One year later… and it still doesn’t feel real.
The silence left behind by the loss of then vice president Saulos Klaus Chilima and nine others in that tragic military plane crash on June 10, 2024, continues to echo loudly through our hearts.
It is a silence that not even time has been able to quiet. It speaks of grief that has not found closure. Of questions that still ache for answers. And of a nation that still stands in disbelief, asking: “Did this really happen?”
It was not just a plane that crashed; it was hope, it was leadership, it was future, it was family, it was love.
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A painful reflection: What if he had survived?
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Each time I reflect on the events of that day, I find myself haunted by one question that refuses to let go: “What if Chilima had survived the impact? Where would he have been taken for emergency care?”
I see no clear answer.
In that moment of crisis, where was our preparedness as a nation? Where was our rapid response system? Where was the air medical rescue team? Where was the military trauma centre that should exist to protect not just our leaders, but every Malawian?
Instead, we watched helplessly as the hours ticked away… as the nation waited in anxious silence… only to be told the search had been temporarily suspended.
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Even now, I ask—with deep respect: “Why did we pause the search?” What systems were in place and why did they fail? And if it had been your own son, your sister, your leader—would you have allowed time to slip away like that?
These are not questions of bitterness. They are questions of accountability. And in asking them, I am not attacking anyone. I am speaking as a son of this soil, with a heart too heavy to stay silent.
Monuments do not heal us
I have heard talk of building a memorial tower at the crash site in Mzimba. But with the deepest sincerity, I say this: We do not need a tower made of cement and steel. We need a legacy built of purpose.
No monument can heal the wounds we carry, if we do not learn from what caused them.
The most powerful tribute to Klaus Chilima and the nine others would be the construction of a military emergency hospital; one that is equipped, staffed and ready for moments just like the one that took their lives.
Let us honour the fallen by making sure no more are lost in the same way. Let us build something that speaks, not just of memory, but of mission, protection and preparedness.
To the leaders who still stand
To the President. To the Cabinet. To the Malawi Defence Force (MDF). I write this not to accuse you, but to reach you.
This is a voice from the ground. From a citizen who mourns. From someone who still dreams that perhaps, just perhaps, we can become a country that acts before tragedy—not just after.
Let this be the moment we draw a line in the sand and say: “No more unpreparedness. No more delays. No more waiting for bad things to happen before we respond.”
Let us commission a VIP Emergency Rapid Response Unit. Let us enforce routine safety checks on all MDF aircraft. Let us offer specialised crisis training for military pilots and medics. Let us set up real-time national emergency communication protocols.
Let us not let death teach us the same lesson twice.
My plea, as a son of Malawi
I, Chepetsani Gattuso, say this with tears behind my eyes and love in my heart:
If we truly loved Chilima, then we must carry his dream forward; not in statues, but in systems, not in speeches, but in structures, not in plaques, but in purpose.
One year later, I still cry. Not just for him, but for what we failed to give him in his final hour.
Let this article be my candle, my tribute and my voice. And may it reach those with power to change this nation.
To Chilima and the Nine: You did not die in vain. You live on, in our resolve to build something better. We remember you. We miss you. We will act, for you.
