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

Yes, I’m back. 

Not because I miss your praise-songs or the scent of imported suits, but because you people—living and barely managing—need a history lesson from someone who once ruled like a demi-god with the humility of a peacock.

Let me begin by confessing, I too once walked the earth as a revered demi-god. 

My feet never touched potholes, and yes, I occasionally mistook national assets for personal Christmas gifts. 

But hear me well—I at least pursued populist policies. 

I gave you cheap water and electricity, even though—admittedly—most of it came with more load shedding than power. 

That was corruption with flair, comrades. 

Not this current amateur theatre of daylight looting you now endure.

Let’s talk Trabablas. 

I knew Emmerson loved his liberation credentials, but I never thought he’d rename infrastructure after his war nickname. 

What next, is it the finance minister Mthuli Ncube renaming the Reserve Bank after his calculator? 

The US$114 million spent on that interchange could have rebuilt the National Railways, fixed the potholes from Beitbridge to Binga, or at least installed proper toilets at parliament. 

But no—we had “unexpected relocation costs.” 

Apparently, some residents needed to be paid to move their dreams and broken furniture.

Ncube claims it was money “well spent.” 

Of course he would. 

To him, an Excel spreadsheet is more real than suffering. 

He blended loans, IMF rights, and whatever loose change he found under the presidential couch. 

We’ve now got 12 bridges—and not a single one leads to accountability.

In the midst of this new found patronage, you’ve got prepaid water meters rolling out like a Netflix series nobody asked for. 

Thirsty citizens, already accustomed to dry taps and burst sewage pipes, must now pay upfront for water that may or may not come—like a prophecy from a lying Pentecostal pastor.

They awarded the contract without a tender. 

One firm belongs to a ZANU PF MP Farai Jere.

zOf course it does. In Zimbabwe, you don’t quench the nation’s thirst—you hydrate your comrades’ pockets.

And now, even praise-singers are losing faith. Poor Cucsman has unplugged his mic and repented like Saul on the road to Borrowdale. 

He sang for Nelson Chamisa like a biblical bard, only to realise the gods on both sides wear the same designer arrogance.

He dared to question blind loyalty—and got crucified by both sides. 

Welcome to Zimbabwe, where logic is treason, and objectivity is betrayal.

What do we have now?


Prepaid water.


Overpriced bridges.


An opposition still fasting for a divine strategy.
And a ruling party that thinks nation-building is a slogan competition.

I see all this from the great beyond and ask myself: were we not better off with empty taps that cost nothing, than with taps that bill us before even leaking?

Comrades, at this rate, the only thing left to privatise is the suffering itself.

Till next time, Asante Sana.