During the colonial era, the British administrators reigned over us with an air of superiority, keeping themselves perched high above the ordinary people they ruled. Their dominance created a glaring divide, a chasm that reminded us daily of our subjugation. Our disdain for colonialism ran deep, fueled by a burning desire to reclaim our agency and ensure that the majority of our people had a rightful seat at the table of governance and commerce.
Blantyre and Lilongwe were never settler cities, unlike Salisbury—now Harare—which was firmly entrenched as one. At Malawi’s independence, neither Blantyre nor Lilongwe had even achieved city status, while Salisbury was already a fully-fledged city. As a settler city, Salisbury was meticulously designed to serve the exclusive interests of the colonial elite. Its central business district became a fortress of privilege, off-limits to natives after dark. To reinforce segregation, the settlers deliberately established native housing miles away from the city’s heart.
The first time I visited Mabvuku, a residential area in Harare designated for natives, I was struck by how far it was from the city center. At first, I thought it was mere coincidence, but it later became clear that this distance was no accident—it was deliberate. The colonial authorities had designed it this way, driven by a policy of segregation that sought to keep blacks as far from whites as possible. For the colonial elite, this was not just about physical distance; it was a calculated effort to enforce a social and spatial divide, ensuring that their black servants remained out of sight and out of mind beyond working hours.
Independence gave us the chance to bridge the gap that colonialism had deliberately created. The generation of Africans fortunate enough to access secondary and tertiary education after independence was uniquely positioned to dismantle the social barriers that divided the elites from the masses. Yet, this social distance, a lingering legacy of the past, continues to fuel glaring inequalities, keeping the dream of a truly equitable society just out of reach.
A complex web of factors underpins the persistent and entrenched poverty in our country. Among these is the ever-widening gulf between the small, affluent elite and the impoverished majority. By now, this glaring disparity should have been bridged—or even eradicated—by the post-independence generation that had the privilege of attending local universities and colleges. As a member of that very generation, this columnist reflects on the missed opportunities and unfulfilled promises of a more equitable society.
We must admit, with heavy hearts, that we have failed the nation. Instead of dismantling the structures of inequality, we simply stepped into the shoes of the white colonial masters, perpetuating the very systems we inherited. Worse still, we widened the divide between ourselves—the new elites—and the masses. In doing so, we ushered in a new kind of colonialism, one where the oppressors were no longer foreign but our own.
The Malawian boss is a figure of isolation—detached, almost to Mabvuku proportions—and they seem determined to keep it that way. I recall my time at ICI Pharmaceuticals near Manchester, where it took me a while to even identify who the boss was. We all worked together in one open-plan space, fostering a sense of accessibility and equality. In Malawi, it might take just as long to figure out who the boss is, but for an entirely different reason: they remain cloistered in their secluded offices, shielded by an impenetrable barrier of secretaries, personal assistants, and other gatekeepers. The inaccessibility is deliberate, creating a stark divide between leadership and the rest of the workforce.
The boss’s parking space is a sacred domain, never to be used by anyone else—even if the boss is not around. The subordinates, mere “non-entities” in the grand scheme, are constantly haunted by the fear that the boss might be lurking just around the corner, or perhaps silently eavesdropping on their every word, watching their every move. This pervasive sense of surveillance keeps them on edge, ensuring they never do anything that might be seen as disrespectful—even something as innocuous as parking in the boss’s spot when they’re absent. The unspoken rule is clear: any breach of this invisible boundary would invite judgment.
The exclusion of the masses from meaningful participation in the economy has stifled national progress, leaving the majority as little more than passive observers. They are neither consulted nor given a platform to share their ideas on how corporate or government affairs should be run. Instead, the elites hold all the power, calling the shots while the rest of the population is expected to follow along.