Chungu Bwalya

On Becoming a Guinea Fowl (2024) doesn’t exactly play by the usual rules. The story spins around a funeral in Zambia—yeah, the kind of family gathering where everyone’s squished into one house, eating too much food, and half the people are barely on speaking terms. It kicks off when the death of a not-so-beloved uncle drags his relatives back together. Old secrets don’t just bubble up—they explode. People are fighting about inheritance, who loved who, and, of course, who gets the last word. Chungu Bwalya’s character isn’t just floating through the background, either. She’s tangled right in the mess, caught between loyalty to family and the urge to call out their hypocrisy. The film’s got this sharp wit, poking fun at the weird traditions and the stuffy seriousness of funerals. You’ll catch yourself laughing at the chaos—Aunties griping in the kitchen, cousins whispering like it’s high school all over again. But then, bam, it hits you with these gut-punch moments about grief, forgiveness, and that aching need to belong, even when family makes you want to scream. The movie’s dripping with color and chatter, the soundtrack’s infectious, and there’s this raw honesty in how it handles silence—the awkward pauses, the stuff nobody says out loud. By the end, you might even find yourself thinking about your own wild family gatherings, the things you wish you could un-hear, and the comfort in being a little bit lost together.