The late president of Tanzania, John Magufuli, was in his element on February 24, as he unveiled a huge road project in Dar es Salaam – an achievement that he boasted of which could only be achieved by the ruling CCM party.
“It was completed in time because no one used a corona as an excuse to delay it,” he said, while applauding contractors and also instructing government officials not to entertain anyone by using the pandemic as an excuse to delay delivery of the projects.
This was no different from previous public functions – a choir serenaded him, and he ended it with a characteristic speech extolling his Hapa Kazi Tu mantra (Work is my only focus).
“Tanzania is a rich country, we have to use our wealth to develop,” he said in his speech, which also punished delays and urged Tanzanians to pay their taxes. Three days later, Magufuli would be seen in public for the last time.
Since his first election in 2015, Magufuli has cultivated the image of an undisciplined man of action, different from the modest and imposing style of his predecessors.
His interventionist leadership style – which supporters call “hands-on” – won over fans beyond Tanzania, especially in the East Africa region, where he inspired the hashtag #WhatWouldMagufuliDo Twitter, praising his objective approach to fight corruption and tirelessly follow infrastructure projects to ensure they are completed.
What interested most Tanzanians, their fans argued, was service delivery and Magufuli’s populist government style was effective and a model for other African leaders.
A man of the people
His supporters will miss the hour-long road trips he made across the country, which involved several stops so he could speak to the public.
These trips, which unnerved government officials, were often broadcast live on TV and became popular with some Tanzanians, who saw them as an opportunity to get immediate redress for their problems.
Crowds of people often gathered and crawled around the presidential convoy, watching closely the heavily armed bodyguards.
Those who were determined had a chance to ask him questions, but most people took the opportunity to beg the president to intervene on a myriad of issues, such as fixing delayed road projects, endless lawsuits, complaints about water supplies or complaints against local authorities.
Standing on the sunroof of his armored vehicle, with a microphone in his hand, Magufuli listened and sometimes asked complementary questions. His responses were mixed, but when he finished, a new policy would have been proclaimed, an officer fired or promoted or the person who asked the question would be humiliated.
He once scolded a man in the Dar es Salaam neighborhood who complained that it was expensive to use public restrooms: “So, leave your feces at home,” he replied, to great amusement and dismay.
Political opponents, neighboring countries, mining firms, western nations and anyone he saw as a way to undermine Tanzania’s interests were also targets of his abrasive government style.
Critics said he was a thin-skinned autocrat, a man obsessed with building a cult of personality and that he received no contempt or mockery from musicians, comedians or commentators on social media.
He instigated so much fear in the country that even during his absence of more than two weeks from the public, his draconian policy remained unshakable – the police arrested those who speculated on the president’s whereabouts or simply asked: Where is Magufuli?
This state of affairs is a kind of contradiction with the fact that he considers himself a defender of the dignity of Tanzanians.
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He also muzzled the Tanzanian media, shutting down several newspapers, radio and TV stations, as well as social media platforms, simply for reporting what the government did not like.
He was also criticized for implementing policies such as banning girls who became pregnant from going to school.
But it was his way of dealing with the coronavirus pandemic that was, without a doubt, his most blunt failure.
In his final days, he plagued critics who did not believe his narrative about the country being “free from greed” – a stance that was surprisingly in contrast to his sober, science-driven approach during the early days of the pandemic.
Magufuli, a former chemistry professor, would later promote conspiracies about conspiracies to harm Tanzanians while expressing doubts about the safety of masks and vaccines.
At one point, he sent samples of papaya and goat meat to be tested for Covid-19 and used the results to justify his denial of the virus.
The true cost of this neglect and abandonment of duty can be counted in the number of lives lost as a result.
Strong men or strong institutions
There will be a vigorous debate in Tanzania about Magufuli’s legacy and whether his successor should stay the course or change.
This debate cannot be divorced from the division over whether the continent needs strong men or strong institutions.
Magufuli attracted many because he was not burdened by institutional limits. He issued decrees and things happened and for many citizens who were frustrated by incompetence in the government, it was refreshing.
But likewise many Africans want to live in countries based on the law, to enjoy a dignified life, free from brutality, to have leaders who govern with honesty and truthfulness and a government that respects them and does not hide information about the health of their president.
Magufuli’s death was attributed to “heart problems”, but many will still suspect that he succumbed to Covid-19.
It is an irony that the pandemic he vehemently denied has survived him, turning his once-announced presidency into a cautionary tale for the region and the continent.