A Brush with the Broadcast, Brew and History in 1997

On one sizzling morning of 28th October 1997, I woke up insanely early. My mission was to dash over to Chelstone Small Market, though for the life of me, I can't remember what I was supposed to fetch. Maybe it was the elixir of life, as my mum called it. She made it clear though, I had to be back before 09:00 AM sharp, just in time for school.

Going outside, everyone was glued to their radio as there was this man calling himself Captain Solo announcing that he had taken over the country. He even said he fired all the service chiefs and gave President Fredrick Chiluba up to 9:00hrs to surrender or face death. And he intended to form a Government of National Redemption.

My eyes widened like saucers. I ran back to tell my mum, but she was already listening with a frown on her face.

"Is Captain Solo like my school captain?"

I tried my luck at making light of the situation.

She just looked at me in disapproval and mumbled something about me liking to joke about serious situations.

In Kamanga compound back then, the news spread faster than a bushfire in the dry season. Mr. Phiri, who lived next door and loved his Band 2 radio more than his own family, was already out, shouting about the coup and adding colour commentary to it.

"There is a coup and Captain Solo has taken over the country. He claimed he has been told by an angel to cleanse the MMD government."

He bellowed, his voice echoing through the narrow streets.

Bana Pamuku, who sold fritters and cooked sweet potatoes at our school’s Zanzibar and used to show up at break time was passing going about her endevours without showing any uncertainty on her face like everyone else.

She ran past our house, shouting, "I’m late for the business today!"

She didn't even know if school would be open, but she ran like she was on a mission for Captain Solo himself.

Then there was Ba Tembo, perched on his rickety wooden stool like an owl and his back curved like the Alick Nkhata Flyover Bridge. He had his legs crossed in such a way that you'd think they were playing a game of Twister with themselves. In one hand, he cradled a cup of the local brew, they just used to call it ‘7 Days’ back then because it took 7 days to brew. Apparently. As he sipped, his eyes squinted with the delight of a man who's found the secret to eternal contentment, or at least to a good buzz. His face was caught in the morning sun, turning it into a mosaic of wrinkles and grins. Each sip seemed to tell a story, and if you listened closely, you could hear the legends of his youth, or perhaps just the satisfied slurp of a man enjoying his moment in the sun.

"Don't worry, this Solo character will be forgotten before I get drunk," he said. “I have seen this before in 1980, 1988 and 1990.”

As the clock got closer to 8:00 AM, everyone was talking, guessing, and some even planning, like it was a big football game to be commented by the son-father TagTeam of Dennis and Ponga Liwewe. But then, the radio crackled again. This time, it was a different man. With his voice stern, he said Captain Solo was caught, and President Chiluba was still in control of the country.

True to Ba Tembo's prophecy, by 9:00 AM the putsch had been quelled.

As expected, mum cancelled the initial plan of sending me to the market. It was actually for the better, as most offices and shops never opened on that day. Hadn't these people heard that the putschists were arrested and that the president said we should all go back to work? I wondered. Maybe we all just needed the day off, just to reset.