Last Tuesday, Zambia marked Kenneth Kaunda Day, a day set aside to honour the life of Dr. Kenneth Kaunda. For many, the memories are political, historical, even emotional. For me, they are also quietly practical. I find myself thinking about how he lived, not just what he led. And more specifically, how he ate.

It is often said that Kaunda was vegan. That is not entirely accurate. What is more consistent across accounts is that he followed a largely plant-based, simple diet, especially in his later years. He ate modestly. He avoided excess. His meals were repetitive, traditional, and grounded in foods that would not look out of place in many Zambian homes before the wave of imported convenience reshaped our plates.

What strikes me is not the label of his diet, but the restraint behind it. Kaunda had access. He was not eating simply because he had no choice. He was a head of state, a global figure, a man who could have consumed anything the world had to offer. Yet he did not turn access into indulgence. He did not upgrade his diet in the way many of us instinctively do when our circumstances change. There is a quiet discipline in that decision.

In many Zambian and diaspora households, food has become one of the most visible signals of progress. Meat is no longer just food, it is a marker of having made it. Imported snacks and fast food are not just convenient, they are aspirational. The moment income rises, eating patterns often shift. Meals become richer, more frequent, more varied, and more processed. What was once occasional becomes every day. We rarely question this shift because it feels like a reward.

But Kaunda disrupts that narrative. He represents a version of success that does not express itself through excess. His simplicity wasn’t driven by lack. It was driven by restraint.

And this is where the conversation moves beyond nostalgia and into something more uncomfortable. This past Friday was Labour Day, a day that celebrates work, effort, and the discipline of showing up. We honour the generations that built through consistency, whether in factories, farms, offices, or homes. We admire the idea of waking up, doing the work, and repeating that cycle over time. There is dignity in that kind of discipline. Yet we do not apply the same thinking to how we eat.

The generations we celebrate did not eat for entertainment. They ate for function. Their meals were designed, often unintentionally, to sustain energy over long hours of physical and mental effort. Food was structured. It was predictable. It was not driven by mood or marketing, but by routine and availability.

Today, our relationship with food looks very different. We eat in response to stress, boredom, and convenience. We snack between meals not because we need energy, but because food is always within reach. We consume products designed to be hyper-palatable, easy to overeat, and disconnected from any sense of rhythm. Our diets have become more varied, but less stable. More abundant, but less intentional.

We celebrate discipline in our work lives, but not in our eating habits.

This is not about romanticising the past or suggesting that older generations had it all figured out. Their lives came with their own challenges and limitations. But there is something worth examining in the way their habits were structured. Their diets aligned with their lives. They ate in a way that supported what they needed to do each day. Kaunda, in many ways, carried that structure forward even as his circumstances changed.

He did not adopt excess simply because it was available. He maintained a way of eating that was consistent, measured, and grounded. That kind of restraint is not restrictive. It is stabilising. It creates a baseline that the body can rely on. And this is where the deeper question sits: Can this ‘upgrade’ in diet actually be an upgrade in health? It may be a shift away from structure, away from rhythm, and away from the kind of consistency that supports long-term wellbeing. We have confused access with permission. Just because something is available does not mean it needs to become part of our daily lives.

This is particularly relevant for a generation navigating multiple identities. Many of us are balancing local roots with global exposure. We are influenced by what we see abroad, by what is marketed to us, and by what is framed as modern or successful. Food becomes part of that identity. It becomes a way of signalling where we are in life.
But if we strip that back, the question becomes simpler. Are we eating in a way that supports the life we are actually living? For a country like Zambia, and for those of us in the diaspora, this is not just a personal question. It is cultural. It is about how we reinterpret progress. It is about whether moving forward means abandoning the habits that once sustained us, or refining them with intention.

Kaunda’s diet is not a blueprint that needs to be copied. It is a reminder of something more fundamental, and actually quite simple. Success does not have to translate into excess. Discipline is not only something we apply to our careers or our ambitions. It is something that shapes our daily choices, including what we put on our plates.

As we move past Kaunda Day and Labour Day, perhaps the reflection is not just about leadership or work, but about consistency. What does it look like to show up for your health in the same way you show up for your responsibilities? Because in the end, structure is what sustains both.

Kaajal Vaghela is a 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])