Five Boreholes, a Classroom Visit, and a Ceremony That's Been Danced for Centuries
Updated: Sep 3
Every trip to Zambia confirms something we already believe: the work that matters most is the work no one photographs. The borehole drilled in a village three hours from the nearest tarred road. The classroom where a teacher waits for supplies that were promised last year. The ceremony that has been danced before the same hills for longer than anyone can remember.
We were back in Mwanya Chiefdom this season, and this time, the work was visible
Five New Boreholes in Mwanya
Through ZWCF, five new boreholes have been completed in Mwanya Chiefdom this season. Each one is dedicated by the Robertson Family through the Zambia Wildlife and Community Foundation, drilled by the team at Chibembe Wildlife Reserve, because Chibembe isn't just a camp. It's an operational base for the community work we came here to do.
Clean water changes everything. It changes how far a mother walks each morning. It changes whether children arrive at school tired or ready. It changes the relationship between a community and the land it lives on, and by extension, the wildlife that shares it.
At one of the boreholes, I handed out bars of soap to mothers standing in line, many of them with babies on their backs. It is such a small thing to give. But standing there, looking at the distance these women walk every day just for clean water, and knowing that the alternative is drawing from crocodile-infested rivers, you understand in a very physical way why this work matters. There is not one borehole too many. There is never enough clean water.
A School Visit
This trip we visited two schools, and both reminded us of why education sits at the heart of everything we do through ZWCF. Communities that can sustain themselves do not need to depend on wildlife for their next meal, and that is what protects the animals too.
At Yakobe Primary School in Mwanya, we were welcomed by 300 students and their teachers. We brought beans and rice, notebooks, pens, and coloured pencils. We sat with the children, sang songs, and before we left, a puppet appeared at the car window to say hello.
The laughter and surprise on those faces is what I come for, not just the supplies, but the moment. A smile. The feeling that someone showed up for them.
At Chiwawatala School in Mfuwe, we did the same, more supplies, more songs, more puppet-window moments that sent the children into fits of laughter. Chiwawatala has a surprise coming on our next visit: a life-size elephant sculpture. We cannot wait to see where they put it and watch the children discover it for the first time.
This is why we support education above almost everything else. Not just to give, but to help communities build something that sustains long after we have gone home. The children at these schools are the next generation of stewards of this landscape. We want them to know they are seen.
The Katete Ceremony Rehearsal
We were fortunate to attend the rehearsal for the Katete Ceremony, one of the traditional ceremonies of the Bisa people of Mwanya Chiefdom, performed in honour of the Bisa people’s deep connection to this land and its ancestors. It has been danced before these hills for generations, and watching it, you understand immediately why conservation that ignores culture will always fail.
The communities that share this landscape with the wildlife we care about are not a backdrop to conservation. They are its foundation. The Katete Ceremony is a reminder that what we are trying to protect is not just a landscape; it is a way of life.
The Chieftainess was there, along with her advisors Rhoda and Charles. Everyone was friendly and welcoming, as they always are in Mwanya. But we should be honest about what we witnessed: this is a community living with real poverty alongside real joy, and the most important thing we can offer is not a performance of generosity. It is simply to show up, sit down, and make people feel seen. That is what we tried to do.
The dancers, known also as witchdoctors, were unlike anything I have ever seen in my life. They were covered head to toe in powdery white dust, wearing heavy wooden masks, some adorned entirely in guinea fowl feathers. The dances were at times genuinely frightening, extremely physical, aggressive, full of raw power. The drumming was relentless. Unrelenting. The drummers never stopped, not for a moment, playing with an intensity that made the ground feel alive beneath you. That rhythm is still in my head.
The women sang and danced with sleeping babies strapped to their backs, swaddled in chitenge, the vibrant printed fabric Zambian women use for everything, tied tight so the baby barely stirs no matter what the mother is doing. Every so often, one would let out a high-pitched piercing call — lalalalalalaaa — that cut through the drumbeat like a war cry. The dancers made animal noises, yelps and sounds I cannot name. I later learned that during the dance season, the performers live in full costume in the bush for months. They reportedly never remove their masks. Watching them, you believe it completely.
We stayed for two hours. The ceremony can go on far longer. Thankfully, two of my closest friends were with me, because if I had been alone, I am not sure I would have trusted my own eyes. I will remember that clearing, those drums, and those dancers for the rest of my life.
Afterward, we gave the Chieftainess, Rhoda, and Charles a ride back to their village. We met their families. We stayed longer than we had planned, because you do not leave a place like that quickly.
Dancing with the community — the joy is real, and so is the poverty alongside it.
Why We Come Back
Every visit to Zambia answers the question we get asked most often: why do you do this? Why not just run the camps and let the conservation speak for itself?
Because the camps and the conservation are the same thing. The boreholes drilled by Chibembe Wildlife Reserve, the classrooms supported by ZWCF, the ceremony rehearsed in a clearing not far from where elephants crossed the river that morning — these are not separate from the safari. They are what makes the safari possible. They are what will make it possible in fifty years, when the children at those schools are making the decisions that determine what this landscape looks like.
We are grateful to everyone who has supported ZWCF's work in Mwanya Chiefdom and across the Lupande GMA. If you'd like to be part of what we're building here, the door is open.
Brooke Robertson
The Zambia Wildlife and Community Foundation
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