There is something deeply unsettling about the number of men in Malawi who are choosing to end their lives. Not just the act itself, but the silence that surrounds it, the explanations that feel too convenient, and the collective reluctance to confront what is really going on beneath the surface.
We speak about heartbreak, money problems, pressure, and disappointment as if they are new forces, as if this generation of men has been handed a uniquely cruel version of life. But that is not true. Life has always been heavy. What has changed is how men are responding to that weight, and more importantly, how they are refusing to.
There is a culture among men that is quietly killing them, and it is built on avoidance. When things fall apart, many men do not confront the situation. They escape it. They drink. They chase distractions. They hide in entertainment, in women, in anything that delays the moment of truth. From the outside, it looks like coping. In reality, it is decay happening in slow motion. Problems left unattended do not disappear. They grow teeth, they deepen and then they corner you.
And when that corner finally comes, it feels like there is no way out.
We like to tell ourselves that men have strong friendships, that there is brotherhood, loyalty, support. But if we are brutally honest, much of that is performance. Men spend hours together and still know nothing about what is actually happening in each other’s lives. We know the scores, the gossip, the jokes, but not the truth. Not the fear. Not the pressure. Not the shame.
And when a man begins to slip, what do we offer him? Empty words.
Be strong. You will get through it. Muzitolera gangster. Zitayeni
We say these things not because they help, but because they allow us to avoid engaging with the discomfort of another man’s pain. Real support requires time, honesty, and sometimes confrontation. It requires telling a friend that he is destroying his own life. It requires asking questions you are not sure you want answers to. Most men are not willing to do that. It is easier to laugh, to drink, to change the subject.
So we leave each other alone, even when we are sitting right next to each other.
Then comes the blame. Women become the convenient target. A relationship ends, and suddenly it is framed as the cause of a man’s death. There is outrage about how women are not supportive enough, not understanding enough, not present enough. But this argument falls apart the moment you examine it closely. The same men demanding emotional support are often the ones who dismiss women as too emotional, who ridicule their need to talk, who refuse to listen. It is not just contradictory; it is deeply dishonest.
Women are not responsible for saving men from themselves. They are not emotional shock absorbers for male dysfunction. And if we are being honest, women are carrying burdens that are just as heavy, often heavier, yet they are not responding by ending their lives at the same rate. They have their own battles, many of which are far more brutal and systemic, and yet they continue to survive. That alone should force men to reflect, but reflection requires a level of honesty that many are still avoiding.
There is also a truth that is uncomfortable, but necessary. Some of the pain men are experiencing is tied to their own choices. Financial irresponsibility. Dishonesty. Avoidance of accountability. Refusal to face consequences. These are not abstract issues; they are lived realities. And when they catch up, as they always do, the weight can feel unbearable. But that weight did not appear overnight. It was built, decision by decision, moment by moment.
I am not blaming men for struggling. Struggle is part of being human. This is about confronting the fact that many men are not taking responsibility for how they deal with that struggle. You cannot keep running and expect to arrive somewhere stable. You cannot ignore reality and expect peace. At some point, life demands that you stand still and face yourself.
And that is where many men are failing.
The tragedy is that these deaths are rarely sudden in the way we pretend they are. They are preceded by silence, by withdrawal, by visible cracks that go unaddressed. There are moments where a real conversation could have happened, where a friend could have stepped in, where accountability could have been enforced. But those moments pass, because they are uncomfortable, because they require effort, because they demand more than surface-level connection.
So the silence grows. And eventually, it consumes. Kenako munthu wazipha.
There is a dangerous belief among men that someone will step in before it gets too bad. That a woman will notice. That a friend will intervene. That something will change. But the reality is much harsher than that. No one is coming to save you. Not consistently. Not in the way you might need.
If men are going to survive this, they will have to confront something they have avoided for generations. Responsibility. Not just for providing, not just for appearing strong, but for their internal lives. For their emotions. For their decisions. For each other.
That means building friendships that are honest, not just entertaining. It means calling out destructive behaviour without hiding behind jokes. Auzeni anzanu chilungamo kuti izi sizikuthandizani, apa mukulakwitsa.
It means admitting when you are not okay and being willing to hear the same from another man without judgment. It means understanding that strength is not silence, it is confrontation. Not of others, but of yourself.
Because the truth is, you can only outrun yourself for so long.
Eventually, you are left alone with your thoughts, your decisions, your reality. And in that moment, there are no distractions left, no noise to hide behind, no one else to blame. Just you.
And the question becomes brutally simple.
Have you built the kind of life, the kind of mindset, the kind of support system that can hold you when everything else falls apart?
Or have you spent years avoiding that work, hoping you would never have to answer that question?
If you are a man reading this, this is not distant. It is not theoretical. It is close. Closer than you think.
I have lost two former classmates to suicide, and for the people I just ‘crossed path with’ I am beginning to lose track of the numbers.
One day, whether quietly or all at once, life will force you to face yourself.
When that day comes, there will be no audience, no performance, no escape.
Only you, your choices, and the weight of everything you chose to ignore.
The question is whether you will meet that moment standing, or whether it will break you.
Because right now, for far too many men, it already is.
Then the funerals will continue, the explanations will remain shallow, and the cycle will repeat itself until it feels normal.
And there is nothing more dangerous than a tragedy that becomes normal.
Tiyankhuleni.
Khumbo 
What do you think?