By Patriot Sunungura
Zimbabwe’s already bewildering football politics, seems under siege from Profit Walter Magaya, self-proclaimed miracle worker, Aguma savior, and the only man who can turn water into profit.
Magaya’s latest spiritual exploits is to challenge the High Court to turn his UNISA National Diploma into an Ordinary Level certificate.
Well, for a man who has allegedly cured AIDS, provided miracles in exchange for offerings, and blessed the faithful with cards for good fortune, it seems the biggest miracle he needs now is bypassing ZIFA’s requirement for an Ordinary Level certificate to run for president of the country’s football federation.
Apparently, the agony of academic requirements is one mountain even Profit Magaya can’t move.
You’d think that curing diseases and performing spiritual feats would be enough to run the national football association.
But no, Magaya’s quest to helm ZIFA must include the humble requirement of an O-Level certificate, a minor technicality, one would think, in a nation where every politician’s educational background is as elusive as the Zimbabwean dollar’s value.
Yet, here we are, watching Magaya take the matter to the High Court in a bid to turn his diploma into what he sincerely believes should suffice: a divine certificate that would grant him the power to lead Zimbabwe’s football through the same miracle-working hands he’s used to bless hundreds of wallets and bank accounts.
In the world of Zimbabwean politics, it’s not all that surprising, really.
Just last year, we were graced with the infamous saga of Gift Banda, the former Mayor of Bulawayo, who proudly presented a 1986 ZIMSEC Ordinary Level certificate as proof of his educational prowess,except that the ZIMSEC exam board didn’t even exist until 1994.
Banda was either a time traveler or a man ahead of his time, but either way, he didn’t pass the common-sense test.
Honestly why should we bother with real academic records when you have the gift of magic, or at least a deep ability to suspend disbelief?
Magaya’s followers, who have grown accustomed to his miraculous interventions, must be asking themselves:
“Why on earth would the Profit, who has delivered us from everything from financial ruin to bad luck—be so fixated on a football presidency.”
Shouldn’t he be preparing his sermons for the next Sunday service, or perhaps launching his next miracle drink, instead of trying to manage a soccer ball?
The answer, of course, is simple, money sweet money!
As any seasoned preacher knows, when the tithes aren’t flowing as fast as they used to, it’s time to branch out.
Football could be the next big revenue stream, and Magaya—ever the opportunist—sees this as a chance to expand his portfolio of miracles to include, perhaps, “miracle goal scorers” and “divine transfers.”
Honestly who wouldn’t want to watch Magaya in divine state guide a striker’s boot or bless a team with endless sponsorship deals?
Surely, no one else could deliver the goods like Profit Magaya.
We’re left wondering if there’s a secret clause in his divine football manifesto that says he’ll save Zimbabwean football the same way he’s saved countless wallets by converting debts into profits and creating new opportunities for all who believe in him.
One thing’s for sure, his followers are likely praying for a miracle to smooth out the rough edges of this O-Level debacle.
But just in case the High Court isn’t feeling the spirit, Magaya could always ask for a special dispensation:
Perhaps a PhD in football management, granted through divine fiat, would be the next logical step.
After all, who needs a lowly O-Level when you’ve got a degree in the “miracle economy” and can turn anything, including national football governance, into a profitable venture?
So, as we wait for the judgment, one has to ask:
What is Zimbabwe’s football future really about?
A couple of diplomas? A few official certificates?
Or is it, perhaps, about who can work the biggest miracles—and cash in on the tithe in the game of politics?
Stay tuned, for this show is only just beginning.
