Fri, 26 Jan 2018 09:10:57 +0000
By Philip Chirwa
BEFORE Zambia attained its independence in 1964, there were no shanty compounds. People only resided in authorized settlements owned by either government, municipal councils or contractors who were engaged in various construction, quarrying, brick-making and other projects.
The colonial government imposed heavy restrictions on rural-urban migration. If one came into town from the village, for example, one was given a pass which allowed him to look for employment during a specified period. The pass could be extended depending on the prevailing circumstances. But if one failed to find a job during the given period, one was expected to return to one’s village.
And to ensure that this regulation was strictly adhered to, the colonial police used to carry out periodic raids, popularly known as “chipekeni”, on townships in search of illegal immigrants or visitors. Visitors were also required to obtain passes from local council sub-offices specifying the period they were to stay with their hosts; once the police found you with an expired pass during a “chipekeni”, you knew you were in hot soup. They would rough you up and bundle you in their vehicle as if you were a common criminal.
While these draconian measures were in force, the colonial government managed to keep the environment clean and healthy.
District commissioners (popularly known as DC’s) were thus able to ensure that high standards of hygiene and sanitation were observed not only in urban but also in rural areas. In the latter, it was mandatory for each village to have proper pit latrines and if a DC found that a village was wanting in this respect, the headman would face serious consequences.
In urban areas too, local authorities were obliged to supply a waste bin to each household in a council township. Once or twice a week, a council refuse truck would come to empty the bins and ferry the collected garbage to designated council dumping sites. In Lusaka’s Matero Township, for example, the dumping site was situated a stone’s throw from Matero Police Station behind the so-called Junction Bus Stop, the area now bristling with modern mansions forming part of Emmasdale Township.
But as more and more people flocked into towns in search of jobs, the development of shanties became inevitable when it was realized that councils could not accommodate all their residents in council houses.
By June, 1962, more than 35,000 Lusaka-based workers had been forced into several unauthorized compounds bordering the town because of lack of council houses, according to a survey carried out that year by the AFRICAN MAIL, forerunner to the present-day ZAMBIA DAILY MAIL.
The survey was conducted by Nathan Shamuyarira, Zimbabwe’s former Defence Minister who was then working as Assistant Editor on the AFRICAN MAIL. The minister, who died in Harare on June 4, 2014 , at the age of 86, happened to be a veteran journalist. He was among Zimbabwean freedom fighters who spent part of their exile days in Zambia.
Among the shanties Shamuyarira visited was Kalingalinga which at the time had a population of just over 10,000. The survey revealed that apart from lack of council accommodation, there were several other reasons which enticed people to move into shanty compounds, one of them being the low rentals charged by landlords in these settlements.
The second was the freedom to entertain one’s visitors without seeking a pass or permit from the council superintendent, and to keep two or three wives. The plot of land on which Kalingalinga is built was owned by two Indians (one of whom was nicknamed “Kalingalinga”, hence the name). These landlords, wrote Shamuyarira, were prompt about collecting rents at the end of the month.
“If you fail to pay, your house is demolished at once by two hefty kapitaos, one swinging a heavy iron bar and the other a five-pound hammer. One beautiful five-roomed house was demolished only last Thursday for non-payment of rent, which was 10 shilligs per month at the time.”
The future cabinet minister in an independent Zimbabwe had asked a Mr Robinson Chisenga, who had resided in Kalingalinga for 11 years and had risen to the position of chairman of the compound management committee, where residents could take their complaints if their houses were demolished just because one failed to pay rent.
“Nowhere,” Mr Chisenga gave a prompt reply. “Remember that we are an illegal compound. No one takes any notice of us – or should.”
The sum total effect of the over-crowding and poor housing in Kalingalinga was a township ridden with dagga-smoking of all sorts, a hiding place for criminals being sought after by police in Lusaka, a den of prostitution, particularly in a place called “Hollywood” where many beautiful South African female freedom fighters lived, and the wholesale reselling of council beer at exorbitant she-been prices. Another notorious shanty of the pre-independence era was Chibolya lying south west of the capital close to the central business district. Like in Kalingalinga, many women in Chibolya, caught between the choice to live or starve, converted their she-beens into flourishing brothels. Known professional prostitutes had acquired rooms ranging in rent from 30 shillings to three pounds a month for a tiny room.
The AFRICAN MAIL survey revealed that most of these loose women were unmarried and unemployed, so the only way left for them to raise money for shelter, clothing and food, it seemed, was to resort to prostitution.
Chibolya landlords took advantage of the city’s acute shortage of accommodation to make quick “bucks” for themselves. Houses which previously were two or three-bedroomed were converted into eight or ten-roomed “hotels.”
The area was so notorious a song was composed about it in Nyanja which went as follows: “Ukapita ku Chibolya m’paka ukolewe, ukakana kukolewa m’paka ukwatile, ukakana kukwatila m’paka umenyewe.” Loosely translated, the tunes’ message was that in Chibolya, you either got drunk, got “married” or got beaten up.
In the third pre-independence shanty compound called Robert( later to be renamed Chawama), the problem of prostitution was equally rife. The then 10,000-plus residents of the compound got their water from wells dug by enterprising individuals.
The owners of the wells charged a monthly fee of three shillings to anyone wishing to fetch water from them. The “water agreements” were strictly verbal and came about as a result of private talks between the owners and those asking to be supplied with water.
According to Shamuyarira, most of the wells had covers and were surrounded by low walls fitted with doors. Every night the doors were locked to guard against polluters and “water thieves” – people drawing water without notifying the owners.
It was said that Robert Compound was the property of an unidentified white farmer and that the residents paid ten shillings rent per month to this man for the ground on which they had built their houses. The charge was inclusive in that residents did not have to pay rent for any additional buildings such as kitchens, which they might erect. Later shanties like Misisi, George, Linda, Jack and Kalikiliki joined Robert and Kalingalinga Compounds.
But come independence, freedom of movement became a human right, so people were free to move anyhow, anywhere, any time.
The result of this newly acquired freedom of movement was that more and more people flocked into urban areas in search of job opportunities which were not there anyway. Because of lack of council accommodation, the new arrivals were forced to set up squatter settlements on any empty pieces of land they could lay their hands on. No effort was made by the politicians to stop them for fear of losing popularity.
People also invaded contractors’ compounds and started putting up their own houses there. Instead of getting permission from the owners of these areas, all one needed to do was to approach the local branch chairman of the then ruling party, UNIP, and one would be given a plot where to build a house.
The then squatter controller, Mr Alam Mulenga, once said: “This was the period when party officials made money. Apart from allocating themselves plots, they made a kill by demanding money from people who wanted to build houses in these squatter compounds.”
To prevent the situation from getting out of control, the government of the day found it necessary to set up a department within the former Ministry of Lands and Natural Resources headed by the late Mr Solomon Kalulu as minister. This was shortly after independence and Mr Mulenga was appointed the department’s first squatter controller. His duties basically involved controlling the development of squatter settlements throughout the country. As Mr Mulenga(now late) put it himself: “It was my duty to go round the country, especially along the line of rail, checking on people who were building houses on council and government land as well as on farms.”
When it was discovered that people in squatter compounds drank untreated water, the Lands Resettlement Department began delivering water to the residents in tankers and charged a fee for the service rendered.
“We charged the residents K1 per month per household for the service and the government generated a lot of revenue through this system. Each household had a record card indicating payments for the service,” he said during an interview this writer had with him at his Lusaka
residence in August, 1993.
The collection exercise was later discontinued when councils took over responsibility. According to Mr Mulenga, without the involvement of his department, there would be no empty land left in the urban areas as the whole country would have been taken over by squatters.
The author is a Lusaka-based media consultant, recipient of the 1978 Best News Reporter of the Year Award and a former diplomat in South Africa and Botswana. For comments, sms 0977425827/0967146485 or email: pchirwa2009@yahoo.com.
