12/07/2026
Have a glimpse of a bit of Lusaka life you may not come across with 's's
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I once attended a wedding at Olympafrica in Mandevu, somewhere near Shoka’s. The wedding was for a bus driver, and the crowd I found looked like it was a political rally.
This story was sponsored by the person who sent me K20 and commanded that they needed a story.😂
I once attended a wedding at Olympafrica and let me tell you, that day permanently changed me as a human being. I’m serious I went there as a normal person and left as a survivor. Olympafrica is not a place it’s a warning. For those of you who don’t know it, it’s a hall somewhere in Mandevu constituency, tucked inside Chipata compound near Shoka’s bus station. And if someone ever invites you to a wedding at Olympafrica, run. Don’t even walk run eksay. Because when you hear Olympafrica, just know that order will be absent, confusion will be the chief guest and the number of people attending will qualify for a presidential inauguration. The story begins with my mother casually saying, we have to go to my friend’s daughter’s wedding. My mistake was not faking illness right there and then. I think I was 19 old enough to think I had freedom, but not old enough to actually exercise it. So we got ready, caught a bus to Shoka’s and started walking to Olympafrica. From a distance, I saw people gathered outside. I thought, okay, this is a big wedding. As we got closer, my brain whispered, turn back Zwe. By the time we arrived, my brain was screaming, run Zwe the place was packed. I’m not exaggerating it looked like Jesus was about to do another feeding of the 5,000, only this time with no fish or bread. Outside, people were everywhere. On walls, on cars, hanging from windows like monkeys on Discovery Channel. Kids were running around, vendors were selling boiled eggs and maize and somewhere in the crowd, a man was literally selling car parts. I stood there confused, asking myself, is this a wedding or the Agricultural Show? We reached at 14:00 and only entered at 15:00. One full hour. Hour. Just to squeeze through the door.
I lost 3kgs in sweat, made 7 enemies by stepping on their toes and at one point I accidentally joined a group of women singing bridal songs in Bemba, even though I didn’t know a single word. Inside? Lord have mercy. If outside was bad, inside was Armageddon with decorations. There were no empty chairs just chaos. We fought for chairs like hyenas fighting over a carcass. I found one, sat down and swore I would never stand up again. The DJ was playing something. I still don’t know what. One moment it sounded like gospel, next moment reggae, then suddenly a rooster crowed in the track lol. I looked at the speakers like, are you okay, my guy? Everyone looked drunk even the flower girl had suspicious energy. When the bride and groom finally entered, the noise hit an entirely new level. People screamed, whistled, ululated, and someone even shot fireworks inside the hall. I thought I was at UNZA during riots, the MC mayo that poor man. He tried. He begged. Ladies and gentlemen, please calm down! Nobody listened. He tried jokes they booed him. He tried prayers they ululated louder. It took 30 minutes to calm the crowd and even then, it was temporary. Later I asked my mom why this wedding looked like a riot disguised as love. She calmly replied, the groom is a bus driver. He invited every bus driver, conductor and passenger from Kulima tower. And the bride works at Lusaka City Council. She invited the entire Civic Center plus everyone they’ve ever fined for street vending. At that moment, I realized we would not survive the food situation. And then food time arrived. Listen, that line was not a line it was a pilgrimage.
It started in the hall, went outside, wrapped around the building and I’m pretty sure ended somewhere in Malawi. We joined anyway because hope is the last thing to die. Before we reached halfway, the food finished. People started shouting like unpaid workers at a rally. The MC still optimistic announced, more food is coming! Please remain in line! Big mistake. When the second batch came, it didn’t even make it to our section. It was like watching manna fall from heaven on everyone else. I gave up and returned to my seat hungry and bitter. As if that wasn’t enough, a fight broke out. Over what? I still don’t know. Maybe someone got the last piece of chicken. Chairs started flying, Mosi bottles were launched like missiles and I swear one guy removed his belt, swinging it like he was auditioning for Mortal Kombat. One bottle missed my head by an inch. My mother grabbed my hand and said Zwe let’s go before we appear on ZNBC News! We ran out like fugitives escaping a war zone. Since that day, I swore off Zambian weddings. Because you can plan for 50 people, but your uncle’s side alone will produce 200 strangers who eat like they’ve been fasting for three days and the other family will bring the rest of Zambia, I vowed to never go for a wedding again. But again last year, I attended my colleague’s wedding. My friends I was shocked. The number of people was normal. The food was enough. The music made sense. Nobody fought, no chairs flew, no chicken disappeared mysteriously. I even ate dessert while sitting down comfortably. For the first time in years, I thought, maybe weddings aren’t bad. Maybe I can even have one next year instead of my original plan of waiting 10 years. So, shout out to you, Mr. Kechaya you restored my faith in love and catering. As for Olympafrica? It can remain in my nightmares forever.
Zwe ma paragraphs, Zwe ma wedding.😂
