THE South African Defence Force stood at rigid attention, their ceremonial uniforms crisp in the Pretoria morning sun. Military brass gleamed as the marching band held their instruments ready, prepared to honour a fallen African leader with the pomp and circumstance befitting a head of state. Thousands of rand in taxpayer money had been meticulously allocated for this solemn ceremony – the repatriation of Edgar Chagwa Lungu, Zambia’s sixth Republican President, who had died on South African soil on June 5th.
But as the hours ticked by, the carefully choreographed farewell became an exercise in futility. The body never arrived. The military honours went unperformed. The dignity of state protocol crumbled into diplomatic embarrassment.
A Rivalry Beyond the Grave
The drama unfolding between Pretoria and Lusaka was more than bureaucratic bungling – it was the continuation of a bitter political rivalry that transcended death itself. Edgar Lungu and his successor, Hakainde Hichilema, had been locked in a vicious cycle of political persecution that defined Zambian politics for years. When Lungu held power, he had hounded Hichilema relentlessly. When the tables turned and Hichilema ascended to the presidency, the persecution simply changed direction.
Now, even in death, Lungu had become a pawn in this enduring conflict, his body held hostage by family grievances and political vendettas.
The situation bore an eerie resemblance to another African political drama – that of Robert Mugabe, whose remains became the center of a tug-of-war between Zimbabwe’s government and his family after Emmerson Mnangagwa, the man who had ousted him in a 2017 coup, wanted him buried at Heroes Acre while his family insisted on a private burial at his rural home in Zvimba.
For a brief, shining moment, it seemed resolution was at hand. On June 15th, a breakthrough emerged from intensive negotiations. A mutual understanding had been reached, announced through a joint press briefing in South Africa that brought collective relief to a nation weary of the protracted drama.
Zambia prepared to welcome home its former president. The mourning period was extended by nine days. State funeral preparations began in earnest. Military protocols were activated on both sides of the border.
But on June 18th, as the nation held its breath in anticipation, the carefully laid plans collapsed. The family reversed their agreement, leaving South African officials and Zambian citizens stunned and embarrassed.
A President’s Painful Address
The weight of national humiliation and diplomatic crisis forced President Hichilema to address his nation on June 19th, 2025. His words, delivered with the gravity of a leader caught between duty and frustration, painted a picture of a government pushed to its limits.
“Fellow Citizens,” Hichilema began, “As we mark the 14th day since the demise of our 6th Republican President, Mr. Edgar Chagwa Lungu, we reflect on the past two weeks, not only as a period of mourning, but a time for healing, and indeed a test of our resolve as a peace loving and law-abiding nation.”
The president took pains to acknowledge those who had worked tirelessly for resolution: “We wish to begin by expressing our gratitude to the church, our traditional leaders and the citizenry for their moral and spiritual guidance during this time. We also wish to thank our envoys, including our former Vice President Mr. Enock Kavindele, his Royal Highness Chief Mumbi, our Foreign Affairs Minister, the Secretary to the Cabinet, and all others involved in the search for a reasonable, inclusive and amicable resolution over the unfortunate impasse relating to the state funeral.”
But it was his gratitude to South Africa that revealed the depth of diplomatic embarrassment: “We express sincere gratitude to President Cyril Ramaphosa and the people of South Africa for their exceptional cooperation and compassion.”
The Moment of Truth
Hichilema’s recounting of June 18th carried the sting of betrayal and the weight of national disappointment: “Yesterday, June 18th, the people of Zambia were prepared to receive the remains of our former President but were surprised by the family’s reversal of the agreed course of action. At our request, the South African Government prepared extensively, with military honours, mounted by the South African Defence Force, who did so in vain, as the former President’s body was not availed by the family for repatriation.”
The apology that followed was as much a diplomatic necessity as it was a personal humiliation: “For this unfortunate situation, we extend our sincere apologies to President Ramaphosa, the Government, and the people of South Africa.”
Drawing the Line
With the patience of a nation exhausted and international relationships strained, Hichilema was forced to make the decision that would effectively end the crisis – even if it left the underlying problem unresolved: “Our country cannot afford a state of indefinite mourning. We have done everything possible to engage the family of our departed 6th Republican President, and we have reached a point where a clear decision has to be made.”
The pronouncement came with the finality of executive authority: “Given these circumstances, I therefore wish to inform the nation that as of the end of today ,the 19th of June 2025, this particular national mourning period is officially over. This will allow the country to begin to return to some normalcy.”
The Deeper Principle
Yet even in his frustration, Hichilema articulated a principle that went to the heart of the matter: “Mr Lungu was not only an ordinary citizen, but our 6th Republican President. While we recognise that he belongs to a family, he also belongs to the nation of Zambia. It is therefore correct that our 6th Republican President should be buried in Zambia with full honours, and not in any other nation.”
This statement crystallised the fundamental tension – between family rights and national patrimony, between personal grief and public duty, between the private Edgar Lungu and the institutional figure of the sixth Republican President.
A Nation’s Plea for Peace
As his address drew to a close, Hichilema’s words carried both warning and hope: “In the meantime, we urge our citizens to maintain calm and orderliness. As we have stated before, during this difficult time, no amount of lawlessness will be tolerated. Let us remain united as a nation and maintain the peace we are known for.”
Even in ending the crisis, he left the door open: “In this spirit, we say to the Lungu family, and indeed the people of Zambia, our hearts remain with you. Our doors, as Government, remain open for further engagement, as appropriate.”
The address concluded with words that seemed to carry both resignation and hope: “May the soul of our departed former republican president, Mr. Edgar Chagwa Lungu, rest in eternal peace. May God bless you all. May God bless Zambia.”
The Aftermath
As the South African Defence Force stood down from their ceremonial duties and packed away their gleaming instruments, the broader implications of this drama began to settle. A nation’s attempt to honor its former leader had been thwarted by the very personal animosities that had defined its recent political history. The cost – measured in diplomatic capital, taxpayer money, and national dignity – would resonate long after the mourning flags were lowered.
Edgar Lungu’s body remained in South Africa, a physical manifestation of unresolved political tensions. His burial had become not just a family matter or even a national ceremony, but a symbol of how deeply personal rivalries can wound the fabric of democratic institutions.
The Final Chapter: A Historic Decision
In a stunning development that would make history, the Lungu family issued a statement announcing their decision to bury the former president in South Africa – making him the first former head of state of another country to be permanently interred on South African soil.
This unprecedented decision transformed what had been a diplomatic crisis into a historic moment. The man who had been caught between two nations in death would now rest permanently in the country where he had died, far from the political battlegrounds of Lusaka but forever linked to the continent’s complex web of relationships.
The irony was not lost on observers: Lungu, who had spent his political career as a fierce defender of Zambian sovereignty, would now become a permanent symbol of African unity in death – his grave serving as a bridge between nations even as political divisions had prevented his return home.
For South Africa, hosting the remains of a former neighbouring head of state represented both an honour and a responsibility, cementing its role as a continental leader even in the most sensitive of diplomatic matters. For Zambia, it was a reminder that sometimes the most personal decisions can have the most profound national consequences.
In the end, the man who had once wielded the power of the Zambian presidency found his final resting place determined not by state protocol or national tradition, but by family resolve in the face of political intractability. The burial that never was in Zambia became the burial that would make history in South Africa – a fitting end to a drama that had tested the bonds between nations and the limits of reconciliation in African politics.
