Zambia has always been a peaceful country, still is. We greet strangers, apologise when someone steps on our feet, and somehow turn every funeral, kitchen party, and football match into a community event. Early public discussion around the bill sparked debate after reports suggested that gatherings of as few as three people could require notification; later revisions reportedly raised the number to seven. As an introvert, I must say: finally, representation.
Why Introverts Suddenly Feel Represented
For years, society has oppressed introverts with dangerous expectations like “networking,” “team building,” and “come, it will just be a small get-together iwe.” Small get-together? Awe. That is exactly how problems start. History’s greatest disasters probably began with someone saying, “It’s just three of us here, guys.”
Now imagine the relief I felt hearing that three people standing together could attract official attention. At last, officials now understand what introverts have known all along: once a third person joins the conversation, things escalate quickly, like when your mother is scolding your sister for not washing dishes and you suddenly start providing ad-libs like a backup singer. Two people are discussing life. Three people are plotting noise.
This law, in many ways, is a gift to people like you and me. For too long, extroverts have been moving recklessly in groups. You go to Shoprite, and suddenly six people are blocking the aisle discussing tomatoes and onions like it’s a constitutional convention. You board a bus, and three men are loudly debating Arsenal’s defence like national security depends on it. A group of yo-balis discussing which song is their favourite from Drake’s new album? Honestly, this regulation was overdue. The beauty of the bill is how it encourages efficiency and real thought. Before, if someone invited you somewhere, you needed complicated excuses:
“Uhm, my mother sent me somewhere.”
“My phone was on silent.”
“I’m not feeling well.”
Now you simply say, “Sorry, I don’t want to participate in an unauthorised public gathering.” Three is a crowd.
What the Bill Could Mean for Everyday Zambian Life
Even family life becomes easier. Imagine your relatives visiting abruptly when you know you just want to be alone. In Zambia of the past, before this was even a thing, you were forced to entertain them for hours on end while pretending to enjoy conversations about mealie meal prices, why you still aren't married or why you don't visit these days. But now, the moment a third cousin enters the yard, you can whisper nervously:
“Let me escort you out now, bazati manga ba neighbour baka nena!”
Others argue that the law could threaten one of the few freedoms people still feel they meaningfully possess in an increasingly regulated world. It is argued by some that it risks criminalising and even intensely demonising ordinary interaction. But perhaps these arguments are not seeing the bigger picture of trying to save us from unnecessary social suffering and embarrassment.
Will Weddings and Funerals Be Affected?
Take weddings, for example, we might not see those happening anytime from now, other than social media moulding the ideas we have of love now, the law literally said, “Wait, Hold My Drink!" Officials later indicated that weddings, funerals and religious gatherings may be exempt from some notification requirements. A wise decision? Hmm. Imagine police officers trying to shut down a kitchen party because the bride’s aunties exceeded capacity while dancing to "Mr. & Mrs by Yo Maps."
This law could, depending on how intensely it is enforced, deeply change what it means to be Zambian. What would happen to “One Zambia One Nation?" Surely, the great ‘Ubuntu’ of the legendary slogan would fade and now introduce us to the impersonal and unforgiving effects of the rapidly growing capitalist atmosphere that's a result of our push for growth as a developing nation. Slowly eradicating who we are at our core.
Three students discussing assignments near UNZA? Suspicious. Three men eating nshima and kapenta with chibwabwa at a takeaway? Tasty uprising. Three women gossiping at the market? Ba C5 on the scene.
Even friendship itself becomes dangerous. In what could be the new Zambia, maintaining friendships requires strategic planning. You must calculate and be analytical:
“Okay, if Alinafe comes, we become four. That’s basically a political rally.”
Honestly, introverts have been preparing for this moment for years. We already mastered social distancing long before it became fashionable. We know how to disappear from WhatsApp groups without being noticed. Some of us can spend an entire weekend indoors with only a laptop and one loyal chicken pie for companionship.
Meanwhile, extroverts are complaining. You can see the panic in their eyes. People who used to shout, “The more the merrier!” may now start counting guests like accountants doing an audit. “Wait… if Chanda comes, we will be seven. Ohns, maybe someone should stay home.” Isn’t this lovely?
Still, the whole debate has revealed something uniquely Zambian: the ability to turn even serious political discussions into a light moment. Only in Zambia can constitutional anxiety and elite-level humour coexist so naturally. In the end, whether one supports or opposes thePublic Gatherings Bill, one thing is constant: the law has accidentally united the country in the most ironic ways possible. Citizens from all walks of life will debate what exactly counts as a gathering. And for introverts like me, this entire episode has been deeply validating. Society finally recognises that too many people in one place is not just exhausting but potentially illegal.
What a time to be alive. What a time to be a Zambian!
