By Cde Honest Vhura Hombe
Our beloved leader Emmerson Mnangagwa loves to call himself a listening President.
Indeed, he listens — but mostly to cartels, cronies, and church prophets who promise him a third term, not to the exhausted teachers, nurses, and rest of the civil servants keeping Zimbabwe’s broken system alive.
Each time war veteran-cum-social media activist Blessed Geza whispers the word “protest,” State House suddenly discovers a miracle allowance for civil servants.
This time, it’s the so-called Special Presidential Bonus — a fleeting US$150 token, paid only for two months.
It’s not a wage restoration; it’s hush money with a national emblem.
The pattern is now routine.
Geza calls for action, Mnangagwa releases crumbs.
The same way he once gifted riot police US$50 each for “maintaining order” while his allies were accused of looting millions in public funds.
In Harare’s corridors of power, silence is always more expensive than truth.
Civil servants, once proud professionals, have been reduced to beggars thanking the chef for the crumbs that fall from his table.
The Amalgamated Rural Teachers Union of Zimbabwe (ARTUZ) recently dismissed the so-called bonus as “a mockery,” pointing out that their salaries have never been restored to the pre-2018 level of US$540.
It’s like being handed a drop of water by the same man who drained the well.
Meanwhile, Mnangagwa’s loyalists dine on state-funded banquets. Central Committee members drive new vehicles.
ZANU PF central committee elites receive US$100,000 “appreciation packages” for endorsing the inevitable.
Others win tenders, farms, or gold claims for nothing more than chanting 2030 is achievable! louder than their neighbours.
The irony writes itself: a teacher with 30 years of service earns less in two months than what a bootlicker gets for a single photograph with the President.
True Patriots the message is brutally clear — in the Republic of Ruka Chivende, loyalty pays more than labour.
Of course, this is all dressed in the language of “economic recovery.”
The same government that claims it cannot afford meaningful pay rises somehow finds endless cash for perks, motorcades, and “listening sessions” at luxury resorts.
Our state has mastered the art of political seduction — give just enough to stop rebellion, never enough to end poverty.
Mnangagwa’s generosity always comes with a stopwatch.
It expires the moment the protests fade or the hashtags go quiet.
When Geza retreats, so does the bonus.
The crumbs are swept back into the palace pantry, and the cycle of silence begins anew.
Yes, the President listens. But not to the cries of the underpaid.
His ears are tuned to praise singers, fuel barons, and tenderpreneurs whose loyalty keeps him safe from the sound of real anger.
For civil servants, the lesson is simple: unless you dance, you don’t dine.
As the elders say, “Mbudzi inodya payakasungirirwa” — the goat feeds where it’s tied.
In Mnangagwa’s Zimbabwe, those tied nearest the throne eat first.
