Fruits of early introduction to handiwork

Last week, I stumbled upon a most engaging programme on MBC TV—titled “Innovators and Achievers”, or a phrase to that effect. In these hurried times, I seldom linger before the television for more than ten minutes, my evenings claimed by other pursuits. Yet this broadcast, with its promise of homegrown ingenuity, drew me in and held me fast.

At its core was a young Malawian entrepreneur—his precise name escaped me amid the excitement—who has dedicated himself to assembling a diverse range of machines. We are, after all, a nation long accustomed to importing our tools and machinery, often viewing local fabrication as a distant fancy rather than a tangible reality. It is challenging, then, to picture such equipment emerging from Malawian hands.

But there he was on screen, poised and assured, showcasing his handiwork with the quiet pride of one who has bridged that very gap. The programme highlighted several of his inventions with clarity. One machine, ingeniously simple, is designed to wash and polish freshly harvested potatoes, onions, or tomatoes, transforming them from field-fresh muddiness into smart, market-ready produce that catches the buyer’s eye.

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Another, a compact dehydrator, extracts moisture from thinly sliced fruits or vegetables, drying them thoroughly in a matter of hours. In this way, delicate items that might otherwise spoil within days can be preserved for several months, offering farmers and small traders a vital means to extend shelf life and reach distant markets without refrigeration. What particularly endeared this young man to me was his evident mastery of the underlying science, conveyed with such lucid enthusiasm.

As he demonstrated his furnace—a robust, unassuming device—he explained that even a modest charcoal fire fed into it could generate temperatures as high as 1 200°C. He went on to state that aluminium, whose melting point is 660°C, would fully liquefy in the furnace, ready to be poured into moulds and shaped into practical implements such as pots, tools, or components. I noted that he omitted lead (melting at 328°C) and tin (at 232°C), perhaps recognising their relative inaccessibility in Malawi, though his design would accommodate them with ease.

This blend of practical demonstration and scientific precision marked him as no mere tinkerer, but a thoughtful engineer. Interestingly, he mentioned that in his boyhood, he had learned and perfected the art of constructing toy cars from scraps of wire. I identified with this instantly, a flood of memories surfacing.

The generations that followed us have grown amidst an abundance of electronic gadgets, procuring entertainment at the touch of a screen. Our parents might, on rare festive occasions, purchase a toy car from an Asian shop in town, but far more commonly, we fabricated our own from whatever lay at hand—moulding some from clay, carving others from soft woods. For boys between seven and fifteen, the pinnacle was wire-work: twisting and bending wire pieces into the chassis, axles, wheels, and steering of a convincing automobile facsimile.

It was a rite of passage, pursued in dusty yards after school or during long holidays. These humble endeavours imparted lessons far beyond play. They sharpened our manual dexterity, as bending wire into precise curves demanded steady hands and patient finesse.

They cultivated planning and resource management: one first scouted for sufficient wire, bottles for wheels, or corks for seats, then plotted the sequence—frame first, then suspension, wheels last. Such forethought mirrored the structures of adult pursuits, from project management to problem-solving in trades. Regrettably, necessity bred occasional mischief; lacking the ideal gauge of wire, we might pilfer coat hangers from the parental wardrobe during an unguarded moment, honing not just skills but a touch of cunning.

One suspects the television innovator absorbed these virtues while sidestepping the vices—a solid grounding that, allied with his scientific insight, propelled him into proper manufacturing. It is a testament to how early tinkering can kindle lifelong capability. Indeed, many who have shaped materials with their own hands have risen to distinction in myriad industrial ocations.

Consider a mechanical technician I worked alongside at Blantyre Print. Like me, he left the company years ago but thrives as an itinerant expert, darting between print works to diagnose and repair. Upon inquiring into his background, he revealed his formative years at HHI Secondary School, where metalwork was offered as a subject, laying the cornerstone of his expertise.

A contemporary of his, who joined Blantyre Print around the same time and has since moved on, mirrors this path: he maintains printing presses across Blantyre and Lilongwe, and recently crossed into Zambia to service equipment there. Noone should despise humble beginnings.

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