– The area is small hidden enclave in Matero Township which is a hotbed of illegal activity
MAZOMBWE BANDA
Lusaka
IN THE heart of Lusaka’s Matero Township, a small, hidden enclave known as “Small Chibolya” has become a hotbed of illegal activity.
This secluded settlement, tucked within Ward 23, home to approximately 60,000 residents, has earned notoriety for its rampant marijuana trade, illicit alcohol distillation, and growing lawlessness.
Despite numerous efforts by law enforcement agencies, the area has increasingly become a no-go zone, where drug deals are conducted in broad daylight and strangers are viewed with deep suspicion, if not outright hostility.
A society in survival mode
The demographic of “Small Chibolya” paints a picture of a community struggling to stay afloat.
The majority of the population comprises women and unemployed youth. With few legitimate economic opportunities, many residents have resorted to illegal means of survival.
Women in the area are known to distil Kachasu, an illicit local beverage, while many young men, some barely into their teens, rely on the trade and consumption of marijuana, a business that insiders say is booming.
A standard sachet commonly referred to as a “ball”, sells for between K20 and K30, with some varieties attracting even higher prices due to their potency and foreign origins.
The rise of ‘cheese’ marijuana
Locals have identified a more potent form of marijuana known as the ‘cheese type’, allegedly smuggled into the country through trucks entering from neighbouring countries.
According to one insider who spoke on condition of anonymity, the “cheese” variant is compressed and cultivated in greenhouses abroad.
“This cheese type comes from one of the neighbouring countries because of the trucks that come into the country.
It’s always compressed but is separated from here. The local one is transported together with charcoal,” the source explained.
While the marijuana industry remains largely underground, in Small Chibolya, it’s not hard to find. Two key streets; Baghdad Street in Small Chibolya and Kizito Primary School Street in nearby George Township are known hotspots for open marijuana sales and smoking.
A place where fear reigns
Entering Small Chibolya is not for the faint-hearted. Like its namesake, the larger and equally notorious Chibolya
Township, residents here can easily spot outsiders. Anyone asking too many questions is often viewed as a government informant or police spy.
“You can’t pass alone in these streets. You are protected because they know that I am from here. Otherwise, you would’ve left this place unceremoniously… and possibly without your clothes,” said a local guide who accompanied this reporter under the condition of anonymity.
Curious teenagers loitering near makeshift phone booths whispered and shouted warnings when we entered: “Boss, mwaleta balendo” (Boss, you’ve brought visitors).
Children lost in the cycle
Alcohol abuse is also rife in Small Chibolya. According to our guide, some children as young as six years old are already consuming Kachasu and other forms of alcohol.
“The problem we have here is beer. Even children are drinking. I’m worried for their future,” he lamented.
Distilled illicitly in backyards and makeshift stills, Kachasu from Small Chibolya is reportedly transported to customers in Chongwe and 10 Miles in Chibombo District, where the market is growing.
A life with no way out
The desperation in this community is palpable. Many young people, including double orphans, feel trapped in a world with no exit.
“I’m 17 and a double orphan.
I’m the head of my household.
I sell marijuana to support my siblings. I want to stop, but I know too much. If I leave, my friends will hunt me down. My only hope is to relocate and start afresh,” said one teenage dealer.
This kind of entrapment, where even those who wish to exit the trade feel unable to do so, exemplifies the grip that drug networks have on youth in these areas.
A close call: When the streets turned violent
With the help of two undercover police officers, this reporter ventured deeper into the heart of the settlement.
At one point, we encountered a teenage dealer selling 13 sachets of marijuana, alongside a small orange dish containing the infamous “cheese” type, matchsticks, and roll papers believed to be torn from an old exercise book.
Sensing the presence of law enforcement, the youth fled, only to return moments later with reinforcements. Within minutes, a mob of around 15 angry youth, believed to be part of a larger junkie gang, began hurling stones at us.
“Let’s get out of here!” one officer shouted as the projectiles rained down. We found temporary shelter at a roadside shop, but the barrage intensified.
Faced with few options, I leapt over a two-metre barbed wire fence into a stranger’s yard, powered purely by adrenaline. Inside the home, an elderly man was shocked by my intrusion.
“Where are you from? Get out!” he shouted, just as more stones hit the roof.
Eventually, both officers and I hid in the man’s bedroom as one called for backup over a radio.
Outside, we could hear the mob: “Bachoseni! Tisilizane nabo!” (Bring them out, let’s finish them!).
The homeowner, at great personal risk, convinced the mob that no-one had entered his house. Once the attackers dispersed, we learned they had continued their rampage at the nearby police post, damaging a green Nissan parked nearby.
We were later evacuated back to safety by two armed officers in an unmarked white car.
Leadership and law enforcement react
Area Councillor Annie Chinyanta acknowledges the severity of the lawlessness but insists that heavy-handed interventions must be measured.
“It’s not an area where you can just go and start bringing in rules. Those are very ruthless human beings,” she said.
Zambia Police Service
deputy public relations officer Godfrey Chilabi confirmed ongoing operations in coordination with Drug Enforcement Commission (DEC) but emphasised the difficulty in eradicating drug abuse.
“Sometimes, when we arrest the culprits, the next morning, they’re out. There’s a delink from the source to the consumer that complicates our work,” Mr Chilabi said.
He also warned that foreign students, particularly from one neighbouring country and enrolled at a private university, are key customers of the marijuana from Small Chibolya.
“They come here for weekend parties, and it becomes a competition over who smokes the most,” a local source revealed.
Foreign students caught in possession risk being labelled flight risks, with no bail available.
DEC plans coordinated raids
DEC director general Nason Banda revealed that Small Chibolya and parts of Mtendere are in the commission’s crosshairs for future raids.
“These are some of our targeted areas. We always prepare adequately when raiding such places to avoid casualties,” he confirmed.
While he declined to give an exact date for the operation, Banda assured that planning was already under way for a well-coordinated, surprise crackdown.
The bigger picture: A cry for help
Small Chibolya is more than just a den of vice. It’s a community caught in a vicious cycle of poverty, addiction, and criminality.
Most residents, especially the youth, don’t aspire to be dealers or criminals. Many, like the teenage informant, express a desire to leave the trade behind if only they had a viable alternative.
What is clear is that without significant social intervention and other initiatives, Small Chibolya will remain a ticking time bomb in the heart of the capital.
Conclusion
The story of Small Chibolya is not just a tale of drugs and danger. It’s a story of neglect, historic systemic failure, and resilience. It’s a reminder that behind every “junkie” label is often a child, an orphan, or a parent doing what they believe is necessary to survive.
As law enforcement plans its next move, the nation must ask: What happens to the children growing up in these streets?
And when will the cycle finally be broken?