

A few days ago, I was invited to deliver a keynote at the Academic & Leadership Conference, to be hosted on the 15th of March, 2025 at my postgrad alma mater, the Malawi University of Science and Technology. As I am currently preparing on what to say, I find myself thinking: How do I explain Malawi 2063 — not just as a policy document, but as a lived reality we are all responsible for building?
My (Egyptian) friend made a comment to me on how I truly believe in MW2063 as a policy document, and I do. As an economist and former policy and evaluation analyst, I’ve had the privilege of working both inside the system and outside it — with government, international development partners, and the private sector. I’ve seen how policy is crafted in boardrooms, but also how it lands in villages, classrooms, and markets — and those two worlds don’t always match.
That disconnect is something I’ve carried with me for years. It’s part of why, in 2022, the National Planning Commission (NPC) entrusted me to facilitate a national conversation on meaningful engagement of youth in the implementation of Malawi 2063, specifically as key players in trade and industry. The conversation in 2022 had a particular focus on MIP 1 — our first 10-year implementation plan.
When I worked with the United Nations in New York through the UNDP Graduate Programme from 2022-2024, I was a part of the team that worked on the UNDP Malawi Country Programme Independent Evaluation, where I saw — firsthand — how national development goals succeed or fail depending on how much ownership ordinary Malawians feel.
Now, three years post the MIP-1 panel, and almost a year after stepping out of the UN and diving back into entrepreneurship, digital skills development, and youth innovation spaces, I’m even more certain:
Malawi 2063 is not just a document. It’s not a government slogan. It’s the blueprint for our survival.
If we — young Malawians — do not understand where we’re coming from, how we got here, and what it will truly take to change the course of our development, then we are not just failing ourselves — we are failing every generation that comes after us.
By Nthanda Manduwi – Economist, Policy Analyst, and Development Advocate
Before Malawi had borders, constitutions, or ministries, we were part of a rich tapestry of trade, culture, and innovation across the region. Our people lived off the land and the lake, not just for survival, but with ingenuity — adapting fishing techniques, creating local irrigation systems, and building economic systems centered around trade with neighboring communities.
We were self-sufficient — not by declaration, but by practice. Communities innovated to survive and thrive, without external prescriptions on how life ought to be lived.
Colonialism shattered this self-sufficiency, replacing indigenous innovation with a system of economic extraction. Infrastructure — roads, railways, administrative structures — were built not to serve the people, but to serve the colonial economy.
Education shifted from nurturing independent thinkers and artisans to producing a small class of clerks, teachers, and junior administrators — people who could help manage Malawi within the colonial framework. Development was no longer by Malawians, for Malawians — it became something dictated from afar, managed locally by a small class trained for compliance, not creativity.
This was the birth of managed development — a form of governance where the future is determined elsewhere, and the local population exists to fit into that externally defined vision.
When Malawi gained independence in 1964, the political leadership changed, but the development architecture remained largely intact. There was no national development vision that centered on Malawian realities, needs, and aspirations.
The post-independence era was marked by an overwhelming dependence on donors, multilateral institutions, and former colonial powers to define what development should look like. The government was often reactive, implementing programs designed in donor capitals, rather than proactively imagining and executing a uniquely Malawian path to prosperity.
This donor-defined approach bred a culture of dependency, where Malawians were conditioned to see themselves as beneficiaries rather than architects of their own future.
In the mid-1990s, Vision 2020 was introduced as Malawi’s first comprehensive, long-term development strategy. It aimed to break this cycle of dependency by outlining a national vision rooted in Malawian aspirations.
Vision 2020 imagined:
But the reality was far less inspiring.
Vision 2020 was poorly implemented and lacked continuity across successive administrations. It became a document, not a movement — disconnected from the lived experiences of ordinary Malawians and outpaced by the same donor-driven, project-based development approach it was meant to replace.
The failure of Vision 2020 wasn’t just technical — it was psychological. It reinforced the belief that national visions are paper exercises, disconnected from real life, and that our future is ultimately shaped by external forces.
The launch of Malawi 2063 in 2020 was, in many ways, a response to the failures of Vision 2020. MW2063 is more than just a development plan — it is an attempt to reclaim the narrative of Malawian development.
Key shifts in Malawi 2063 include:
Education remains one of the biggest barriers to realizing Malawi 2063.
The system we have today is a relic of our colonial past, designed to produce:
This is a system stuck in the mindset of managed development, rather than one designed to produce creators, problem-solvers, and visionaries who can build industries and transform systems.
If Malawi 2063 is to succeed, our education system needs to shift in three ways:
Malawi 2063, unlike Vision 2020, cannot succeed as a government program alone. It must become a lived philosophy — a cultural shift where every Malawian, especially the youth, sees themselves not as beneficiaries of development, but owners of the future.
That means asking:
The problems we face — in agriculture, health, education, energy — are not uniquely Malawian. They are the same problems faced across the Global South. If we train young Malawians to solve for Malawi, they will inevitably create solutions with global relevance.
The shift is not just about development — it is about identity. It is about seeing ourselves, finally, as:
Malawi 2063 will succeed or fail based on what we — the current generation — choose to do with it.
As someone who has studied the numbers, analyzed the policies, and engaged with both government and development partners, I can confidently say: no donor, no government, and no foreign investor will care about Malawi’s development more than Malawians themselves.
That means we — university students, entrepreneurs, creatives, and young professionals — have to step into roles we were never formally prepared for.
Every step I’ve taken — from policy work to digital skills training, from launching Kwathu Kollective to partnering with the Office of the President and Cabinet — has taught me one thing: our future will not be imported. It will be created. By us. For us.
So, this is not just a policy conversation. This is a call to action.
If you’re reading this — whether you’re a student, an entrepreneur, or a young professional — know this:
Malawi 2063 isn’t someone else’s responsibility. It’s ours. And the time to own it — is now.
With undying love for Malawi,
Ntha