The Pangolin Online followed former President Arthur Peter Mutharika (APM) on his much-hyped journey from Mangochi to Lilongwe on Thursday.
What unfolded was a carefully choreographed political theatre by the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), dazzling in stage-management yet still raising more questions than answers about the state of the 86-year-old former Head of State.
Mutharika slipped out of Mangochi without fanfare. Surprise.
For a party desperate to project its presidential candidate as fit and ready for the September polls, this was to any political enthusiast, a missed opportunity. One would have expected jubilant processions right from the Page House in Mangochi, through Machinga and Balaka, cementing APM’s presence as the man still in charge.
Instead, the convoy rolled out of the Page House gates in a muted departure, with little of the drama that once defined DPP’s grassroots mobilization.
It became clear that this was no ordinary road trip.
At Nsipe in Ntcheu, then Ntcheu Boma, and later at the iconic Biwi Triangle in Lilongwe, DPP supporters lined the roadsides in huge numbers to wave, sing and cheer. The welcome had all the hallmarks of a party carefully scripting every moment. But something stood out, all photos of Mutharika were taken from a distance. Not a single close-up shot was allowed.
The Pangolin Online had to use high-tech cameras from a distance to at least have a clear image of the former president.
One party operative confided to The Pangolin Online that before the trip, Norman “Pythius Hiwa” Chisale had held a session with photographers, sternly warning them against taking close-range pictures.
“We were directed to keep our lenses far, no zoom-ins, no angles that show too much detail,” the source revealed.
This deliberate restriction left many whispering: what exactly are Mutharika’s minders trying to conceal? Is the former president too frail to withstand the glare of a close-up, or is the party deliberately manipulating imagery to sustain the illusion of strength?
At Biwi Triangle, the crowd was visibly curious. Many had not come to celebrate APM but rather to verify if he was truly well enough to run for president. One of them, Agness Mussa, put it bluntly: “I just came to see for myself if APM is really well. What I saw is not the man this nation used to know, but at least he sounded surprisingly strong.”
Her words captured the national mood. Skepticism laced with a cautious sense of relief that APM, though visibly aged, was able to speak with some energy.
This sudden burst of energy was puzzling. Just weeks ago, during the DPP manifesto launch, Mutharika had delivered an incoherent, weak-sounding speech that left even his loyalists worried.
Yet on Wednesday, he spoke with unusual vigour, a strong voice and surprising clarity. Was it adrenaline? Careful preparation? Or a last-minute attempt by the DPP to prove detractors wrong?
At the end of the day, the Lilongwe homecoming was less about reconnecting with the people and more about DPP’s attempt to repackage a visibly weakened candidate.
Yes, APM spoke stronger than expected. Yes, supporters turned up in numbers. But the absence of close-up shots, the managed imagery, and the crowd’s cautious curiosity all spoke to a party fighting desperately to control the narrative.
APM may have reached Lilongwe, but the real question remains: did he convince Malawians that he is the same man they once trusted with the presidency, or did Wednesday’s spectacle only deepen doubts about the DPP’s gamble on a visibly aging candidate?
WHAT THE PANGOLIN THINKS
Let’s not be fooled. The crowds that lined the road in Ntcheu and later welcomed APM in Lilongwe weren’t there to pledge allegiance. They came out of sheer curiosity. They wanted to see if the old man was still standing, if the rumours were true, and if the strong voice was indeed from him.
And what they saw left many unconvinced. APM may still have his voice, but the man Malawians once called president is clearly not the same. This wasn’t a political revival. It was a public inspection.
If the DPP hoped to use this roadshow to project power and inspire confidence, they may have achieved the opposite. The crowds that lined the roads weren’t drawn by belief or allegiance. They came with folded arms, scanning eyes, and whispers on their lips: “Is he still fit?”
In politics, loyalty fills the streets with chants. Curiosity fills them with murmurs. On Thursday, what trailed APM wasn’t the roar of a resurgent party, but the uneasy buzz of a nation doubting its old champion.
