For the first time in a long time, Lusaka’s Central Business District feels as though it can breathe. The streets look clearer. There is less rubbish underfoot. You can see spaces that had almost disappeared beneath congestion, informal stalls and years of neglect. It is not perfect, but it is noticeably different. I say this […]

For the first time in a long time, Lusaka’s Central Business District feels as though it can breathe. The streets look clearer. There is less rubbish underfoot. You can see spaces that had almost disappeared beneath congestion, informal stalls and years of neglect. It is not perfect, but it is noticeably different.

I say this as somebody who actually works in the CBD. I do not only see the difference. I feel it. A cleaner city changes what we breathe, how safely we walk, the conditions in which food is sold and the level of stress we carry before the working day has even begun. Dust, noise, rubbish, blocked pavements and congested roads are not simply unpleasant. Together, they affect our physical and mental wellbeing.
Many Lusaka residents stopped coming into town years ago. Some remember the CBD through what it used to be, while others see clips online and comment from a distance, including those of us in the diaspora.

I see it every day. I have watched the disorder become so normal that we stopped expecting better. That is why the recent clean-up led by Mayor Chitambala Mwewa feels significant. It has shown us how quickly a neglected place can begin to feel different when someone decides that the condition of the city matters.

It is easy to dismiss cleanliness as cosmetic. A swept street photographs well, and an orderly pavement makes a city appear more respectable. But this is not only about appearance. It affects the trader spending the whole day breathing in dust, the pedestrian forced into the road, the food being sold beside waste and the drainage channel blocked before the first serious rains arrive.

In Lusaka, we already know where poor sanitation can lead. Cholera has repeatedly exposed the consequences of unsafe water, inadequate sanitation and weak waste management. UNICEF reported in March that Zambia’s persistent outbreak, which began in August 2025, had placed families across 23 districts at heightened risk. We cannot speak about preventing another health emergency while treating rubbish collection, drainage and clean trading spaces as minor council matters. They are public-health infrastructure.

The timing of this clean-up also matters. October is hot, dry and dusty, but the rains will come. When plastic, bottles and food waste are pushed into drains, the problem does not disappear. It waits. Then the water comes, the drains fail, roads flood and contaminated water moves through communities. We act surprised each rainy season, although the blockage began months earlier.

There is also a quieter kind of health involved. Disorder carries a mental weight. Constant hooting, shouting, congestion, dust and the effort of navigating blocked pavements keep the body alert. You arrive at work already irritated or tired. A cleaner, more walkable environment does not solve anxiety or economic pressure, but it removes one layer of stress that people should not have to carry every day. Sometimes wellness is not a yoga class or a green smoothie. Sometimes it is simply being able to walk down a pavement without stepping around rubbish or into moving traffic.

Mayor Mwewa deserves credit for creating visible movement. Leadership should be acknowledged when it improves daily life. Yet the bigger test begins after the praise. Lusaka cannot depend on one energetic mayor, one clean-up weekend or the presence of council police. If the change rests entirely on one personality, the city will slowly return to what it was. Cleanliness has to become a working system.

That means bins that are emptied before they overflow, reliable waste collection, drains cleared before the rains and public toilets that people can use safely. It means designated trading spaces that recognise that vendors are earning a living, while also protecting pedestrians, food safety and access to roads. Enforcement matters, but it must be consistent, fair and supported by realistic alternatives. Moving people for a photograph is not the same as managing a city.

We, the public, also have to be honest about our role. We complain about dirty streets and then throw bottles from car windows. Shop owners sweep their frontage and push the rubbish towards the road. Vendors are blamed for waste, but customers also discard packaging wherever they finish using it. We often behave as though keeping Lusaka clean is somebody else’s job, right up until cholera arrives and suddenly cleanliness becomes everybody’s emergency.

The diaspora conversation matters too. We frequently compare Lusaka with cities where rubbish collection, penalties and public behaviour are more tightly organised. The comparison is understandable, but those cities did not become clean because their citizens are naturally different. Cleanliness is designed, funded, enforced and repeated. It becomes culture because the system makes the expected behaviour clear. Zambia can do the same, but it requires more than asking people to “keep the city clean” while bins, collection schedules and drainage maintenance remain unreliable.

Perhaps this moment offers us something bigger than a cleaner CBD. It gives us a chance to rethink what a healthy city looks like. Health is not created only in clinics. It is created in the water we drink, the air we breathe, the food sold on our streets and the routes we take to work. It is protected by waste collectors, council workers, market managers, engineers, traders and citizens long before a doctor becomes involved.

For now, I am enjoying the difference. I can see more of the city around me, and it feels lighter. But I do not want this to become another short campaign that we remember only when the drains clog or an outbreak begins. Lusaka can breathe again. Our responsibility now is to make sure it does not have to hold its breath until the next clean-up.

Kaajal Vaghela is a sportswear designer and cultural wellness consultant with over three decades of lived experience managing Type 1 diabetes in Zambia and the diaspora. Having previously served as Chairperson of the Lusaka branch of the Diabetes Association of Zambia, she remains a passionate advocate for breaking down myths and building awareness about diabetes. For more personalised coaching or corporate wellness workshops, visit: www.kaajalvaghela.com and for any feedback: diabetes.by.kc@gmail.com)