By Kanzi Bambo
In a world obsessed with net worth, assets, and influence, it is refreshing to ask a different question: What is a person truly worth?
If you ask those who knew Alexious Kamangira during his university days at Chancellor College in Zomba, the answer might surprise you.
Two empty bottles of Fanta.
The Lubani Hostel Lesson
The story goes back to third year at Chancellor College. Lubani Hostel. Room 19 and Room 20. Two neighbours navigating campus life, lectures, politics, and the daily economics of student survival.
This was before plastic bottles became the norm. Glass soda bottles carried value. You bought your drink, returned the empty bottle, and added a few kwacha to get another. A small but disciplined system of exchange.
One afternoon, Kamangira returned from Zomba Town carrying two bottles of Fanta. He did not have empty bottles to exchange at the shop near where The Nation newspaper used to operate, close to Dr. Hard Stationery. So he did what many students would do: he promised to return the empties later.
But unlike many, he meant it.
Back on campus, hearing that his neighbour was heading into town, he handed over the two bottles with a simple request:
“Please return these for me.”
It seemed minor. Sixty kwacha in total. Two bottles at 30 kwacha each.
The bottles were forgotten.
A week later, Kamangira returned to the shop, only to be confronted by an angry shop owner demanding her bottles. He had given his word. And from his perspective, it had not been honoured.
When he returned to campus, he was visibly upset.
“Why didn’t you return the bottles? You could have just said no.”
At the time, it looked like an overreaction to a trivial matter. But it was not about the money. It was about something far more foundational.
The Currency of Integrity
Integrity is often romanticised in speeches and reduced to slogans in campaigns. But in reality, it is built in small, unremarkable moments.
Returning empty bottles.
Keeping minor promises.
Following through when no one is watching.
That incident at Lubani Hostel was not about 60 kwacha. It was about principle. About the internal discipline of honouring one’s word—even when the stakes appear insignificant.
Character is not formed when cameras are present. It is revealed when they are not.
Those who knew Kamangira during those formative years say this trait was consistent. When a friend felt unfairly treated at the university, he walked with him to the administrative offices. Not for publicity. Not for advantage. Simply because it was right.
That pattern did not emerge later in life. It was already there.
A Man Without a Price
There is a common saying: every man has a price. In politics, in business, in public life, the assumption is that loyalty can be purchased and silence negotiated.
But some people defy that calculus.
If integrity were a commodity, it would be traded daily. Yet for individuals like Kamangira, it appears non-negotiable. The same stubborn insistence on returning two empty bottles becomes the same refusal to compromise conscience when the numbers grow larger.
Two bottles of Fanta then.
Millions now.
The principle remains unchanged.
Wealth Beyond Valuation
Lifestyle journalism often profiles houses, vehicles, travel destinations, and wardrobes. But there is another form of wealth—one that does not depreciate, fluctuate, or depend on markets.
Reputation built over decades.
Trust earned in quiet moments.
Consistency between private conduct and public stance.
If you measure wealth purely in currency, the story of two empty bottles sounds almost humorous. But if you measure it in character capital, it becomes instructive.
The real takeaway is not nostalgia about campus days in Zomba. It is this: a person who protects his word in small matters is unlikely to discard it in larger ones.
So how wealthy is Alexious Kamangira?
Perhaps the better answer is this:
He cannot be bought.
He cannot be intimidated into abandoning his conscience.
He cannot be priced.
And maybe, just maybe, that makes him wealthier than most.
