The streets of Lusaka vibrated with the midday heat, a symphony of honking taxis and hawkers' cries. You stood in the middle of this chaos, a newspaper held loosely in your hand, its headline screaming 'Politician Missing! Was He Kidnapped?' Of course, your first thought, like everyone else's, was: 'What a coincidence, this is right before the election.'
The missing politician, Mr. Kabwe, was a notorious charmer, a man who could make the most cynical Lusaka resident believe he truly cared about their woes. He'd spent weeks leading up to the election, orchestrating rallies, promising things he couldn't deliver, and, most importantly, weeping openly about the hardships of the average Zambian. You'd seen him do it, his crocodile tears glistened under the stage lights, a spectacle that always drew a crowd.
But this time, the drama seemed different. His wife, a woman with a perfectly sculpted bob and a voice dripping with manufactured concern, claimed her husband had been 'taken' while returning home from a late-night meeting. The entire city held its breath. 'Kidnapped!' It was a word that echoed through every street corner, every market, every bar.
It was just the plot twist Mr. Kabwe needed. The 'kidnapping' was a stroke of genius, a perfect way to evoke sympathy and exploit the public's fear. He needed to win the election, and this was his winning strategy.
The next few days, you watched as the drama unfolded. Mr. Kabwe's wife was on every television channel, her eyes red-rimmed with fake sorrow, her hands trembling as she spoke of the pain her family was going through. The police, under pressure from the public, were on the hunt for the fictitious kidnappers.
One day, while heading to the market, you overheard a group of women gossiping, their voices hushed and conspiratorial. They claimed that they had seen Mr. Kabwe on a bus the previous day, heading towards the town of Kabwe, about 100 kilometers away.
“What was he doing in Kabwe?” You wondered. This was no ordinary bus ride.
The rumour spread like wildfire. Soon, a news crew tracked down the bus driver, who confirmed the story. A video of Mr. Kabwe, clad in a worn-out shirt and a baseball cap, boarding the bus was already circulating online.
You couldn't help but chuckle.
The politician’s 'kidnapping' had fallen apart like a poorly stitched garment. The city, initially united in its grief for the 'missing' politician, erupted in laughter. The news channels were now broadcasting footage of Mr. Kabwe getting off the bus in Kabwe, wearing the same clothes as he was when he was supposedly 'kidnapped.'
The entire town became a stage for ridicule and mockery. The once-sympathetic faces were now turning to disgust. Mr. Kabwe’s political career had turned into a laughing stock.
Within a week, the excitement over the 'kidnapping' had faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of disappointment. The politician’s calculated stunt had backfired spectacularly, highlighting the desperation that lay beneath his fabricated image.
As Mr. Kabwe attempted to reclaim his political life, he had to face the consequences. The citizens of Lusaka, who had once fallen for his charade, were no longer fooled. The election was approaching, and this time, the political landscape was a lot less forgiving.
