I have a confession to make: I have always had a bit of a soft spot for Hakainde Hichilema. So, when the Electoral Commission of Zambia confirmed in the wee hours of August 18 that he had secured a second consecutive term as the Central African country’s Chief Executive, I allowed myself the small, entirely unprofessional pleasure for a journalist of thinking: Thank goodness!

My sympathy began long before he took the top job. He was a man who kept knocking on the Presidential door, only to be told, repeatedly, that the house was not allowing visitors in. He lost six contests before finally winning in 2021. Along the way came what appeared to be unjust imprisonment, political persecution and the indignities that politics in Africa can sometimes reserve for those who refuse to go away.

So, when Zambia went to the polls again on August 13, I was quietly rooting for him. But then came the early results: 33 587 votes for main challenger Brian Mundubile against Hichilema’s 5 155 in the Petauke Central constituency, 27 531 against 9 551 in Lundazi Central, and 14 173 against 6 327 in Chipangali – all in Eastern Province. I found myself doing something rather undignified for someone whose professional ethos compels him to be an impartial observer: worrying. Secretly, of course. I watched the numbers and thought: Surely, after all that?

What made the anxiety particularly uncomfortable was what was at stake beyond the political fortunes of one individual. When Hichilema assumed the Presidency in August 2021, Zambia was drowning in debt. By the end of that year, the public and publicly guaranteed debt burden was estimated at $33.8-billion, equivalent to about 133% of GDP. Describing this as a national albatross wouldn’t be far off the mark.

But Hichilema’s administration has since restructured that debt and overseen a return to relative macroeconomic stability. According to the International Monetary Fund, by April this year, inflation had retreated to 6.8% – back inside the Bank of Zambia’s 6% to 8% target band – while foreign currency reserves had increased to $6.4-billion, enough to cover prospective imports for about four-and-a-half months. Zambia’s sovereign credit rating, too, has improved, with S&P moving the country to CCC+ and Fitch raising its rating to B–.

These improvements haven’t escaped the notice of international investors. Foreign direct investment into the copper mining sector, to which Zambia’s economic future is heavily tied, has totalled nearly $10-billion over the past five years.

But none of this is the stuff of rousing political rallies. Political party ground troops are unlikely to march down streets chanting: “Three cheers for restructuring the sovereign debt and for hoisting us to B– investment grade!”

Therein lies the problem.

A peculiar weakness of democracy is that voters are entitled to want results immediately, while governments often require years of unpleasant treatment before the patient begins to recover.

In Zambia’s case, the benefits of all that Hichilema’s administration has achieved since August 2021 have yet to filter down to the majority of citizens. While inflation has declined substantially, this doesn’t mean prices have fallen – they are only rising more slowly. So, a Zambian household that was hit by several years of high food and electricity price increases can still quite reasonably complain that basic necessities are still expensive. So too can the scores of unemployed young people, even though their prospects of finding a job will start improving once the mining projects under development start coming on stream in the coming years.

This explains why the politician who promises to make everything better tomorrow has an obvious advantage over his rival explaining why today’s pain is the price for tomorrow’s prosperity. My reading of Mundubile’s campaign messaging is that it had populist elements. A case in point: his manifesto says that people had been told to be patient while their lived reality told a different story, framing the choice as ordinary people versus leaders preoccupied with balance sheets. It also references “poor and forgotten Zambians” and says the country’s wealth belongs to its citizens.

All that said, technocratic politicians such as Hichilema – a chartered accountant who spent many years as a corporate leader and entrepreneur before venturing into politics – could learn a thing or two from the sophisticated political storytelling of Mundubile and his Tonse alliance. Instead of talking about GDP, fiscal balances, et cetera, they gave economic frustration a human face and an emotional narrative. Their manifesto invoked “Mother Zambia”, presenting her as the embodiment of poverty and the burden of broken promises, with the youth marching behind her.

But as a closet Hichilema fan, I’m glad they couldn’t sway the 60% of Zambian voters who backed Hichilema.