Some men wield microphones like a surgeon’s blade precise, deliberate, and guided by truth. Others, like Brian Banda known by his family as Juma Zammimba (Rebranding, after all, is Lesson One in media survival school) brandish them like rusty panga knives, hacking through facts, nuance, and basic decency with the finesse of a blindfolded butcher at a press conference.
This isn’t journalism. It’s performance art minus the talent.
The Curry Scented Rise
In the less than glorious days of Joyce Banda’s reign, Brian didn’t rise through the ranks he soared over them, surfing a tide of masala scented capital from Blantyre’s business elite. Presidential appointments? They reportedly came with a side of biryani and a brown envelope. No invoice necessary just a wink, a handshake, and a whisper: “Jaffar, today you meet the President.”
By the time Cashgate burst open, Brian had already marinated in the system his pockets filled like an overstuffed samosa, his mansion in Nyambadwe freshly painted, and his wardrobe humming “State House Casual.” Some say his value to the regime was so immense, he was permitted to rebrand himself twice: first as Juma, then as Brian.
The Mic of Malice
Fast forward to today, and Mr. Banda hasn’t lost his flair he’s just repurposed it. Now he peddles electoral conspiracy theories with the same enthusiasm he once used to broker backroom meetings. In one particularly unhinged episode, he declared that Smartmatic had triggered electoral chaos in Mozambique and Malaysia.
The only problem? No such chaos occurred.
But when your business card reads “Senior Grudge Holder” rather than “Journalist,” accuracy becomes a matter of taste. And Brian’s taste? Bold. Over-seasoned. Like his political bankrollers curried, spicy, divisive, and hard to swallow.
House of Cards in Nyambadwe
How does a man on a journalist’s salary afford a mansion with five car garage acoustics? Either the media pays in gold bullions these days, or Brian’s side hustle, brokering discreet rendezvous between politicians and the curry mafia has matured like a well-aged bribe.
His neighbours whisper. Civil servants raise brows. The Auditor General sighs quietly into his coffee. But Brian? He records another segment, adjusts his tie, and walks into the frame like a man confident that he’ll never be investigated, only invited.
Chisale & Co.: A Brotherhood of Credentials
In a plot twist no screenwriter could have conjured, Brian finds ideological kinship with Norman Chisale, Peter Mutharika’s ex bodyguard turned self-help guru, sharing a mutual fondness for “creatively sourced” academic qualifications. If there ever were a university course titled Corruption & Communication, Chisale would lecture in theory, while Brian handles the practical module, perhaps with a side tutorial in “Media Manipulation 101.”
And then there’s Dalitso Kabambe, the economist with a PhD in Public Relations by Silence. Brian, now comfortably nestled in Kabambe’s orbit, claps for every fiscal illusion like a trained circus monkey, eager for a banana and some airtime.
Brian, by what ethical standard do you justify accepting payments from a man whose guilt is not merely alleged, but practically documented in triplicate? You do not operate as a journalist, you function as a laundering service for reputations that wouldn’t survive a light rinse in public opinion.
There is no presumption of innocence where the evidence is inked in theft and sealed with a fraudulent handshake.
The Grudge Economy
According to insiders, Banda’s reporting long ago ceased being journalism. It’s now a purification ritual, cleansing old vendettas, rewriting past humiliations, and serving them reheated as breaking news. When the facts fail him, fiction steps in and Brian Banda, or should we say Juma Zammimba, is Malawi’s most tireless fiction writer.
Where he once fancied himself a kingmaker, he now flails like a court jester in a crumbling court, hurling insults with the venom of a man bitterly excluded from power’s latest guest list.
A Mic Made for Interrogation; but Never Pointed at Him
Brian Banda styles himself as Malawi’s HardTalk heavyweight minus the hard questions, minus the research, and minus the integrity. So enamoured is he with his own voice, you’d think his broadcast was a Sunday sermon delivered to a hall of mirrors.
But here lies the paradox: the interrogator has never once been interrogated. The man who roasts others with condescension sits atop a throne of hypocrisy, immune to the very scrutiny he demands.
So here’s the challenge, Juma Zammimba alias Brian Banda: sit across from a real journalist. Be questioned. Be dissected. Be fact checked with the same righteous sneer you wield like a dagger on air. If you’re going to grill others for their inconsistencies, then by every standard of ethical journalism you too must be grilled.
Your behaviour isn’t just questionable it’s disqualifying. You cannot parade as Malawi’s Stephen Sackur when your professional trail reads like a rejected case study in media ethics. Corruption. Bribery. Electoral fiction. Political bed-hopping. And still, you strut as a national moral compass?
It’s time we flipped the mic.
If you believe in the standards you preach, step down. Submit yourself to public scrutiny. That’s what any BBC-level journalist would do. But of course, the closest you’ve ever come to the BBC is mispronouncing it while name dropping on Facebook Live.
Until then, let’s not confuse HardTalk with Soft Blackmail.
– The Satirist
