| By Nkweto Tembwe | It was the night before the big game, and sleep did not come easy. My sister and guardian, Dorothy Mulenga Tembwe, had reluctantly given her blessing after relentless negotiation, laced with her usual lament, “Nkweto, mwe baume mwashala batatu after imfwa ya ba Kangwa.” (Nkweto, remember there are only 3 .men in the family after we lost Ba Kanvwa 3 years ago) I was in Grade 11 at Matero Boys Secondary School, living with her “ku ma yards” in Northmead. Permission came with a mountain of conditions, the chief among them being that I had to go with an older relative. Luckily, my elder brother, Gideon Katongo Tembwe, arrived from Kitwe, declaring he’d spend the night so we could head to town early. That night, I lay in bed, heart pounding with anticipation, dreaming of watching my heroes, the KK Eleven, battle Zaire for a chance at the FIFA World Cup. The Journey Begins The alarm sounded at 03:25, and I jumped out of bed. The house at No. 2 Malila Close buzzed with excitement. By 04:00, we were ready, though how many of us actually bathed was debatable. Teeth brushed with Ivory toothpaste, we set off on foot toward Great East Road, I was laughing at every silly comment the elders made. My brother Chewe joked about announcing the probable lineup on a makeshift public address system, and we roared with laughter. We boarded a Rosa minibus, license fleet mumber LK 007. The bus was packed with football enthusiasts, the air thick with anticipation. At Kafue Roundabout, the driver kicked off a few non-football passengers and refunded their fare after realising the bus was, but full of Independence stadium bound passengers. By the time we reached Independence Stadium, the atmosphere was electric. The Chaos Outside At 04:45, the queues outside the stadium were already serpentine, snaking toward the Great North Road. Fires burned in small clusters, and pickpockets darted through the shadows. I clutched my ticket money tightly, weaving through the chaos. By 10:00, murmurs rippled through the crowd: “Ba FAZ bafika!” Ticket sales had begun. I found myself separated from my family group, alone in a sea of humanity. Poor and short me now had to fight on my own. My schoolmate, Elijah Zulu, appeared like an angel, advising me to try Gate A. There, the scene was pure bedlam. Police on horse backs, dust clouds, and desperate fans created a cacophony of chaos. I followed the Matero kids who barged through the queue, I timed their confusion very well and was a beneficiary. As the line formed again, suddenly, I was near the entrance to gate-A . At 14:20, I was inside. The Stage is Set The stadium was a roaring colossus, with over 40,000 fans crammed in. I found a spot right at the foot of the terraces. The noise ebbed and swelled, a wave of anxious energy. The presidential motorcade arrived in a flurry of dust, and the voice of Dennis Liwewe, the legendary commentator, thundered through the PA system: “A very good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Independence Stadium, the venue for this second-round, first-leg FIFA 1990 World Cup qualifier between Zaire and th3 KK Eleven of Zambia! He announced : The referee from Mauritius,Mr Patrice Nyo. Then came the lineups. For Zaire: In Goal: Meriikana As Mr. Dennis Liwewe went through the Zaire lineup, Zambians were only truly interested in two names. The tension in the air was palpable as they held their breath, waiting. When the names were finally mentioned, the crowd sighed with a mixture of excitement and worry…. Yes, Santos Mutubile was in the lineup, and yes, the dreaded Eugene Kabongo Ngoyi would feature also. While Zambians were still grappling with how to feel about these two dangerous players, Dennis Liwewe startled them out of their thoughts with his booming voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the KK11!” he announced. The stadium erupted into a deafening roar. Fans leaned closer to mentally tick off the lineup, desperate to confirm their heroes were indeed in the starting eleven. “In goal, from Mighty Mufulira Wanderers…” Liwewe started, and the crowd finished in unison: “Efford Chabala!” “Playing two, from Nkana Red Devils, hard tackler John Soko!” “Wearing shirt number three, from Kabwe Warriors and Zambia… Whitson Changwe!” “Playing position four, from Mighty Mufulira Wanderers and captain of the side ” Liwewe said, pausing slightly as he said Ashious Melu. the crowd shouted back, “Meluuuuuu!” At this point, the crowd was buzzing, eager to hear who would play in position five. There had been calls for a change in personnel for that role. Fans had already chosen their favorite, and now they waited to see if the technical bench had endorsed their candidate. “Playing position number five…” Liwewe said, deliberately pausing to heighten the already intense tension and anxiety in the stadium. Then he broke the silence: “For reasons best known to themselves, they call him King Yellowman…” The crowd erupted with wild cheers, and Liwewe continued, “… from Green Buffaloes and Zambia, Eston Mulenga!”Mulenga….. The roar that followed could have been mistaken for a goal celebration. Liwewe let the crowd revel in the moment before continuing with the lineup. “And playing six, from Division One side Profund Warriors, Derby Makinka!” “Playing seven, a professional from Belgium, Mwana Wa Kwitu… Lucky Msiska!” “Wearing shirt number fourteen but playing 8, a player ee have not seen for two seasons, from Belgium’s Anderlecht… Charles Musonda!” “Playing nine, again from Belgium… Mkango, Stone Nyirenda!” “And playing ten, from Power Dynamos…” At this point, the stadium shouted as one, “Weeeez….Wisdom Chansa!” Finally, Liwewe delivered the name everyone was waiting for: ” then reigning African Footballer of the Year, who he described as , “perhaps the most intelligent player on the field… Kalusha Bwalya!” The crowd echoed, “Bwalya!” Lusha.. Lusha.. It was a lineup that inspired hope, pride, and belief. Zambia’s KK11 was ready for battle, and the stadium was alive with anticipation. The Match Zambia emerged in all yellow; Zaire in green. The game began at a frenetic pace. Zaire’s confidence was evident—they had beaten Tunisia in Kinshasa—but Zambia’s resolve was unmatched. In the 10th minute, Stone Nyirenda struck. The crowd erupted, chanting “Zambia! Zambia!” Seven minutes later, a Kalusha Bwalya corner found Lucky Msiska, who headed in Zambia’s second. At 25 minutes, Derby Makinka unleashed a thunderbolt: 3–0. Zaire fought back. In the 29th minute, Eugene Kabongo Ngoyi, the dreaded danger man, scored, briefly silencing the crowd. Halftime: Zambia 3, Zaire 1. The second half was a battle of wills. In the 75th minute, Kalusha Bwalya scored Zambia’s fourth. The stadium shook with chants of “Lusha Lusha!” But Zaire was not done. In the 78th minute, Kabongo struck again with a ferocious volley:grazing off the hair of some of our players 4–2. At this time I found myself standing akimbo and wishing for the game to end already…..that goal sent shivers in all Zambian as the Zairean supporters briefly took over that chanting! The final ten minutes were nerve-wracking as Zaire bombarded Zambia’s defense. But Ashious Melu, Eston Mulenga,Whitson Changwe and John Soko held firm. When Mauritiun referee Patrice Nyoe, blew the final whistle, the stadium erupted in a euphoric roar of relief. The Aftermath As I trudged toward Mandevu, the chants of “Zambia 4, Zaire 2!” echoed in my ears. I couldn’t wait to recount the drama to my classmates at Matero Boys. That day, the KK Eleven etched their names into history, and I knew I had witnessed something unforgettable.
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