In the quiet, dusty streets of Lilanda, Lusaka, there once lived a man named Sebastian Mwansa. At 68, Mr. Mwansa was a man worn by time, but remembered by many as kind hearted and resilient. His life, filled with deep love and painful losses, ended not with the peace he deserved, but in the bitter cold, alone.
Mr. Mwansa’s story began with joy and sorrow. He married his first wife in the late 70s, and together they had two beautiful children. But life has a cruel way of testing the strong. In 1981, his wife fell ill and passed away, leaving him to raise their two children alone. Years later, tragedy would strike again both of his children died, leaving him with a grief that time never healed.
In 1990, hope returned when he met and married his second wife, a woman with three children from a previous relationship. She owned a modest house in Lilanda, and that’s where they began a new life together. Mr. Mwansa embraced her children as his own, never once making them feel like they belonged to another man. Every coin from his small security guard salary was spent on food, school fees, and school uniforms. He walked long distances to save bus fare, all so his stepchildren could have a better future. He sacrificed everything.
He lived with dignity, rarely complaining, even when things were hard. When he retired in 2012, he used his pension to extend the house and built a humble two bedroom house behind the main one. It was the only thing he ever called his own,a symbol of his years of sacrifice.
But peace did not last. The real nightmare began when his second wife passed away.
Suddenly, the children he had raised, clothed, and fed turned against him. They told him he had no right to live in the house, claiming it belonged to their late mother. Despite his pleas and the sweat he had poured into the place, they forced him out like a stranger. The house was registered under the name of their grandfather, Mr. Mwansa’s late father in law. And when he had died, the property was legally passed on to his only daughter, Mr. Mwansa’s late wife.
Desperate and heartbroken, he took the matter to court, hoping for justice. But justice never came. The court ruled against him. The house, including the two bedroom structure he built, legally belonged to the heirs of his late wife. His name was not on any title deed. Everything he built, everything he hoped to leave behind, was taken from him.
To pay for legal representation, he sold all his belongings. When he lost the case, he had nothing. No home, no family, no belongings.
The streets became his shelter. He slept at bus stations, under market stalls, and behind shop counters, anywhere he could find temporary warmth. People often saw him hunched over, clutching a tattered jacket, his eyes empty, lost in a world that had forgotten him.
Then, a few months ago, in the busy Kamwala area, Mr. Mwansa was found dead inside an Airtel booth. He had curled himself into a corner, trying to escape the cold. But the night was too cruel. He had frozen to death silently, with no one by his side. No family to hold his hand. No blanket to cover his frail body. No final words.
He died as he lived, sacrificing for others, forgotten by those he called his own.
Today, shoppers pass the booth, unaware of the story it now holds. A man who gave everything, and received nothing in return. A man who loved too much and was loved too little.
This was Sebastian Mwansa.
May his soul find the peace this world denied him.
Credit: Mwebantu Trendsetters
