By Adonis Byemelwa
Tanzania, once hailed as a sanctuary of calm in a turbulent region, now finds itself wading through troubling undercurrents. Beneath the surface of state ceremonies and carefully crafted speeches, a storm is gathering—one that touches the very soul of the nation.
In homes, churches, mosques, and marketplaces, people whisper. Questions linger longer than answers. Is President Samia Suluhu Hassan steering the ship alone, or are unseen hands guiding it into dangerous waters?
This unease is not confined to armchair analysts or partisan skeptics. It comes from the lived reality of Tanzanians—the fear in the eyes of a priest, the silence after gunshots, the weight of a government convoy passing by. The threads, when woven together, tell a story far more complex than any official narrative.
One of the most poignant moments fueling public concern was the recent attack on Fr. Dr. Charles Kitima, Secretary General of the Tanzania Episcopal Conference (TEC). This was no random incident.
It came at a time when TEC, along with leaders from CCT and Bakwata, was planning to meet President Samia to raise concerns about the country's political direction ahead of the general elections. The assault has deeply wounded the collective conscience of many Tanzanians, especially people of faith.
For people like Sr. Imelda Magesa, a respected figure in Mwanza, the attack marked a line crossed. “It’s as if we’ve become strangers in our sanctuary,” she said quietly, her voice shaking. Rev. Christopher Mhagama, from Shinyanga, went further:
“Fr. Kitima’s assault was not just an attack on one man—it was a signal to all of us that speaking truth might now come at a price.” And from Bukoba, Dr. Boniphace Mwamlangala, a moral theologian, asked somberly, “If priests are not safe, who is?”
Their anguish has found echoes beyond the pulpit. Ansbert Ngurumo, a seasoned Tanzanian journalist now living in exile in Finland, has been among the most vocal figures documenting these developments.
In reflections shared across various platforms, he connects the dots between Kitima’s targeting and a broader pattern of fear-driven governance, suppression of dissent, and a tightening grip on the institutions that once mediated peace.
Ngurumo’s perspective is not offered from a distance of luxury or convenience, but from the aching displacement of exile—a vantage point sharpened by loss. He details how internal sources within TEC allege that a high-ranking security officer named Kayombo was tipped off by a participant of the religious summit, ultimately leading to Fr. Kitima being surveilled and later assaulted.
Parallel meetings between other security officers—Kayombo, Mkude, and their boss Fadhili—and government officials like Innocent Bashungwa and the Attorney General were held on the same day. Shortly afterward, Bashungwa issued a public directive for authorities to act without hesitation against threats to peace. Fr. Kitima’s name reportedly surfaced on that very list of “threats.”
This kind of internal sabotage has led many, including some within the ruling party, to suspect that President Samia is being deliberately misled, or worse, manipulated by a circle of loyalists more interested in consolidating their power than safeguarding hers.
This has created the impression that the president may be isolated, shielded from the real consequences of state actions unfolding in her name.
The story goes further back. In early 2024, a TEC bishop was approached by a man claiming to represent the president, with a clear request: remove Fr. Kitima to ease tensions between the Church and the state.
The bishops refused. Instead of bowing to pressure, they stood by their secretary general, reinforcing the sense that Fr. Kitima’s voice, though uncomfortable to some, was one of conscience.
Internal whispers later suggested that President Samia had been told it was Minister Angelina Mabula and Vice President Philip Mpango who were fueling misunderstandings with TEC.
When Mabula was dropped from Cabinet, speculation surged. Then came more signs of internal friction—rumors that the Vice President had been sidelined entirely, even during major decisions such as the Cabinet reshuffle.
A controversial moment came with the DP World port deal. Critics claim it was pushed through by a prominent businessman with close ties to the president, leaving key figures like the Vice President and Prime Minister in the dark.
After religious institutions voiced concern, some presidential allies allegedly mocked TEC, boasting, “They think they’re untouchable. We’ll show them.” These taunts, if true, reflect a dangerous erosion of mutual respect between state and faith.
President Samia’s public comments have occasionally added fuel to the fire. During Eid, her statement— “He who fears to discipline a child ends up crying”—was interpreted by many as a thinly veiled rebuke to religious leaders. When such rhetoric is followed by real-world violence, the effect is chilling.
The clouds darken further around the case of opposition figure Tundu Lissu, arrested on treason charges. Critics allege it’s a political maneuver meant to eliminate a key rival. On the day of Lissu’s court appearance, state brutality reached a horrifying crescendo—supporters were beaten, some reportedly sexually assaulted, with images circulated online to humiliate and deter dissent. President Samia remained silent. Insiders say she was advised to keep quiet, and she complied.
Silence, however, has its language. Many Tanzanians now read it as complicity.
Within the CCM itself, murmurs are growing. Senior figures are said to be reconsidering whether Samia is still the most electable candidate to carry the party into the 2025 elections.
Online, party loyalists debate openly. Some call for a new face with stronger charisma, warning that the current trajectory may cost them the electorate’s trust.
Meanwhile, a chilling pattern of disappearances and extrajudicial killings—names like Deogratias Soka, Ali Kibao, and others—further fuels national anxiety. Ngurumo recounts claims from government insiders that the president is being misled about such incidents, told the victims were merely questioned or released, even when evidence suggests otherwise.
More ominously, a group of whistleblowers close to the inner circle allegedly plans to publish a book documenting direct orders from the president herself. Whether this is true remains to be seen, but the implications are staggering.
Still, Ngurumo’s perspective is not unchallenged. Skeptics, particularly from Tanzania’s Lake Zone—such as Meshack Nyarandu, Elikana Sugu, and Pius Chiganga—dismiss his assertions as alarmist. They argue that the president is navigating a complex post-Magufuli transition and that accusations of dictatorship are unfounded. For them, the turbulence is the cost of reform.
But for many others, including community elders, religious leaders, and ordinary citizens, the concern is not with reform, but with the direction and tone of power itself. When justice seems selectively applied, when critics disappear, when priests are attacked, and the presidency stays quiet, something is undeniably broken.
Tanzania stands at a precipice. Whether President Samia is the architect of these maneuvers or their reluctant figurehead, the outcomes remain the same: growing fear, fading trust, and a democracy fraying at the seams.