Greetings, my fellow Zimbabweans. It’s yours truly, Baba Bona, Zimbabwe’s life President, speaking once again from the comfort of my grave — a grave now better maintained than your hospitals.
From beneath the soil, I witnessed the grand spectacle that was the Zimbabwe International Twerk Fair — sorry, Trade Fair — where ministries twerk while citizens beg for painkillers they’ll never get.
Let me confess, my dear comrades: yes, during my days I too sowed seeds of patronage, corruption, and decay. I did.
I built the house, but by God, Ruka Chivende has renovated it into a palace of pure rot. I corrupted, yes, but he has industrialized it.
True to the Second Republic’s spirit, buttocks have now become an export commodity. The Young Women for ED, led by the indomitable Minister of ICT, shook their wares beside official stands, giving new meaning to “investment promotion.”
One can now major in Twerking and Buttockonomics under the New Dispensation.
Meanwhile, Starlink users were busy paying the only “regulatory tax” in Africa — because nothing says economic progress like taxing satellites while ministries shake it for the cameras.
Forget setting up real ground stations or reducing data latency — the real priority is making the country’s bandwidth as unstable as its governance.
As I peered across the fairgrounds, my spirit tried — and failed — to locate Chigananda Wicknell Chivayo’s companies.
Not even a fly with a branded Intratrek T-shirt. Intratrek Zimbabwe, paid millions for a solar farm that generates less electricity than a dead flashlight, stayed hidden.
Ren-Form CC, masters of inflating invoices, were nowhere.
IMC Technologies, those champions of funding girlfriends instead of innovation, didn’t even produce a flyer.
But perhaps it’s for the best. Why parade theft before international guests?
Some crimes are better enjoyed in private.
Back among the living, Zimbabwe’s hospitals continue their medieval death spiral.
At Parirenyatwa, corpses lie tagged with shoelace cardboard, dignity long since expired.
The flagship psychiatric hospital remains closed, while madness twerks at official events.
And let us not forget the heartbreaking death of Tatenda Pinjisi — dying in agony at Sally Mugabe Hospital, begging for painkillers that didn’t exist, while leaders celebrated “Vision 2030” over champagne and meat platters.
Truly, Zimbabwe is a nation where buttocks are prioritized over broken bones, and dying citizens are given cardboard sympathy — if that.
The end, comrades, is no longer coming. It has already arrived.
And some of you, God bless you, are already six feet under — you just don’t know it yet.
Till next time, Asante Sana.
