ZAMBIA KUCHALO XO

After about a month since returning from Zambia, I finally found the time to pick up my personal computer again.During this period, I’ve been completely absorbed by a new job, new routines, a different daily life — definitely no longer Zambian.

I decided to publish these lines, written during the last evenings — or rather nights — spent in Zambia: notes born in the dark, with a headlamp on as always, and filled with an emotion that’s hard to put into words.

Only now, almost three months after my return, I’m sharing them. Because yes, physically I’m back in Italy, but part of my mind — and my heart — is still there.

Ndola - 09/2025

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We are almost at the end of this experience… and all these pages were born during the nights when I couldn’t fall asleep early. I would lie there, staring at the ceiling, music blasting, thoughts racing one after another. A thousand things would come to mind, and that’s how I started writing down what I was feeling, night after night.

An experience, yes — but maybe more than that: a journey, a piece of life that will stay with me forever. I didn’t even know where to begin… so I started with the people, because they are the ones who will remain with me the most. Zambia is made of them: their energy, their way of living, their spirit. A lot of “Zambian time,” yes, but always ready to help you, to be there. I will never forget the moments spent with the people I met here: the boys and girls at the field, the training sessions, the evenings with popcorn, peanuts and chips, the music and laughter until late at night, the motorbike rides back with our legendary drivers, who with infinite patience always took us safely back to Northrise (where we lived).

And the matches… home games and away games. Paying the referees, filling out the match sheets, post-game discussions with the coach, and then the bus rides back, singing at the top of our lungs after a win — but also after a loss. Because here, that’s how life is lived: you sing and laugh anyway, because losing is part of the game, and you face it together.

Then there were the moments at the stadium, watching matches all together. And above all, the children. They were my happiness, as I always tell Giuli (for those who don’t know, my favorite ballerina). If you’re having a bad moment, just seeing them makes everything better. If you’re angry, one of their smiles is enough to make it disappear. Their “Tiiinaaaa! How are you, shani?” still echoes in my ears: they’re not happy until you greet them, and even just shaking their hand means everything. Their simplicity, their laughter, their jokes at the field or in the streets of Chipulukusu… by now everyone knows us, and every time we walk around there’s always someone calling us. I won’t remember all the names, but I will remember the faces — those will stay with me forever. Chasing them, tickling them, playing, taking photos, singing “giro giro tondo,” hugging them, stretching early in the morning at the field… arriving there at 7 a.m. after waking up at 5 and walking for forty minutes. It was tiring, yes, but it became part of the routine, and I would never erase it.

Then there were the evenings with my amazing Jo and Jr, complete with improvised science lessons and Tip occasionally joining us. Between chats, music, dancing, truth or dare, and endless laughter, we spent countless nights together. And the dancing! I had always been shy, but here I learned to let go. I owe that to Jo, my dance teacher and life teacher: his way of laughing, joking, teaching me the moves. Through him, I learned that you always have to try — because if you don’t try, you’ll never know. And I learned calmness, lightness, and how to be a good person.

Then there’s the food, which accompanied me throughout these months. Nshima first of all: good, yes — like polenta — but not every day! Though I’ll almost miss eating it with my hands and sharing it with others. Here, food is sharing: everyone always invites you to eat with them, and that spirit of sharing is something we should learn too. Then rice with chicken (“inkokoooo”), which sometimes sent me running to the bathroom — but that’s part of the experience too. And my loyal friends: tuna, eggs, and soya. One-euro lunches at restaurants with friends, dinners with Karo at Italian restaurants (some worth remembering, others… better forgotten!). Evenings cooking with Jo and Jr on the imbaula with charcoal: rice, pasta, nshima, vegetables, eggs, and soya. Always washing hands before eating, even without soap — though now I really hope they use it, after how many times I reminded them!

And the laundry? At first we washed our clothes ourselves, then we gave up and accepted the help of a girl who did it for a small amount of money. Always with incredible care, under the scorching sun. Shoes and underwear I still washed myself, but even that became part of everyday life.

The cold winter mornings — which here feel like summer in the mountains back home — and the heat now, making me sweat as I write. The packaged bread full of preservatives, the peanut butter I finished in two days even though I had never liked it before. My relationship with food here was a roller coaster, but living in Zambia taught me that eating is a privilege. And what was I doing? Restricting myself, then overeating? No. Enough. I learned so much from their light-heartedness, from the calm way they live life. The famous “Zambian time,” which at first drove me crazy and now I almost miss.

Evenings at Braids of Life, courses with super-sugary juices and rock buns (which I called “local buns,” because everyone pronounces them that way). Peanuts, dondos, fritas… deep-fried goodness, but truly delicious. Grocery shopping at Shoprite, Kafubu Mall, Pick n Pay, and Choppies. Chocolate, my loyal companion, bars finished in one night. Fruits and vegetables from the market — always the same, but good. Nights without electricity or water, torches becoming inseparable. Annoying mosquitoes, spiders, and cockroaches that no longer scare me.

And then the evenings with footballer friends, spontaneous outings, places like Signature and Bojangles, strange drinks made from baobab fruit packed with sugar. Songs shouted by Chichi, laughter, voice notes sent to friends with music in the background. All of this will stay with me.

And then Bemba. Slowly, panono panono, I learned a few words. It’s not easy, but now I can joke a bit with friends. Not just insults, I swear! And they learned some Italian too: hearing “vendutoooo” or other swear words shouted at the stadium or on the street always made me laugh.

This is everything I’ll carry with me. Everything I wrote at night, when sleep wouldn’t come. Everything I hope to relive one day, and that I never want to fade away. Because that’s life: made of highs and lows, of steps that take you far away, but also of returns. And here, in Zambia, I found so much. Maybe everything I needed.

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Milan – 07/11/2026

Being constantly busy with my new job definitely helps ease the nostalgia… but yes, every now and then that “Africa sickness” makes itself felt. Luckily, thanks to daily messages and chats with friends over there, the African spirit continues to live within me — and I couldn’t be more grateful (and happy!).

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Valtournenche – 17/01/2026

From the mountains, my forever refuge, I finally share this post.With my heart still looking far away, and the hope of returning to Africa soon.

Stay tuned: more updates coming.

MarTina