In the early 1960s, Zambia—then Northern Rhodesia—hosted one of Africa’s most audacious space initiatives. Edward Makuka Nkoloso, a former World War II combatant turned high school science teacher, dreamed of sending humans to Mars before the United States or the Soviet Union. He even planned to take two cats along for the journey.
In 1960, Nkoloso founded the Zambia National Academy of Science, Space Research and Philosophy, personally leading the program.
He trained a female astronaut, Mata Mwamba, to be the first Zambian on the moon and eventually Mars. Accompanying her would be the two specially trained cats and a missionary, tasked with preaching—but only if the Martians were willing.
In a 1964 Zambian newspaper article, Nkoloso claimed: “We have been studying Mars from our telescopes and are now certain it is populated by primitive natives. Our rocket crew is ready.
Specially trained girl Mata Mwamba, two cats, and a missionary will be launched in our first rocket. But the missionary must not force Christianity on them.”
Mata was just one of 12 young trainees—affectionately called Afronauts—whom Nkoloso hoped would make Zambia a leader in space exploration. Training took place 11 kilometers from Lusaka at an abandoned farmhouse.
The regimen included preparing for weightlessness by rolling trainees inside 200-liter oil drums down a hill. They also learned to walk on their hands, as Nkoloso believed this technique was essential for navigating lunar and Martian terrain.
The rocket, named D-Kalu 1 after Zambia’s first president Kenneth Kaunda, was built from copper and aluminum and slated to launch from Lusaka’s new Independence Stadium on Zambia’s Independence Day, October 24, 1964. However, Nkoloso’s ambitious plans ran into financial and bureaucratic obstacles.
Unable to secure funding locally, Nkoloso applied to UNESCO for 7 million Zambian kwachas but received no response. Despite this, he continued training his Afronauts.
Ultimately, the government denied permission to launch from the stadium. Nkoloso blamed the United States and the Soviet Union, claiming they feared Zambia’s potential to surpass them in space exploration.
He also criticized his trainees, alleging that some had lost focus on the project, engaging instead in romantic relationships. Mata Mwamba herself became pregnant and was withdrawn by her parents, ending her role in the mission.
Nkoloso and his Afronauts faced ridicule from both local and foreign media. A visiting BBC reporter described them as a bunch of “crackpots,” with much of the mockery carrying subtle racial undertones.
Yet, beyond the laughter, Nkoloso’s vision had merit. As Eryk Salvaggio noted in 2021, the program was “a gesture toward cultivating the imagination that fuels science and technology.” While the space mission itself never launched, it inspired young Zambians to think beyond their immediate world and engage with scientific concepts in imaginative ways.
Though Zambia never reached Mars, the story of Nkoloso and his Afronauts remains a remarkable testament to ambition, creativity, and the power of imagination in science.
It reminds us that even the most improbable ideas can spark curiosity and inspire future generations.
By Kucalo special correspondent
Picture: Mukuka Nkoloso