We have already established that Bibles and water should not be sold, but holy-water…Jesus man, come on, you know it’s sea-water right? Or some water prayed for by some guy? I like the Catholics, they give it out by the vats and sprinkle you with it if you happen to visit their establishments when they are in a good mood (before giving you a tot for the hangover!).
And we need that tikoloshi-vanquishing stuff in Africa because of all the ‘African WI-FI’ capabilities of mother-in-laws and satellite-dish-hating neighbours. Supply and demand economics huh? According to my Ghanaian connect, news is that there is also a new brand of religion-aids: prayer lipstick…The hashtag just went from #TIA to #WTF!
And how much does God make from all these endorsement deals? Somebody should call a lawyer…oh wait!
As a people we often lose sight of what’s important; building relationships with our neighbours and those in our community. Instead we allow ourselves to be used by politicians to fight their wars only to be abandoned after we have outlived our usefulness.
Zanu (PF) has a history for screwing people over.
In recent times we have seen victims of the faction wars apologising to the nation for their many wrongs. First was the former VP Joice Mujuru, who is now suddenly a champion for democracy. Temba Mliswa, well known for corruption and torture in Hurungwe is another case in point. I was most shocked to see prominent torturer and initiator of violence, Jim Kunaka, who led the Chipangano militia in Mbare, issuing an apology on the South African news station, ANN7.
I am a sceptical about these apologies. I wonder, though, if those who lost their loved ones in the violence of 2008 are ready to forgive. After all, ‘sorry’ does not have the power to revive the dead. An apology does not delete the memory of burnt backsides.
If Sanii Makalima and his friends can influence the whole country to rally behind the Warriors with their song ‘Go Warriors’ even after so many disappointments, then a song for the Mighty Warriors can yield the same effect. I’m sure I am not the only one who doesn’t want a scenario where the Olympic Committee will tell us that Rudo Neshamba, the lady who scored the winning goal against Cameroon, will not be going to Brazil because she doesn’t have a passport! We need to prepare for Rio De Janeiro to avoid having to ship the ladies to Brazil after realizing that the Munorurama Coach that once took the Warriors to Malawi does not go to Brazil.
Yes, not everybody can vote during the ZIFA elections, but we can surely remind those responsible for running football in the country that they are in the office to deliver. A song will remind them that, come August 2016, we are looking forward to be sitting on the terraces cheering the girls on in Rio De Janeiro; and those in power should not dare take that dream away from us. Brazil is a great nation and its every footballer’s dream to go there at least once in their lifetime.
As a result of these conflicts, I personally find myself in a place of contradictions.
I was raised in a Christian home and went to Catholic school where religion was our daily bread. Qualities such as humility, meekness, submission and subservience are values which were instilled to become part of my very being. If ever I intended to have a good marriage, these are values I was advised to stick to. Anything contrary to this would be against God’s will.
As I have grown, however, I have become more and more consumed by the desire to be heard, to make an impact and to fight oppression and gender inequality. ‘Silent’ and ‘submissive’ are two words that do not quite describe me.
And yet, I still love the Lord.
It sounds discordant to identify myself as a Christian feminist. But that is what I am.
And yet, a lot of ways in which women are portrayed in the Bible upset me. Women never quite seem to have any autonomy and they appear to be more of ‘supporting acts’ in a man’s world. For one, no woman wrote any of the 66 books in the Bible. Did God speak to men alone?
In the first six months of this year, 1,418 sons and daughters of Zimbabwe have returned home from South Africa inside lidded caskets. Many of them met a violent end. In June alone, the bodies of 320 Zimbabweans returned through the Beitbridge border post. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Despite the African conviction of wanting to be ‘reunited in death with the soil where one’s umbilical cord is buried,’ some are interred in foreign lands.
For some families, the high cost of transporting a corpse precludes sentimentality – it costs between R10,000 and R23,000. For many migrants, the journey to Mzansi is not without risk; thieves, rapists and human traffickers lie in wait. To be a black foreigner in South Africa is like walking around with a bulls’ eye painted on one’s back.
In 2010, there were rumours that the President’s daughter, Bona, was molested at a party in Singapore. If Bona were at a local university, there is no way any man harasses her, even if she went about un-chaperoned. Even Zanele, who was found dead in her bathroom, with a gash on her head, would probably have been safer back home.
The opposition MDCT party has threatened to roll out a series of mass protests to force the ZANU PF government to urgently address the worsening economic situation. This is despite police threats to crush the demonstrations.
MDC T national spokesperson Obert Gutu said that the party’s organizing department and youth wing were seized with logistical arrangements. “…in a few weeks you will see something on the ground” he said.
The MDC T has been threatening mass demonstrations over bad economic conditions, but nothing has materialized so far.
Cast your vote and let us know: ‘Do you think protests work as a form of political expression in Zimbabwe?’
With no running water, only the few with boreholes in their yards in the low density suburbs had readily available options. The masses in the ghetto explored their hidden engineering skills to identify potential spots for clean and safe water without disrupting the councils’ pipes or drainage system.
Without any qualifications in land surveying or modern equipment to help them, my brothers in the ghetto made a living from digging wells to provide everyone with the precious liquid. Most of these wells have stood the test of time, as they still serve their purpose even beyond the crisis period.
2008 messed me up man, it messed up my head worse than a bad weave. I was a bl**dy trillionaire (yes, I was so rich I – along with every tom dick and even Jane- earned a name that’s not in your dictionary) with nothing to buy.
Things were so hectic that I had to strangle my wife and dogs. Yes, yes, the children too. They don’t really matter because they were not yet people anyhow, almost though. The dogs I strangled out of pity. It’s not the life without my leftovers in the form of bones that I chose for them, and you could hear them whimper, yelp in shame, begging me to end their lives whenever they smelt the fart of cabbage.
Who then is to stay and develop what we grew up around? Definitely not our urban councils who have evidently failed already.
Looking at it, if anyone who has come from the hood and is proud of their area enough to develop them, our ghettos will not be in the sorry state they are.
How can we stand and watch while all the recreational facilities like community centres and swimming pools have been turned into places where residents go in to dump their waste, when council vehicles do not pitch to collect them?
I feel it is the duty of us as residents, as much as it is for the councils, to make our areas habitable.