolls, is now stiff, locked in a posture of eternal stillness.
The air? There is none. Just the hum of refrigeration coils and the whisper of frost forming on your eyelashes. Your skin, once kissed by Lusaka sun, is now kissed by ice.
The cold is not just physical, it’s emotional. It gnaws at memory, erases warmth, and replaces legacy with silence.
Almost months pass.
Time freezes. You do not sleep. You do not dream. You simply exist in a limbo of frostbite and forgotten wishes. Even in death, the soul stirs.
It wants out. It wants air. It wants closure. But the lid is sealed, the court order signed, and the burial paused like a song stuck on a broken cassette.
You try to scream, but your voice is a vapour. You try to move, but your limbs are locked in rigor mortis. You try to pray, but even the angels seem to shiver.
This is not rest. This is not peace. This is punishment.
The coffin is a capsule of discomfort, a tomb of bureaucratic indecision. It is the kind of fate you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy, not even the ones who fought you in politics, not even the ones who mocked your slow walk or your gospel cabinet meetings.
It is claustrophobia without breath. It is solitude without silence. It is the cruel irony of being remembered but not released, no freedom.
And somewhere, in the stillness, your spirit whispers:
“Let me go. Let me rest. Let me be buried, not stored.”
So today, as Zambia marks what would have been Edgar Lungu’s 69th birthday, we do not sing. We do not dance. We do not stew chickens. We don’t eat cake. We simply whisper into the cold: “Merci, Ba Edgar. Repose en paix.”
Once asked by a journalist in 2021 as he sought re-election how he would describe himself beyond his usual “am an ordinary man who became President,”, Lungu a literature buff used George Orwell’s classic Animal Farm book.
President Lungu said, “Boxer, the tireless and loyal cart-horse in Animal Farm, epitomizesd the working-class spirit through his unwavering dedication and immense strength. Known for his mottos “I will work harder”.
He said, “I seek to work harder for Zambia without asking for a reward and “Napoleon is not always right.”
“Boxer labours relentlessly for the success of the farm, even as he is exploited by the ruling pigs. His tragic fate, being sold to the knackers when he is no longer useful, in my humble view, this underscores the betrayal of the proletariat in totalitarian regimes.” — Edgar Lungu.
The sixth President is survived by a wife, children, grandchildren and a mourning nation seeking closure—but none is in sight.
Happy 69th birthday, Baba Lungu. Long live.
Amb. Anthony Mukwita is the author of Against All Odds, the only official biography of the sixth President of Zambia H.E Edgar Lungu, available at Bookworld and Amazon.
THEY HAD TO APPROPRIETLY CHOOSE TWO MOUNTAINS BECAUSE OF THEIR FAITH