Copper Bullets Strike Gold

Late Sunday night, in a bar in northern Lusaka, we watched history take place. Wrapped in Zambia-patterned fabric, faces painted red, green and black, we held each other tightly, hardly breathing as the African Cup of Nations final went into penalty kicks. We could hardly believe it had come to this. Zambia had held off a more experienced and heavily favored Ivorian side for 120 minutes. They had survived a penalty in regular time (typically a certain goal) through the grace of Drogba's faulty nerves. And now here they were, going shot for shot in penalty kicks to determine the outcome. Even that couldn't be decided in a normal way though; after neither side missed any of the five, it progressed into sudden death penalties. Ivory Coast was the first to miss, we could barely believe it, but tragically the next Zambian kicker couldn't seal the deal. Then, a miraculous second chance when the Zambian keeper managed to save the following penalty. This time, Zambia didn't miss. For the first time, the trophy did not elude them. Completely unbelievable, totally unexpected, and utterly relieving after one of the most stressful games I've ever watched. The bar was a blur of green energy jumping dancing excitement. Hugs, vuvuzela blasts, people on shoulders, dancing on the bar; it was wonderful madness. 

The next day became an unofficial holiday. The team would be returning to Lusaka with the trophy and it seemed like the whole country turned out to watch. By the time we made our way to the stadium where the ceremony was taking place, there were already thousands of people filling the stands. Because we were carrying our cameras, my roommate managed to get us onto the field, right in the epicenter of the action. It was an unbelievable opportunity to take photos. People were decked out in Zambian colors, absolutely bursting with energy, and couldn't wait to pose for pictures. After a few hours of that, things got quite a bit crazier when thousands of fans stormed the field. It was all the police could do to clear a small square for the upcoming presentation. After about six hours I succumbed to my heat exhaustion, thirst and hunger and started off home. Getting out of the stadium and surrounding area was no small feat; every road, sidewalk and roof was teeming with people. After getting a bit lost trying to avoid the crowds, some kids showed me a wall I could scale and I managed to get back to the main road. The crowds here were equally impressive as everyone lined up to see the players as they traveled from the airport to the stadium. Not the burning heat of the day nor the fact that the players were running four hours late could dampen the mood of the city. Everyone was greeting each other warmly, cheering every vehicle brave enough to pass through the crowds, and, unceasingly patient, awaiting the arrival of their national heroes. It was a great day for Zambia, and I count myself very lucky to have been here to share it.

(Some scenes from the day - all photos coming soon)

(With the Zambian coach, Herve Renard)