Night life in Lusaka – Drama Unfolds

Not everyone has a chance to attend a lusaka celebrity house party in Lusaka. If you have not, let Zwe take you through what goes on in these Lusaka Apartment parties.

By Zwe (Jonathan Sikazwe)

SO, BOOM!

One Saturday, the universe aligned and I received a very special invitation to a Lusaka apartment party. And not just any party this one came with benefits!

The organizers were like, “Zwe, don’t stress. Transport? Sorted. Alcohol? Sorted. Food? We’ll figure it out. Just bring your vibes.”

I said, “You people don’t know what you’ve done. You’re summoning the spirit of International Zwe.” I immediately started preparing. I ironed my finest Salaula outfit like it was my wedding day. Spray starched it until it could stand on its own. That outfit was so crisp, if you listened closely, you could hear it crackle.

 

Around 16:00, I ran errands, did a mini photoshoot in my mirror, and met up with my partner in crime at Lusaka’s East Park Mall.

We sat like we were waiting for a private jet. At 20:00 sharp, a car pulled up, No Yango? Nah.

This car looked like it came straight from Fast & Furious Zambia Edition. We hopped in, and just like that, off to Ibex, East of Lusaka where drama lives rent free. The moment we stepped into the apartment, I knew we were no longer in the land of peace and order.

I saw familiar faces TikTok stars, Facebook philosophers, WhatsApp warriors. People I had never met in real life but had already blocked online. The vibes were vibing. Music was loud, drinks were flowing like someone left the bar tap open, and people were dancing like rent was due and this was their last chance to impress their parents.

Everything was peaceful until the clock struck midnight.

That’s when the Holy Spirit of confusion descended.

It started with one girl shouting, “why did you kiss your best friend, Kevin?!” Kevin, who was drunk and dizzy, replied, “It was just a friendly kiss, babe. Brotherhood things.”

The DJ paused the music.

Even the lights started blinking in shock. People gathered like we were in church. Some were praying, others were recording. And before the argument could even end, another guy stood up like he was testifying in court “My phone is missing!” Then someone else “Mine too!” Suddenly, the party turned into Operation Check Everything. Pockets were emptied. Weaves were checked. Someone even suggested opening the stove. I said, “Excuse me? Are you expecting to find an iPhone baking in there?”

 

Then around 2AM, just when I thought the drama had peaked, someone opened the window dramatically and shouted like a town crier Guys blabla is gay! And he came with his boyfriend m.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy.

You could hear the air thinking. One guy dropped his cup like it was holy water. Someone gasped, “I knew it! That handshake was too soft!” Another one said, “He always smelled too nice to be straight.” People were whispering like we were inside a courtroom. But of course, some were supportive. One girl even clapped, You go, queen!

 

Meanwhile, I was sipping my drink, wondering if this party came with insurance. As the debate over blabla’s sexuality reached presidential debate levels, someone went to the fridge and let out a scream the alcohol is gone I said, you’re joking. I went to check for myself. The alcohol?

 

Vanished. Not a single bottle left. Even the empties were gone.

 

That’s when I realized this apartment wasn’t haunted. The people were just skilled. Highly trained party thieves. They came to sip, steal, and vanish. At this point, I was ready to call CID.

 

By 4AM, I had seen it all. Missing phones, missing drinks, relationship scandals, and unexpected coming out ceremonies. I sat quietly in one corner like someone’s tired uncle, just watching the chaos. My vibes were finished. I was no longer partying I was studying human behaviour.

 

So I booked a Yango, dropped my friend home, then headed to my place. Reached home at 5AM, collapsed on my bed like I had just returned from war.

 

But at 8AM when the ancestors were just about to give me deep sleep my phone rang. I answered in my sleepy voice “Hello?” It was one of the party people, sounding stressed. “Zwe, good morning. Quick question did you see anyone walk out of the apartment with the TV or microwave?” I sat up. “TV? Microwave? My brother, I came with vibes, not a moving truck. I didn’t even know where the kitchen was!” He sighed, “Okay a lot of things are missing.” I said, “Boss, I’m not Interpol. Let me rest.” Hung up and went back to sleep like a responsible citizen.

 

But I’ll tell you this Lusaka apartment parties? You don’t attend those for fun. You attend to collect trauma, confusion, and possibly a police report. If you’ve survived one and left with all your belongings you deserve a certificate of survival.

 

Zwe ma paragraphs zwe ma everything!