Ahoy, December in Zimbabwe!
A time for joy, festivities, and teachers voluntarily chaining themselves to the grindstone of ZIMSEC’s marking centers.
In what has become the nation’s annual tragicomedy, our esteemed educators march into the belly of bureaucratic absurdity, armed with red pens and the audacity to hope for payment.
Picture it, teachers trading their hard-earned holiday cheer for endless hours hunched over examination scripts in poorly lit rooms.
Why? Because the gods of ZIMSEC, masters of misery, demand tribute.
Forget quality time with family or even a half-decent Christmas meal; these brave souls have essays to grade and sanity to erode.
And what’s the reward for this festive servitude?
A promise.
Not cash, not cheer, just a vague assurance that a paycheck might land in their bank accounts sometime in the next calendar year, maybe.
So, why do teachers keep coming back?
Simple, desperation!
The Zimbabwean economy has turned even the most principled educators into participants in this dystopian ritual.
With inflation turning salaries into Monopoly money and the cost of living climbing Mount Everest, many teachers now rely on ZIMSEC marking fees just to survive the festive season.
Forget “holiday spirit” this is holiday survival.
The strategy is genius in its cruelty, who needs Christmas lights when you have the relentless glare of fluorescent bulbs at the marking center?
Why bond with family when you can share trauma with fellow markers over lukewarm tea and tales of bureaucratic ineptitude?
ZIMSEC knows its audience. It plays the abusive partner with flair, dangling promises of timely payments and fair treatment, only to deliver heartache and IOUs.
Yet, like moths to a flame, the teachers return year after year, burned but hopeful.
The relationship is so toxic it could make a reality TV show blush.
Every year, ZIMSEC trains new examiners at their own expense, knowing full well that half will never show up for the marking marathon.
No worries, there’s always a fresh crop of optimists to fill the gap.
In a recent budget presentation, the government confirmed ZIMSEC is facing a massive shortfall.
Translation: “We’re not paying you anytime soon, teachers.”
“But don’t worry, there’s always Plan B: just ask teachers to work for free. Again.
It’s a cruel joke that’s long stopped being funny, if you are a teacher of course.
“At this point,” one weary teacher remarked, “I’m starting to think that ZIMSEC stands for ‘Zimbabwe’s Incompetent Masters of Slave Employment Council.’
No, not really.
But hey, at least the teachers can enjoy the spiritual growth that comes with suffering.
Maybe, just maybe, their resilience will be rewarded with a paycheck before the next marking season rolls around.
So here’s to the teachers of Zimbabwe, enduring the absurdity of ZIMSEC with grit, wit, and the faint hope that someday, someone in power will remember they exist.
Merry Christmas, teachers.
May your pens never run out of ink, and your patience never run out of hope.
