There are towns that shout for attention, and there are towns that whisper stories only the patient can hear.
Chingola is one of those places.
A few years ago, between 2016 and 2017, I found myself driving almost daily along the roads connecting Ndola, Kitwe and Chingola. The mission was simple but demanding: collecting copper ore with a group of hardworking young men—sharp, resilient, and determined to carve out a future from the red earth beneath their feet.
(Pictures by GNC Studios)
Those long drives soon became something more than work. They became a window into the quiet spirit of Chingola.
The town itself carries a calm character—clean streets, an orderly road network, and a rhythm that feels deliberate rather than rushed. It is also home to stories of remarkable success. Some of the Copperbelt’s most respected business families began their journeys here with almost nothing. Today their enterprises span generations, proving that patience, grit, and honest ambition can build dynasties.
And then there are the young miners—popularly known as Jerabos.
For outsiders, the name sometimes carries misunderstanding. But for those who have watched closely, the story is far more impressive. Many started with small bags of ore, supplying local buyers and investors who saw opportunity where others saw only dust.
Years later, some of these same individuals now run processing plants, own heavy equipment, and employ hundreds of workers—fathers, mothers, and youths who rely on these operations to feed families, pay school fees, and keep markets alive. Taxes are paid. Skills are learned. Local economies breathe.
In many ways, these small mining operations have become the heartbeat of Chingola’s middle-class survival.
But every honest story must also acknowledge the elephant in the room.
While browsing social media recently, I came across a comment that caught my attention:
“Everything starts in Chingola, and then it comes to Zambia.”
The remark was posted beneath a troubling video circulating online—showing a man allegedly being beaten after accusations that he was stealing men’s private parts through a handshake. Whether true or simply another wave of fear amplified by rumor, the truth will ultimately rest with the police and medical authorities.
Still, the comment made me pause.
Over the years, Chingola has occasionally appeared in national headlines: the mysterious gassing incidents, the tragic events surrounding the Senseli Young Miners’ pit disaster which resulted in the loss of many lives, and the cries for legalization of operations that followed—events that later spiraled into protests. There were moments of heightened tensions that even saw stones thrown at visiting Republican President Hakainde Hichilema, and the heartbreaking shooting incident that later led to the death of a taxi driver.
So the question gently arises—not as an accusation, but as reflection.
Is Chingola truly a source of unusual unrest?
Or are we simply zooming our national lens too tightly on one community?
Sometimes, when a child’s voice is not heard in a household, frustration grows into rebellion. Communities can feel the same way. When people believe their concerns are overlooked, even small problems can echo loudly.
To be fair, there have been visible efforts from government to support and empower young miners in Chingola. Not long ago, initiatives and financial empowerment programs were introduced to channel resources to youths involved in small-scale mining and entrepreneurship. Funds were meant to strengthen responsible mining and create safer, more structured opportunities.
However, many voices on the ground suggest that only a minority of young miners were able to access these opportunities. For the majority, the dream of support still feels distant.
Money alone, they say, is not the full answer.
I strongly feel that what many young miners truly seek is structured opportunity: access to legal mining pits, shared machinery, trained mining engineers, and safety supervisors who can ensure productivity does not come at the cost of human lives.
Guidance, training, and access could transform hundreds of informal operations into regulated and thriving businesses.
Give young people proper tools, guidance, and legal pathways—and they will build far more than copper businesses. They will build stable communities.
And perhaps that is the quiet message Chingola has been sending all along.
Not a cry of chaos.
But a call for partnership.
Because beneath the headlines and rumors lies a town that wakes up early, works hard, raises families, and believes that tomorrow can be better than yesterday.
If Zambia listens closely, it may discover that Chingola is not a problem to solve—but a potential to unlock.
And sometimes the strongest cities are not the ones that make the most noise.
They are the ones still standing, still working, and still hoping… even when the world is only half listening.