In Zambia’s eastern region, where the savanna stretches across low hills, Chama Secondary School stands unnoticed by most travelers. It’s not a landmark you’ll find in guidebooks or on tourist maps. Yet for the town of Chama and the villages around it, the school is a place that matters—where children who might otherwise have no chance to learn gather each morning under corrugated iron roofs.
Chama is a small town, a stop along the road between Lusaka and the borders of Malawi and Mozambique. The land here is rural, shaped by the seasons: dust in the dry months, sudden green after the rains. For families scattered across the countryside, schools like this one are rare. Chama Secondary wasn’t built to impress. It was built to teach.
The buildings are simple. Single-story brick classrooms line a dirt road, their windows set high to catch the breeze. Inside, walls display maps, multiplication tables, and student drawings—evidence of lessons learned and work done. Outside, a few trees offer shade, and the yard is bare except for the occasional football match at lunchtime. There are no science labs or computer rooms, but the students don’t wait for those things. They study because they know this is their only path forward.
The school opened after Zambia’s independence in 1964, part of a push to bring education to rural areas. In the beginning, most students were boys. Now, girls fill the desks in equal numbers. Lessons are in English, though at home, students speak Nyanja or other local languages. The shift didn’t happen by accident. Teachers and parents worked to make sure girls had the same opportunities as boys.
Days start early. By sunrise, students are already walking to school, some from villages kilometers away. There are no buses. Classrooms are crowded, but no one complains. For many, this is the first time their families have had access to education. Teachers, often from the area themselves, teach more than math or history. They teach persistence.
What happens here doesn’t stay here. Some graduates go on to universities in Lusaka or Kabwe. Others return to Chama as teachers, nurses, or community leaders. On weekends, the school grounds host markets and football matches, becoming a gathering place for the whole town. It’s not just a school. It’s a foundation.
Foreign volunteers sometimes visit—teachers, doctors, or travelers who bring supplies or skills. For students, these visits are a glimpse of the world beyond Chama. But the school doesn’t depend on them. It runs on the effort of its teachers and the determination of its students.
If you pass through Chama, stop by. There’s no entrance fee, no guided tour. Just classrooms where students are learning, one lesson at a time. Some will become engineers. Others will become nurses. A few might even return to teach. And Chama Secondary will still be here, doing what it has always done: giving children a chance.
