How I remember Mr. Dennis Liwewe
The first time I met Mr. Dennis Liwewe he came to my house and drove me to a Nchanga Rangers home game at Chingola's Gabbitas Stadium. As can be expected, I was in complete awe of his presence. There I was answering questions from the animated bald headed man I regularly watched on the Sports Review program on Television Zambia. He knew who I was! It was then that my parents instructed me to address him as “Grandpa”. No, he laughed – “Call me 'Uncle' otherwise people will think I'm old”.
He had driven all the way from Lusaka to do football commentary for that afternoon's League game. I wish I could remember who Nchanga Rangers were playing against that day. After his favorite meal of nshima and fish, he said it was time to go and somehow I ended up in his Peugeot 504 with him. I was 10 years old and chose to skip going to live games because I was more interested on watching cartoons on television. But that day was different – I couldn't miss out on being near this larger-than-life individual.
He drove faster than I was used to which exhilarating. I was sitting in the front passenger seat on the right hand side of his left hand drive “Mukango” which was another first for me. It was a lot to take in all at once. The real excitement began when we arrived at the stadium gates and a crowd of people near the building entrances began to recognize who was driving.”Liwewe! Liwewe!” they began to chant as they thronged around the car on all sides. I was in kind of a panic at that point. Their energy rose higher when he lowered his window and shook hands with various onlookers reaching out to him. A uniformed police office appeared and with a long, black sjambok (leather whip) started threatening to mete out beatings if the crowd didn't disperse and let us through. The vehicle entrance gate was opened for us and my Uncle maneuvered the car into the parking lot. He stopped in the space marked “Guests”.
I remember that as we were driving inside a few of the younger fans ducked into the stadium grounds at the same time, eluding the security and police. I know it was wrong but it was fun to watch them disappearing into the throng of taller adults leaving the inattentive policemen in their wake.
“You wait here. I will be in the commentary box and they won't let you in”. Mr. Liwewe directed me to a seat in the VIP area and then walked up the stairs to the restricted commentary area situated on the roof above us. I don't remember anything about the game except the roars and sighs of the people around me. And of course the sound of the drums which were steadily beaten from before the game began until it was over. At the end of the afternoon, Mr. Liwewe took me back home and after brief salutations with my parents (brief for him was always 30 minutes or more), he was on his way back to the capital city.