As the masses languish in abject poverty induced by state-sponsored corruption and patronage, Her Royal Swagness, Pokello Nare, declared herself Queen.
Not of hearts, nor of social justice and democracy, but of Dior, Dubai stopovers, and Lake Como sunsets.
Marie Antoinette, the last French queen, once whispered, “let them eat cake” when the peasants had no bread.
Pokello, dressed in a US$2,200 Louis Vuitton pajama set that costs more than the average Zimbabwean’s yearly salary, said: “let them drink champagne”— preferably hers, poured from a magnum bottle cascading like Victoria Falls into a tower of glasses.
Of course, the irony was not lost on her loyal Instagram subjects who celebrated her right to enjoy their taxes.
“Queen of Swagger, mazuva ano hatina bread but at least tine data rekukuitai cheer,” one follower typed furiously, pausing only to recharge their Econet bundle.
At Lake Como, Italy, her entourage of twelve, each perfumed like Oprah’s Christmas giveaways, marched behind her in humble brown dresses, like biblical maidens shielding the Ark of designer covenants.
Hotels charged US$1,200 a night.
Bags cost US$4,700, pyjamas were worth US$2,200.
Well, the only thing missing was a receipt from ZESA proving that the Queen knows how a prepaid meter feels.
Back home, life expectancy limps below 40, maternal mortality breaks records, and water is a daily lottery.
However, priorities are priorities: Zimbabwe has finally answered the eternal riddle—safe borehole water for all, or champagne waterfalls for a few?
Case closed, and please do pass the rosé.
Her jungle king, Emmerson Junior, reportedly frowns in private.
But who could resist a Queen who spends like diamonds grow on trees in Marange?
She is the national emblem of tenderprenuers hip and patrimonialism evidenced by luxury shoes, nail polish, and champagne sold online with the invisible capital of a nation’s mineral wealth.
True Patriots, as for the starving Zimbabweans they are consoled with a gospel of scarcity: If the Queen shines, we all shine through her Instagram filter.
In Genoa, Italian newspapers marvelled at the “glamour dozen” splashing euros in boutiques, while Zimbabwean hospitals ran out of bandages and painkillers.
Locals loved her, while the opposition fumed.
And the ruling party cringed.
But Pokello sipped her cocktail in Portofino and declared the shops “well stocked.”
Well, so is our beloved Zimbabwe with lithium, platinum, gold, and poverty.
Back home, the writing is on the wall, painted in Louis Vuitton monogram: Change is forbidden.
Cake is imported and of of course champagne
is for the chosen few elites.
The rest must queue, complain in whispers, and clap on Wi-Fi.
In the land of suffering civil servants and jet-setting queens, the moral is quite simple: “Eat sadness, drink sorrow, but always toast to the Queen.”
