Fellow countrymen, ZANU PF elites and compatriots, it’s that time I again rise from the grave to share my unparalleled political wisdom and insight.

Happy New Year to you all, my people, and my warmest greetings from six feet below where the air is fresher than Harare in January and the gossip is hotter than Finance Minister Mthuli Ncube’s 15 % Digital Services Withholding Tax.

Yes, even death has sharpened my political eyes.

My people what I see, is a a theatre of ambition, imposture, and absurdity that would make my younger self nod… then facepalm.

Let us begin with a symphony of greed and whispered plots. 

The leaked audio of Temba Mliswa and Kudakwashe Tagwirei, now echoing through Zimbabwe’s news feeds, is a masterclass in what I called “transactional politics.”

Ah, how sweetly familiar — a politician demanding payment for loyalty, a businessman plotting to supplant a sitting president, and ministers being shuffled not for competence, but for ignoring the subtle nudges of shadow financiers.

I remember when power was not about kickbacks and recordings; it was about presence, patience, and occasionally, paranoia that one might stumble over one’s own hubris.

Today, power is a marketplace. 

Endorsements have price tags. 

Allegiances are commodities. 

Justice is now a distant memory. 

From my grave, I whisper that a nation ruled by transactional loyalty is a nation forever standing in line for its own betrayal.

My people, across the oceans, the United States decided that Zimbabweans must now pay up to US$15,000 in visa bonds, refundable if they survive the bureaucracy and remain in line with the law of the land they wish to enter.

President Mnangagwa’s tariff cuts, meant to charm Uncle Sam, were ignored. 

Like the policies of the living, foreign powers apply their own logic — often cruel, always arbitrary.

From my vantage, this is the modern dance of power that a country attempts diplomacy while the world calibrates punishment and reward with the caprice of a lottery machine.

My people, the absurdity does not stop there. 

We have now arrived at perhaps the most delicious lesson of all which is “authenticity.”

Enter IShowSpeed, an American internet whirlwind, armed with a camera and patience for nothing but truth. 

He did not come for staged parties, VIP lounges, or nightclubs dressed like Atlanta on a budget. 

No, he came to see Zimbabwe.

And what did he find? Amid the gloss, the makeup, and the overproduced spectacles, one young woman — Nyasha Chishiri — simply existed. 

No borrowed swagger, no imitation accent, no performance.

And then, like a lightning bolt, he said a word: “wakanaka.” Beautiful.

In that one syllable, the elites and clout chasers were exposed. 

Money cannot buy soul. 

Tactics cannot fabricate presence. 

The imitators, desperate to be seen, were invisible.

Here lies the lesson, my people that power, diplomacy, and social media spectacle are all transient. 

Authenticity is eternal. 

Those who lack it may be loud, flashy, and well-paid — but hollow inside.

Transactional politics may buy loyalty. 

Visa bonds may buy compliance. 

But neither can fabricate essence. 

A politician without principle is like a visa without a bond — a promise that will fail the moment scrutiny arrives.

From beyond the grave, I can declare it with certainty that the living in Zimbabwe are busy selling appearances, while the dead enjoy clarity. 

The living fear exposure; the dead know it cannot be escaped.

So, fellow countrymen, while Mliswa counts his coins, Tagwirei dreams of succession, and the diaspora scrambles to post bonds for a holiday in the West, remember this that the true power lies not in manipulation, not in wealth, and certainly not in staging life for an American internet celebrity. M

It lies in being real, in being present, in being wakanaka, beautiful in truth, in self, in unbought dignity.

Until next time, Asante Sana.