FIRST, introductions are in order; I’m an apparition from the East and, yes, we are not wise. That myth has since been exploded by one Didymus Mutasa. The identity of the writer established – to avoid the sort of speculation brother Yamamoto suffers – we can now make clear that Sunday Roast will feature political satire; it will propose the virtues of mocking laughter as a response to the skulduggery that has ruined our land.
The virtues of laughter as a weapon for insurgence were extolled by the great Gabriel García Márquez in his One Hundred Years of Solitude. What Márquez knew, an interpretation of the text suggests, is that “laughter is a display of rebellion; to laugh is a statement of liberty and freedom. It’s an act of riot”. Laughter, like an orgasm, leaves the body energised – and, boy, do we need re-energising!
Sunday Roast nails its political colours to the mast by declaring that, when written by this easterner (because we invite all to this Weekly Feast – write too, if you believe Zimbabweans deserve a laugh at the expense of their incompetent leaders), the column will seek to explode the fraud that the redundant dichotomy personalised by the Sea Legend and the Bone Collector represents the only possible and viable answers to our “mission impossible” challenge as a nation. We’re too diverse to be billeted into little boxes that say either ‘sell-out’ or ‘washed up revolutionary’.
As NoViolet Bulawayo said, we need new names, new voices and new narratives. Mugabe and Tsvangirai have become each other; they badly influence each other in the manner of rotten tomatoes. Now they both sing from the same handiende hymn book. The former, at 91 and after 35 years of trying, still refuses to go – the new excuse being that he must collect bones we can’t determine with absolute certainty don’t actually belong where they currently slouch.
The chap President Mugabe recently had the presence of mind to dismiss and consign to the world of dodgy doctorates (perhaps they were his idea), tells us that the said bones are the economy and that, as one perceptive Chofamba (another easterner) noted, ‘skulls are the economy’. Indeed how can we wonder why the economy is near-dead when skulls are in charge?! Still, I maintain the professor of weevling was misread, a point I will return to later.Advertisement
On the other side of this superfluous dichotomy, the Sea Legend is asked by the BBC whether, after 15 years of trying and failing, it’s not time to pursue his passions – at sea. No, the fellow says with a straight, if rugged, face. We continue to re-energise the base, he adds. What a clown!
The base has been energised over the past 15 years; it’s bubbling with near-coital energy. What they have not had is leadership! A leadership with ideas about how to use that energised base to topple the skulls running amok at Munhumutapa Building.
So, the next time we see either the bone collector and his wailers or the sea legend, let us all collapse in a heap with orgasmic laughter. Let us, as one reader of Márquez suggested, commit ourselves to “incoherent, radical and bold acts of laughter”.
GoFundMe London embassy
And, while they are talking about collecting skulls from London, they might as well bring over a new portrait of the Dear Leader. I passed through our London embassy recently, and noticed that they don’t even have the latest portrait of His Excellency and Commander in Chief etc, etc. There is one from the 1990s, as if to suggest the Dear Leader is an un-aging tokoloshi or goblin. How very dare the folks at Zimbabwe House!
Why do they deny the Diaspora fresh images of the Dear Leader; this 91-year-old beauty? Not many leaders are so old and yet so young at the same time. Let the disloyal runaways see how his face remains defiantly plastic-smooth despite 91 years of sunburn.
And, just so we are clear, I use ‘plastic’ as a metaphor; I’m too respectful to suggest that plastic, or Botox, have anything to do with HIS Excellency’s baby-smooth visage.
Seriously though, the embassy is in a right state. Maybe we should start a GoFundMe campaign to raise funds for a hoover, new carpet and new coat of paint or wall paper in the public reception and consular services office; the inards don’t look or smell much better either.
The place was also scorching hot! I initially suspected they had deliberately turned up the heating to punish us exiles for running away; remind us of the warmth of home. But the staff were roasting too, and it was clear the air conditioning wasn’t working.
The whole place looks pre-2000; POSB-like date stamps included! And the year 2000 is significant; that’s when the terrible Brits turned on us and later banned the Bone Collector from shopping at Harrods. Possibly, the embassy is unkempt, not for the lack of money but in symbolic protest against the evil sanctions!
Professor of Skulls
To return the matter of ‘skulls are the economy’, although the commander in chief ordered Cabinet members to stop all Twars, the professor will not listen. Wasn’t he called musoro damba? After the Bone Collector announced the presence of prized relics in the UK, the certainly-not-too-mad professor explained that work to heal the dying economy could not proceed without the said skulls.
He was attacked by the dull who don’t understand the work and mandate of the weevil enterprise. The good prof is an assiduous weevil, half the leadership of the revolutionary party is shamed and gone; he now gnaws at the remnants.
He succeeds where the Sea Legend failed miserably! It is in that ‘weevil’ perspective his Twars should be read – and understood. I’m persuaded by the interpretation that, what his learnedness actually meant to tell the zanies in Zanu PF is that – it’s the economy stupid! You bloody skulls!
Lobengula no Nehanda
The editors of this publication mischievously suggested that while we are on the matter of bones, why not look for those of one Lobengula, king of the Matebele.
They were rightly called to order. Lobengula does not merit a place in the Bone Collector’s Hall of the Macabre, ‘planted’ reader-commentators made clear. Trying to whip up emotions, one reader charged; itself an admission that emotions do exist which also exposes the ill-advised conspiracy of silence regarding a certain touchy subject. They hope that if we don’t talk about it, the angry will eventually forget!
One Shona chap went on the claim that there was tribal amity in the country, confirmed by the fact he married an Ndebele beauty from Gwanda. I wonder what the pretty lady makes of the idea that she was married for political reasons! A honey trap to make her and her people forget the outrages of the past!
Again, does the fellow assume that the peace and quiet of his bedroom (a disconcerting idea because bedrooms are places for intimate commotion) necessarily means national tribal harmony?
And does he suggest that if Shonas go and get Ndebele beauties, all tribal tensions will end? The history of the white man claims that Ndebeles, under Lobengula, raided Shonas for their beauties and that still grates with some among the latter.
Bolting barn door too late
The Bone Collector must think we are fools or he simply doesn’t know the people he has pretended to lead over the past 35 years. He goes on stage to criticise the recent spate of job dismissals, yet his cabinet ministers are actually allowing parastatals they control to add to the carnage; and the industry minister has the impudence to state, publicly, that the sackings are good for companies!
Finally, amendments will be put before Parliament this week but after 20,000 horses have bolted. Only they didn’t exactly bolt; forced out and pushed over the cliff more to the point.
And the ‘sell-out’ brigade rubs its hands excitedly. The expectation, hope perhaps, is that the jobs carnage will lead to an insurrection on the wings of which the Sea Legend will be carried to State House. What fools!
Why would anyone go to the streets to protest dismissal from a job that has not paid them a penny for 14 months?! Zimbabweans simply get on with their lives; despite the incompetent leadership whose idiocy is evident in banning importation of used clothes to protect a textile industry that no longer exists.
Zimbabweans have learnt to defy the two handiendes in ways that do not invite baton and truncheon charges to their back sides; they simply get on with their lives, however best they can.
Lastly, the Bone Collector had the cheek to accuse Zimbabweans of failing to protect good old Cecil the lion. Really, now? We should, as a riposte, charge him with failing to protect us from sanctions!
Happy Sunday roasts and or braais good Cdes and Friends.
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