Samuel woke before the cock crowed, as he always did, but this morning the dark felt different. Today he would leave the village for the first time in his life and head to university.

His mother, Boma Mundia, was already up, tying a few kwacha into the corner of a chitenge cloth. It was money from selling mwanja, saved coin by coin. She pressed it into his palm, “kona faku kalela mwanake, uyoyange kafo, mulimu aku fuluhele.” (This is your starting point, God will guide you).

Behind her, his three younger siblings slept on a reed mat. His father had died many years ago, and since then the family had survived on a small field of cassava every year and by doing manual farm work for the government employees.

Some nights supper was roasted left over cassava that they had failed to sale while on some nights it was only water and stories of how prosperity looked like kwa Lusaka,  as the mother remembered the years she went to Lusaka in the early 90’s when she visited her late malume.

Samuele had never planned to leave Liuwa. He simply studied, because the school lantern was the only place where he felt tomorrow could be different. He walked many kilometers each way to the secondary school, and he read by candlelight until his eyes burned. When the results came, his teacher ran the whole way to his home, waving the paper. Samuel had passed with distinction.

A team of staff from a public university had travelled to Kalabo boma and met council officials who were showed brochures of programs offered at their university.  It was one of these council officials who shared with Samuel’s former teacher the agricultural degree advert. The teacher assisted Samuel by calling the number on the advert for assistance.

Fortunately, the university would assist applicants with on-line applications as long as they shared grade 12 results, copy of NRC and choice of program.  Samuel had selected agricultural economics, he felt he needed to understand the business side of Agriculture so that he could assist not only his mother but the entire village to benefit from their hard work. When his application was processed and shared, the teachers number was added to a WhatsApp group so that admitted candidates could be informed when government advertised that the loan application window was open.

When the announcement that government through Higher Education Loans and Scholarship Board (HELSB) was offering student loans to candidates with admission letters,  Samuel was informed by his former teacher and he spent days gathering documents, a letter from the headman, his school certificate, proof of his family’s circumstances. He walked to the district office, stood in a long line to scan documents which were saved and sent to the teacher who in turn assisted him with opening a student portal to apply for a loan.  Weeks later, the headteacher showed him a list from the whatsapp group that showed he had been awarded 75%.  He read his name 7 times before he believed it.  Now came the question, what did 75% mean?

The teacher explained that he had roughly needed about six thousand kwacha as government was only paying 75% and that he would get allowances for meals monthly of about K 700 when he reported.  At this point, he had been saving some money and knew that he now needed a phone.  A phone cost him 600 and he went ahead and bought it so that he could join the whatsapp group and communicate with the university staff on how to go about everything.  He applied for accommodation as advised and as the days drew closer to opening dates. He inboxed an administrator on the group with a lozi name to find out what would happen if he failed to raise the 25% and he was advised that he could pay half of the 25% at registration and finish off before examinations. This made him wish his father was alive, he remembered that as a young boy, when his father was alive, they had some cattle which could have been sold to enable him afford the 25%.    As opening day was drawing closer, he felt that maybe he belonged to the village, doubt was beginning to crowd his mind, what if he failed to raise the 25%.

Samuele would lie awake on the reed mat, thinking of the empty pot, and the faces of his siblings. He remembered the look on his mothers face and her words that he was their savior.  He found the courage and called one of the staff with a lozi name, “ni kupa tuso,” (I need help). Fortunately, that staff received the call  two days before her birthday, she had been wondering which charity to donate to for her birthday.  To her, this felt like the universe was answering her.  She told the young man to report and sent him transport money.   Samuele’s 25% fees were paid for by a stranger and he promised he would work hard.

He never bothered to tell his mum that he would be needing a top-up as government was only going to be meeting 75%.  When his meal allowance came through, he only used K350.  The rest of the money he was saving to be able to have transport money to go back and raise funds for the next academic year.  His room-mates thought he was odd, they hardly saw him eat and when he did, it was nshima with vegetables which sometimes did not have tomatoes or onion.

Meanwhile, he also thought his roommates were strange, how could boys be eating breakfast, lunch, noodles at around 16 and finaly supper.  Samuele ended up growing some vegetables behind the hostel in some sacks, luckily no one stole his vegetables.  Once in a while, eggs and soya chunks were a delicacy for him but these were reserved for the weekend.  At first, his roommates had concluded that Samuele was a vegetarian but when he explained that “niyo kosa,” they begun to share some relish with him and he felt that Nyambi (God) was on his side.

By end of first year, lecturers knew his name.  His fellow course mates admired him while his roommates thought his one meal diet was probably the reason for his remarkable grades. By third year, it was clear he was headed for a distinction.

Graduation day was bright and hot. Samuele stood in a borrowed gown, searching the crowd until he saw her: his mother in her best msisi, his siblings could not travel due to lack of transport money.  But his mother was all he needed, she didn’t have to buy him flowers or any gift, just her presence was enough. When they called his name, his mother wept openly, her son was receiving 5 awards.  These awards were in monetary form.

As his mother embraced him, he decided he would buy her a new msisi as the one she wore was faded, it was more than 20 years old. As the best overall graduating student, one of the sponsoring companies offered him a job. Within a month, he relocated his mother and siblings to Lusaka. His mother for the first time in a long time could sleep in a house with iron sheets, as for his siblings, it was their first time. He sat his siblings down and told them that education was the best equalizer in life.  He did not forget the woman who had paid his 25% as a first year. He prays for her every time it is thanksgiving day.

Every year, thousands of young people work hard to earn a place at university, only to find that admission is not the end of the struggle. The Zambian government offers student loans that cover a large share of tuition, commonly 75 percent, with the student expected to find the remaining 25 percent. On paper, this looks generous. In reality, for students from poor households, a 25 percent gap can be as impossible as the full fee. As a result, some students who secure a loan never report to campus, and talent that the nation has already invested in years of schooling is lost at the final gate.

The loan system assumes that families can raise a smaller sum more easily than a large one. But for a household living on irregular or subsistence income, any lump sum is out of reach. University fees are also not the only cost. A student must pay for accommodation if not offered, transport, books, food, registration and sometimes laptops or equipment. The 25 percent contribution is therefore added to a long list of expenses, many of which fall due  at the start of the academic year.

Students from rural areas and single-parent or orphan-headed households are the most affected. Their families may depend on farming, casual labor or small trading, with no savings to draw from. Many drop into casual work, early marriage or idleness, and may never return to the path they worked so hard to reach. Girls are at particular risk, since families under financial pressure often prioritize boys’ education or marry daughters off. Households that sacrificed to see a child through secondary school feel the disappointment deeply. Hope for the family’s improvement is replaced by frustration and a sense that education is only for the wealthy.

Unfilled university places are a waste of public resources. Government spends heavily on primary and secondary education, then loses the graduates who would become teachers, nurses, engineers and entrepreneurs. A country that cannot convert its brightest young people into skilled professionals slows its own growth.

If only those who can raise the 25 percent attend university, higher education becomes a privilege of the already advantaged. The loan scheme, intended to widen access, ends up reinforcing inequality.

When HELSB gives more of 75% and says it wants to broaden its base, it means the scheme treats every beneficiary alike, ignoring the vast difference between a student from a middle-class home and one from a destitute village.

Instead of a flat 75 percent, loans could range from 75 to 100 percent depending on household income, with the poorest students fully covered. When a deserving student fails to report to university for lack of money, it is a loss for the individual, the family and the whole nation. If access to higher education is to be truly open, loan schemes must reflect the reality of the poor.

Our government has done well in introducing free education but this does not apply to higher education. One practical solution would be the introduction of an Education levy, a dedicated tax or charge whose proceeds are reserved for funding education, in this case, higher education. When carefully designed, such a levy can provide a stable source of funds  for more students to benefit from the student loans at 100%.  Currently government is awarding more 75% loans across the public universities and the reasoning is that awarding 75% means more students benefiting.  The reality is;  ordinary citizens coming from rural Zambia, fail to take up the 75% loans because they have no means of paying the 25%.  They come from households that have never seen not even a K1500.00 as a household.  How then do we expect such to meet the 25%?

An education levy could address this problem directly by creating a reliable income stream that does not depend on the ups and downs of the general budget.

The levy can be used to make HELSB get back to awarding more 100% loans to students coming from poor households and rural communities. If the levy is designed progressively, for example by placing the burden on higher earners, profitable companies, telecommunications, mining or luxury goods, then those with greater ability pay to support the education of those with less and narrowing the gap between the rich and poor.

Education raises literacy, skills and productivity. An educated workforce attracts investment, supports industrialization and drives innovation. The levy is therefore an investment that would reduce and break the cycle of intergenerational poverty.

I was privileged to be in a meeting and we were looking at why some admitted students did not turn up at a university after being awarded loans. All the candidates when contacted said they could not afford  to turn up because the loan awarded was only 75%.  Therefore, Education Levy funds can be directed towards awarding more student loans to 100% seeing that most students are failing to take up the loans when they are awarded at 75%.

Critics may argue that new taxes burden citizens already struggling with the cost of living but long-term gains of an educated population far outweigh the short-term cost.

We are grateful for the free education in primary and secondary schools but for a country like ours,  an education levy offers a practical way to finance it. The Education levy will do more than fund schools; it will invest in the knowledge, skills and dignity of every citizen, and lay the foundation for lasting prosperity in the Grow Zambia Agenda. “Boma iyanganepo.”

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