By Adonis Byemelwa
When dawn broke over Dar es Salaam this week, the city was still. Petrol stations stood in half-broken silence, their charred signs a reminder of nights recently filled with fire and fury.
Motorists queued for fuel, clutching identity cards that police officers checked one by one. Street vendors reopened cautiously, sweeping away ash and shattered glass before laying out fruit and second-hand clothes.
For a nation that has long prided itself on peace and stability, these small acts of normal life feel like defiance. Just days ago, Tanzania was under a near-total internet blackout. Demonstrations over the disputed 2025 general election had convulsed major cities, leaving an uneasy mixture of grief and exhaustion in their wake.
President Samia Suluhu Hassan has now been sworn in for a second term after winning roughly 98 percent of the vote, a figure that astonished both supporters and critics.
While her government insists the election was legitimate and peaceful, opposition groups, civil-society activists, and international observers have called for independent verification and reform of the country’s electoral systems.
Beneath the official calm, however, the sense of tension runs deep. The protests, arrests, and sporadic violence that followed the vote are being read by many Tanzanians as symptoms of something larger: a crisis of trust between citizens and the institutions meant to serve them.
A Shaken Political Compact
Tanzania’s political story has always been one of contrasts, an image of unity set against the hum of discontent beneath. For decades, the ruling Chama cha Mapinduzi (CCM) party has maintained near-total dominance, guiding the country from socialism to liberalization and into a new digital age. Yet the 2025 election revealed the strain of that long rule.
Opposition leaders claim that candidates were unfairly disqualified and that campaign restrictions limited public debate. Rights organizations have documented cases of intimidation and the detention of activists, through official channels have yet to confirm the numbers. The government maintains that all arrests were lawful and intended to prevent violence.
Universities and professional associations have stepped carefully into the conversation. The University of Dar es Salaam Academic Staff Assembly (UDASA), for example, issued a statement condemning recent disappearances and urging authorities to uphold due process.
The Tanganyika Law Society has echoed those concerns, calling for transparent investigations into alleged enforced disappearances and insisting that Tanzania must not lose its long-standing reputation as a country of rule and order.
For many ordinary Tanzanians, the protests were not just about the ballot box but about voice and dignity. “People want to be heard,” says a youth activist in Mwanza who asked not to be named for security reasons. “When they see their votes as meaningless, they express themselves in the only way they can, in the streets.”
As demonstrations spread, the state moved quickly. Security forces-imposed curfews, dispersed crowds, and controlled access to city centers.
The blackout that began on election day cut internet access nationwide for more than four days. With social media silenced, rumors and fear filled the vacuum.
When the network finally came back online, images began to circulate: crowds waving flags and chanting, businesses looted or burned, police in heavy gear guarding intersections.
In some videos, men appeared in police uniforms, boasting about causing chaos, a detail that left citizens confused about who was who.
President Samia responded publicly, insisting that law enforcement had restored order and that any “noise” would be quelled swiftly.
Her Swahili phrase, “hakutakuwa na nywi nywi”, roughly “there will be no noise” — was intended to project confidence. Instead, it became a social-media refrain for critics who saw in it a reflection of official underestimation of public anger.
Still, many Tanzanians are weary of turmoil. In the aftermath, small traders and transport operators have been hit hardest.
Burned filling stations and blocked roads have made fuel scarce. Some neighborhoods in Dar es Salaam and Arusha still queue for hours to refill motorcycles or generators.
“We just want peace,” says a boda boda rider at a service station. “Politics won’t feed my children if there’s no work.”
Between Fear and Renewal
Perhaps no episode captures the shifting mood more dramatically than that of Captain John Charles Tesha, known widely by his initials, J. C. Tesha. The air force officer became an unexpected national figure in October 2025 when a video circulated online showing him in uniform, calling for reform and denouncing corruption, human rights abuses, and political interference in the military.
Speaking calmly but firmly, he urged the armed forces to protect citizens’ rights and encouraged Tanzanians to demand accountability.
Within hours, the clip had gone viral. Some hailed him as courageous; others feared his words would invite reprisals.
The government neither confirmed nor denied disciplinary action, but his message resonated deeply with young people frustrated by the erosion of openness they once associated with the country’s leadership.
That resonance speaks to a deeper yearning for integrity. Tanzania’s economy, though steady on paper, faces pressure from youth unemployment and a rising cost of living.
When political debate narrows, social frustration expands. In such a climate, even loyal supporters of the ruling party have found themselves targets of mob anger.
A handful of shops and restaurants belonging to known CCM sympathizers were vandalized in Dar es Salaam, symbolic of a new, chaotic phase where political labels can endanger livelihoods.
Artists and public figures, long used to performing under state sponsorship, have also grown cautious. Some musicians quietly removed ruling-party images from their social-media pages after facing online criticism. It is less about shifting allegiance and more about survival in a climate where association carries risk.
The government, for its part, insists it remains committed to peace and development. Officials point to expanded infrastructure, improved school enrollment, and women’s empowerment programs as proof that stability remains intact. In recent days, the security presence has been relaxed in several urban areas, and most businesses are reopening.
Yet the trust deficit is unmistakable. When police officers stop civilians at checkpoints and demand identification even for routine errands, it signals a government still on alert. Citizens’ whisper of “normalization,” but it is a tense calm, maintained as much by fatigue as by reconciliation.
Tanzania’s Uneasy Calm
International concern over Tanzania’s post-election unrest remains palpable. While the African Union congratulated President Samia Suluhu Hassan on her victory, it also mourned the lives lost in protests.
The European Union and global rights organizations have urged transparent investigations and protection of basic freedoms, expression, assembly, and dissent — as the country attempts to steady itself after weeks of turmoil.
Inside Tanzania, civic voices are calling for calm and conversation. Religious leaders speak of a “national healing,” while economists warn that uncertainty could erode investor confidence and slow growth in tourism and manufacturing.
Analysts say the nation stands at a fork in the road: one path leads to reform and renewal, strengthening courts, revising election laws, and rebuilding trust, while the other risks deepening divisions that have already tested the country’s social fabric.
On the streets, the chaos is easing. Shops reopen, buses crawl through traffic again, and conversations once whispered in fear are returning to café corners and boda boda queues. Yet the scars remain visible, fuel shortages linger, checkpoints dot major roads, and the memory of burning stations and blocked streets still hangs heavy.
Still, there’s a quiet determination in the air. People are beginning to talk again, students in dorms, traders in markets, families at dinner tables. The first step toward reconciliation, it seems, is simply breaking the silence.
Tanzania has endured unrest before, but rarely has it felt this introspective. The blackout is over, the streets are calmer, yet the question lingers: how will the nation rebuild trust between power and people? For now, amid the hum of engines and cautious laughter, Tanzania is breathing again, fragile, hopeful, and still searching for its voice.
