The Gospel According to State House: The Nevers Mumba Story
By Dr Mwelwa
Dr. Nevers Sekwila Mumba is like a man who always dances where the music is playing the loudest—not because he enjoys the music, but because he is afraid to be alone in the quiet. His life feels like an old village story told by the fire—a story of a preacher who left the pulpit and walked into politics, only to become the kind of man he used to warn others about. As our elders say, “If you follow the footsteps of an elephant, be ready to walk through the dirt it leaves behind.” And that’s what has happened to Dr. Mumba.
He goes where the power is, where the food is plenty and the fire is warm. From President Kaunda to Chiluba, Mwanawasa to Banda, Lungu to Hichilema—he has always found his way into the hearts of those in charge. He praises them, offers advice, and in return, he enjoys the comforts that come with being close to power. But when a man spends all his time in the chief’s hut and never in the fields, he forgets how to grow his own food. Dr. Mumba’s survival seems to depend on who is in State House, not on the strength of his own ideas or actions.
This is not just opinion—it’s something many of us have seen with our own eyes. I remember watching Pastor Mumba on TV when I was still in school. He warned people not to remove President Kaunda, saying it would bring bloodshed. But when President Chiluba came into power, Pastor Mumba was suddenly a regular guest at State House. President Chiluba even became the guest of honour at Victory Ministries events. I sat there listening as the same man who once warned against change now praised the new leader and attacked anyone who dared criticize him.
When President Mwanawasa took over, Dr. Mumba again found his way to the new leader. He began attacking the opposition—Sata, the UPND—calling them all sorts of names. President Mwanawasa, like those before him, listened to the sweet words and made Mumba Vice President. It didn’t stop there. The words I hear him speak today are not new. They are the same ones he used when he was close to President Lungu in 2016. All he does is change the name of the president he is talking about. The script stays the same.
If Zambia gets a new president tomorrow, believe me, Dr. Mumba will be the first to offer him MMD, even though the party no longer has members, structures, or a clear direction. MMD today lives only in his mouth. He has turned it into a tool for survival, a way to stay relevant and enjoy the benefits that come from being seen as a political leader. There is no team behind him, no election win to speak of, but still he carries the name of the party like a key that opens doors.
We say in Africa, “The one who ties his goat to someone else’s fence must ask before milking it.” Dr. Mumba has tied his future to every president since independence. He has never built something of his own that stands without help. For the last forty years, the God he preaches has fed him, yes—but it is through the hands of presidents that the food has come. He is, in every sense, one of the luckiest Zambians alive.
And yet, luck is not the same as wisdom. One can eat well and still forget who he is. A man of God should be able to stand alone, speak truth to power, and live by faith. But this man has built his church inside the walls of government. He enjoys luxury, foreign trips, expensive suits—not because the people have lifted him there, but because he is close to the throne. Without that closeness, what would he be? Just a preacher with no crowd
There’s an old saying: “The child who is always carried never knows how far the road is.” Dr. Mumba has been carried by power, by praise, by position. But when the one carrying him grows tired, he falls. Maybe it’s time he walks on his own, speaks from his own strength, and earns his place not through favour but through action.
Because a man who only speaks when the President is listening is not a prophet. He is just another man in fine clothes, looking for an invitation to dinner.
Still, we are African. We do not throw away the seedling because it has not grown yet. Maybe, just maybe, Dr. Mumba can find his way back to the truth, the real path he once preached. But that path cannot be reached through praise-singing and handshakes. It must be walked with humility, with quietness, and with the knowledge that “a man who wears two faces will one day forget which one is truly his.”
Let him remember—presidents come and go, but truth remains. Let him know—the music fades, but the steps we leave behind are remembered
