A humorous take of national issues by Tungwa’s cousin
Ladies and gentlemen, grab your popcorn and settle in for the latest season of Malawi’s Got Electoral Talent—a show that might just win the award for “Most Dramatic Reality Show” in the country. And the star of the show? Judge Annabel Mtalimanja, Chairwoman of the Malawi Electoral Commission (MEC), AKA the Ministry of “Deny, Demand Proof, and Delegate Confusion.”
Now, once upon a time—well, not too long ago—we had Chairpersons like Justice Anastazia Msosa and Judge Chifundo Kachale. These rare electoral unicorns managed to keep elections from dissolving into full-on courtroom brawls. Msosa kept her halo almost intact (I say “almost” because even halos need a bit of TLC), while Kachale, more recently, was the Gandalf of elections—calm, wise, and, most importantly, trusted.
Then came Annabel Mtalimanja, swishing onto the scene with the elegance of someone who’s been handed the job based on… well, let’s just say “family connections” seemed to be part of the resume. Yes, her bloodline had ties to the Malawi Congress Party (MCP), and naturally, this raised more eyebrows than a surprise pizza delivery. “Nepotism!” cried the crowd. “Impossible!” shouted her supporters. “She’s a High Court judge! She practically invented impartiality—give her a chance!”
We all know how this story goes. And spoiler alert: “impartiality” was about as likely as a Malawi pizza arriving without pineapple.
The MEC Drinking Game: A National Pastime
Fast forward to any public appearance, especially the National Elections Conference (NECOF)—which, by the way, feels less like a conference and more like a defensive driving course for MEC. At this point, their answers are so predictable you could set a clock by them:
- “That outrageous claim? DENY!” (Take a sip)
- “You have evidence? ASK FOR PROOF!” (Preferably notarized by a unicorn) (Take another sip)
- “Oh, that proof? ASK FOR MORE CLARIFICATION!” (Until everyone forgets the question or the election is over) (Finish your drink)
The plot thickens when we revisit the Smartmatic Electronic Management Devices (EMDs)—remember those? Ah, yes, the machines that were alleged to be so racist, they couldn’t register people with darker skin tones. MEC’s response? “Preposterous! DENY!” (Cue the dramatic eye-roll). Then after a few too many pointed stares from the public, they finally admitted the machines were… let’s say, melanin-challenged. But don’t worry, folks—they promised to “recalibrate” and fix it. No harm, no foul!
Registration Drama: An Epic Fail
But wait, there’s more! The registration process was promised to be smoother than a well-buttered pimple-free face. The National Registration Bureau (NRB) was supposed to be registering fresh faces like they were handing out free Wi-Fi—except in dozens of centers, there were more empty chairs than voters.
MEC’s response? “Didn’t happen! DENY! Show us the empty chairs! ASK FOR PROOF!” And when the proof came? “Well, alright, fine, we’ll work on it…”. Cue the awkward shuffle and a whole lot of public humiliation. In fact, someone had to take Annabel and her merry band of electoral acrobats to court—just so they could register the people who wanted to vote. I mean, it’s not like it’s their main job or anything.
If MEC were a referee in a football match, they’d be the one wearing a team jersey underneath their official uniform. The court ruling should’ve been a giant “Please leave the building” sign for them.
Smartmatic: The “Secret Sauce” of the Election
Now, it’s no secret that MEC had secretly decided to use Smartmatic to tally the election results from day one. But did they tell us this? Oh no, no! Instead, they played the game of “manual counting” and insisted Smartmatic was just an expensive calculator for double-checking the math. Oh, sure, that’s exactly what happened in 2019 and 2020. Spoiler Alert: It didn’t.
The real magic trick was watching MEC defend the Smartmatic system with the ferocity of a badger protecting its young. Opposition parties? They were having none of it, but MEC’s response was pretty clear: “We’ve explained this, like, a million times. You’re just being deliberately obtuse. Probably for fun.”
Is MEC’s job really to shove a system down everyone’s throats, like it or not? Because that’s exactly the vibe Annabel and her team were giving off. The mantra? “This is our system, peasants, not a public election system!”
The Independent Tally Centre Drama
And then, of course, there’s the Independent Voter Tabulation Centre drama. Some civic groups, like PAC, had the audacity to suggest there should be an independent body to verify the results. MEC, naturally, had a meltdown. “Some of these groups aren’t even registered!” Annabel protested, like some election gatekeeper from a dystopian novel. “But you registered ones? No worries, we’ll talk.”
And just to make sure no one stepped out of line, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs issued veiled threats to diplomatic missions. You know, just casual reminders that funding an independent tally centre might be… not the best idea. Like, we’re all on the same page, right? Spoiler: we’re not.
Oh, and the MEC-MCP duet? It’s the only joint performance we’re getting—complete with harmonized whispers of, “Stop the Independent Tally Centre, or else.” The reason is simple: If an independent body does the tallying, the results might not match their preferred playlist.
Annabel’s Resignation Rumor: The Hope That Dares Not Speak Its Name
And then, in a twist that surprised no one, came the “fake news” that Annabel was going to resign. The nation celebrated. The social media streets lit up. But of course, she shot that rumor down faster than a man on a bicycle dodging a pothole. The problem? Her public confidence is now lower than a flat tire at a rally. It’s like a carton of milk left out in the Malawian sun—souring fast.
If she doesn’t step down, and the elections spiral into the usual circus, history will treat her like the punchline of a bad joke. She might want to take a note from William Hanjahanja’s playbook: when you lose the confidence of everyone, it’s probably time to exit stage left. Just ask Mrs. Merlyn Yolamu at Area 30, who reportedly wanted out of the drama rather than tarnishing her legacy further.
The Dance Is Over
And in closing, let’s heed the wisdom of Timba: “Timba anathyola mwendo dance yakutha itha”—the dancer broke a leg when the dance was over. For Annabel, that leg is a tangled mess of Smartmatic wires. If she doesn’t recognize when the music has stopped, history will be brutally unkind, like a heckler at a comedy show. So, Annabel, it’s probably time to pack up the show before you trip over the cables.
