The Second Republic A Legacy of Gravy Trains and Empty Promises
Comrades, compatriots, and the occasionally literate, I rise once more from the grave not to haunt you, mind you, but to impart some unparalleled wisdom on the utter circus we call a country.
Yes, it’s that time again where you can hear the masses’ weekly cacophony of moans, groans, and grumbles, all of which I know deep down in the very marrow of my bones, are a direct result of my handiwork.
Oh yes, these problems? I claim them proudly.
Every pothole, every failed policy, every underhanded deal, it was all part of the grand design.
Even the things I let slide because my cronies, relatives, and party members were having their “fun” at the expense of the nation.
Still, my doing, but now, here they are the same folks standing before the world with that same smug look, promising “change,” while I watch from my eternal resting place, shaking my head.
Newsflash, my friends, they are the ones who need changing.
This week, surprise, surprise, my glorious era of errors has come rushing back like a flood of bad ideas and worse decisions.
My son and so-called successor, Ruka Chivende, recently appointed one Steven Mutamba as the new police boss, and let me tell you, he has wasted no time leaping onto the gravy train, taking on the role of the unofficial tax collector.
If you’ve been on the road this week, you’d think we’re back in the days of lawlessness, only now it’s dressed in a uniform and a badge.
Motorists are now forced to part with a few crisp dollars just to pass a roadblock.
A roadblock, mind you, that seems to be demanding paperwork more complicated than an international passport application in a developed country.
I mean, come on, we’re not even asking for a moon landing permit here.
But I digress.
The focus of our fine police force isn’t on safety or reducing crime.
Oh no, they’re far too busy making sure that every small business owner, vendor, and informal trader feels the full brunt of their open secret “taxation policy.”
One can only laugh, if you aren’t crying, that a country that’s supposed to be moving forward looks more like a war zone these days.
Meanwhile, the chaos doesn’t stop with the police.
No, it extends to the heart of the economy.
One minute, they’re arresting counterfeiters, the next they’re raiding grocery stores that are actually doing decent business, confiscating goods, and effectively destroying livelihoods.
And for the coup de grâce? Female police officers—God bless them—are stuffing confiscated clothing into plastic bags for personal use.
Who knew that law enforcement could double as a shopping spree?
But wait, there’s more! My dear successor Trabablas has officially set his sights on an extended reign of power.
The man is so enamored with the idea of holding office forever, his government is starting to sound like a poorly written party manifesto.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they’re planning to rebrand “dictator” as a full-time position.
All the while, the so-called “agenda for 2030” is looking more like an unfulfilled wish list than a concrete plan. And the real kicker.
Nelson Chamisa, that bright young star of Zimbabwean politics, is still too busy posting Bible verses and motivational quotes on Twitter.
Which, in all fairness, is great for morale but less so for policy.
Speaking of morale, have you seen the state of our education system?
It’s almost laughable, if only the future weren’t so bleak.
Schools have opened, but parents can’t afford fees. Students are stuck with outdated materials.
Teachers, who are so underpaid they’ve become walking protest signs, continue to wait for the Ministry of Primary and Secondary Education (MOPSE) to pull itself together.
But don’t worry, MOPSE is running around like a headless chicken, trying to figure out how to make things worse.
This is what you call a crisis, but don’t worry somehow, there’s still time for Trabablas to eye a third or fourth, or fifth term.
Because why let the country fall apart when you can keep your seat warm forever?
So, till next week, comrades, just remember: if you’re not despairing, you’re not paying attention.
Asante sana!
