By Sokosi Silvester Banda – Lusaka, Zambia
In Zambia’s Copperbelt Province, the promise of prosperity through mining has come at a heavy cost—especially for young people whose future depends on the land.
On February 18, 2025, in the farming community of Mwambashi, a chemical waste dam operated by Sino Metals Leach Zambia collapsed. Acidic water flooded farmlands, destroyed crops, contaminated local streams, and killed fish, birds, and wildlife. The environmental damage was immediate and devastating.
Months later, no compensation has been paid. Though the toxic water has dried up, the destruction lingers—and so does the silence.
I spoke with 21-year-old Mathews Musonda, a college student whose education is funded by his parents’ farming.
“My parents depend on farming to pay for my school,” he said. “Now I’m not sure I’ll even finish college.”
At the site of the spill, the devastation is undeniable: scorched fields, lifeless streams, and abandoned gardens where life once flourished.
One farmer, Alice Chilufya, shared her despair:
“All my field was submerged in acidic water. I had two lima of maize, two lima of groundnuts, and one lima of beans—about 12,500 square meters. What am I going to do now? Where will I go? Feel pity for me.”
The Zambia Environmental Management Agency (ZEMA) has claimed that the water’s acidity has been neutralized. Yet the soil remains infertile, the land unusable, and no meaningful assistance has been provided to affected farmers.
Many believe the disaster could have been avoided if safety regulations had been strictly enforced. Weak oversight allowed the tragedy to unfold, and once again, it is everyday people—especially the youth—who bear the consequences.
Although the company has admitted responsibility and issued a public apology, the absence of concrete action speaks louder than words. Community members and governance experts continue to question why there have been delays in fulfilling promises and why accountability remains unclear.
As a young Zambian, I ask: where is the justice for communities like Mwambashi? Who is defending our right to a safe and sustainable future? How long will rural voices be ignored?
This is not an isolated case. Across the Global South, extractive industries are reshaping landscapes—sometimes for the better, but too often with devastating consequences. We, the youth, are encouraged to dream big. But how can we dream when our land is poisoned, and our education is at risk?
The path forward lies in accountability and inclusion. Our stories matter. Our voices matter. And so does our right to a future built on clean soil, fair policies, and climate justice.
The toxic water may be gone, but the scars on our land—and in our lives—remain.
We are watching. We are speaking. And we will not be silent.
