Decades ago, foreign rulers and then post-independence governments reshaped what we eat. In Zambia and India particularly, colonial edicts and food-policy decisions turned maize, white bread and rice into staples of survival and identity. These weren’t just pragmatic choices, they were structural: crops selected for export, subsidised imports, agricultural systems designed for the benefit of external markets. Over time, our plates narrowed. Diversity of grains, legumes, wild veggies and indigenous foodways faded. What remained was dependable, uniform, white-starch heavy.

Fast-forward to 2025 and a headline from the BBC-linked coverage of India’s national nutrition survey: Indian diets now derive about 62% of daily calories from carbohydrates, much of this coming from white rice, refined wheat and added sugars, while protein intake hovers merely around 12%. This isn’t just a cultural footnote; it’s a public-health red flag. The dietary imbalance is strongly associated with escalating rates of type 2 diabetes and obesity.
If India’s story feels distant, consider this: in Zambia we still lean on our white-starch pillars: maize-meal nshima, bread, white rice, and often without matching protein, fibre or food-diversity support. The colonial-era decision to emphasise maize over millet or sorghum may once have made logistical sense, but the legacy is now a metabolic challenge.

Why did this change happen?

In simple terms: efficiency overtook variety. Colonial administrations valued crops they could control and export. Infrastructure, railways, storage, trade routes, favoured uniform grains like maize and polished rice rather than region-specific indigenous crops. Policies and markets shifted to support those staples. Local food-systems lost resilience when wild grains, pulses and local vegetation were side-lined. Then came globalised diets: cheap refined flours, white rice, sugar, ultra-processed foods invaded markets once reserved for local produce. The result: food security. Food resilience and metabolic health: far less.

In Zambia’s case, maize became king. Sorghum and millet, once staples with higher nutritional value, began to vanish. Urban migration, mining employment, modern food supply chains reinforced the maize-meal culture. Less diversity, more reliance on one major carb source. The loading of calories was successful; the loading of nutrient-rich building blocks, not so much.

What this means for metabolic health

Here’s where the physics of food meets the biology of the body. A plate heavy in refined or “white” carbohydrates causes quick glucose spikes in the body. If you then lack sufficient protein (which supports muscle mass, metabolic rate and insulin responsiveness) you’re in a riskier space. In India’s recent study, researchers showed that a switch of just 5% of daily calories from carbs to protein (plant- or dairy-based) correlated with a measurable reduction in diabetes and pre-diabetes risk.

Now transpose that to Zambia: a typical meal may offer abundance of maize-meal but less kidney beans, groundnuts, fish or eggs, especially in lower-income urban settings. The result: calorie sufficiency, nutrient insufficiency, and an early path to “thin-fat” body composition, meaning less muscle, more central fat, greater insulin resistance.
And there’s a larger context: research among South Asian populations shows they are roughly 4-6 times more likely to develop type 2 diabetes than people of European descent. This is partly due to genetics, partly due to diet and body-composition differences. In other words: if you’re a person of colour living in a high-carb cultural-diet context, there’s less room for the body to make metabolic mistakes.

What to do about it: culturally and practically

Because you’re reading this in Lusaka, or London, or Dubai, and you’re juggling identity, family, diaspora, success and self-care, here are ideas that speak to lived experience:

• Reframe “the plate of pride”. Nshima isn’t the problem. It’s what around it matters. Leave a lot more space on the plate for beans, fish, eggs or groundnut stew, and include vegetables or local greens (pumpkin leaves, sweet potato leaves).

• Bring back diversity. Where possible replace some of the maize-meal with sorghum or millet, or mix with cassava or sweet potato. These options are more fibre-rich, slower-digesting, more nutrient-dense. They resist the rapid glucose spike.

• Swap thoughtfully. Following the Indian study’s logic: reduce carbohydrate calories by about 5%, replace that energy with protein sources. For instance: keep your usual dinner but shrink the nshima portion slightly and boost the beans or kapenta portion. Over a week it adds up.

• Remember identity is more than one food. For diaspora readers, it’s easy to cling to “the food of home” in exile. But home can evolve. Our plate can reflect our roots and our health demands. It’s not betrayal. It’s adaptation.

• Talk policy and community. For your network of professionals and entrepreneurs: think about how food supply, distribution and affordability shape these choices. Can local food-start-ups bring back indigenous grains? Can wellness programming in the diaspora support culturally-rooted but modernised eating patterns?

So tonight when you tuck into that familiar lump of nshima or mound of rice, pause for a moment. Acknowledge the comfort. And then ask: what else is on the plate? The strength of our community is in our food heritage, but the future of our health might be in how we transform that heritage. The white-starch story is chapter one. We’re ready for chapter two: diversity, resilience, nourishment.
Our bodies are mirrors of our history: colonial pressures, urban shifts, global food markets have shaped what we eat. But our choices now will shape the story ahead. We owe it to our ancestors and to ourselves to eat in honour of both.

Kaajal Vaghela is a wellness entrepreneur, sportswear designer, and diabetes wellness consultant with over three decades of lived experience managing Type 1 diabetes. Having previously served as Chairperson of the Lusaka branch of the Diabetes Association of Zambia, she remains a passionate advocate for breaking down myths and building awareness about diabetes. For more personalised coaching or corporate wellness workshops, visit: www.kaajalvaghela.com and for any feedback: [email protected])