I wonder what happened to Edward Nkoloso? And, for that matter, the pouting, pneumatic Ms Matha Mwamba? They were last heard of in the early winter of 1964, when reporters descended upon a disused farmhouse on the outskirts of Lusaka to watch the intensive preparations for the exciting Zambian space programme. Edward was the boss of the operation, the 16-year-old Ms Mwamba one of the putative astronauts. Reporters watched as the astronauts carried out their anti-gravity training — swinging through the jungle on ropes, often upside down — and becoming acclimatised to the rigours of space travel by being pushed down a large hill inside an oil drum.
Waiting proudly on the dusty ground beside the disused farmhouse was the Zambian rocket which would, a little later, propel the Africans to the moon and, after that, if all went to plan, Mars. It was made of aluminium and copper and its means of propulsion was ahead of its time, eco-friendly, no carbon footprint. An enormous elastic band, tied to two trees. Sadly the space shot never happened; Matha Mwamba was withdrawn from the programme by her parents when, unexpectedly, she became pregnant — a consequence, they were told, of the rigorous anti-gravity training. I don’t know what happened to her, or to Edward. They haven’t been heard of since.
You are not meant to mention the Zambian space programme any more because it has connotations of racism when you do. Even if you don’t mean to be racist, it sounds racist when you tell people about it. But I think it would make a wonderful feature film, maybe with Halle Berry and Morgan Freeman in the lead roles and Colin Firth as one of the reporters.
I was reminded of the Zambian infinity-and-beyond space shot when I read that we were once again giving the Indians lots of money in foreign aid.
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