Long before Big Brother UK, Big Brother Africa, Big Brother here and Big Bother there ever graced (or disgraced…either one applies) our television screens with a revolutionary reality TV concept, Big Brother was in actual fact created in 1949. He (Big Brother of course) was conceived when Eric Arthur Blair (GEORGE ORWELL) had a fling with his typewriter and gave birth to a beautiful piece of literature christened ‘Nineteen Eighty Four’.

Big Brother depicted in the novel has eerily similar traits with a modern day dictator. Orwell’s Big Brother controlled every aspect of one’s life especially of members of ‘the Party’. He rose to power through a coup (called ‘the Revolution’) and assassinated all his comrades who also had claim to the throne. He pretty much ignored those who were not members of the Party (‘the proles’) who also happened to constitute the greater majority of his country’s population. Big Brother saw everything, listened to everything and controlled every aspect of member’s life. All crimes were punishable by death and even the word “crime” was controlled. Love, free speech, clothes other than blue overalls and even orgasms were punishable by hanging in the public square as entertainment for kids.

It has long been speculated that Orwell’s portrayal of his Big Brother was heavily borrowed from Adolf Hitler’s persona. Mugabe obviously resembles the Big Brother in George Orwells novel as much as he compares well with the modern day Big Brother and the author of Mein Kempf.

Mein Kempf and Mugabe….I will review that soon.



It was with absolute shock and disdain that I learnt that wild animals are being exported to China from Zimbabwe’s Hwange National Park if the report in The Times is to be believed. A combination of the dependability of the esteemed newspaper and the plausibility of the portrayal of the Zimbabwean ruling elite as a cabal of selfish and myopic individuals persuades me to unreservedly believe the story in the greater chunk of its entirety. It is reported that 35 elephant calves, 8 lions, 12 hyenas and 1 giraffe were ferried from the named Zimbabwe game reserve to Chimelong Safari Park in China’s Guangzhou province. The author of the article rightly inferred that this monumental exodus was inspired by the murky rationale of involvement in ivory farming by the first family to pay for military uniforms in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Grace Mugabe’s name has been specifically identified as the chief architect of this deal. This alone raises a lot of questions but I will not bother to expand the intricacies of the demerits of the deal. It is on record that Grace Mugabe is corrupt and downright dumb. Paying a debt to the DRC through the sale of a nation’s heritage for personal aggrandizement is the hallmark of the first family’s grandiosity and nearsightedness. Which debt are they paying for? Why not sell their own cattle and oranges to pay for their obviously personal debt?

The fact that a nation’s wildlife belongs to the people and not to the state is non-existent in their consciousness. If these animals belong in China then why does the country not have their own elephants, lions, hyenas and giraffes.  Both Darwin and God agree that animals are where they are because that is where they are supposed to be. Who then is Grace Mugabe to change these fundamental laws of nature?

The argument of leaving nature alone supersedes any justification for transportation of wild animals from any part of the world’s remaining ideal wildlife to a human-made conclave. The only time that has been sanctioned was millennia ago when Noah offered refuge to all the animals on earth in his ark. Since then nature has not sanctioned such a radical move so why are people defying the laws of nature? Those wild animals belong in the Zimbabwe wild. Who has the authority to act contrary to these basic biological laws? Only the selfish and the stupid. Enough said; the writing is on the wall.




Many among my readers do not even know WHAT a ‘Zimbabwean’ is let alone know WHO a ‘Zimbabwean’ is. The name denotes a nationality or citizenship of a little teapot-shaped country in the lower parts of the continent with the cursed name of ‘Africa’. Sometime in the recent past I swallowed a bitter truth that research consistently showed that more than 30% of the American pupils did not know that Africa was not a country but a continent. For the few learned ones of this broad group who dwell in the shrines of the  learned ones (the world of books) the country of Zimbabwe can at least be remembered as the last country in the alphabetical order of all demographic groups in the entire world who brave it to call themselves ‘nations’.

All accounts and analyses point to the mug-shot of a country with a dictatorial leader who pisses over the whole nation just as the despot kings of old massacred the peasantry in the dark ages. Without going into the economics, a conclusion can be reached through a transparent audit of the dismal state of the economy to the effect that the country is a failed state run by imbeciles and war-mongers who have total and demonic ignorance of how a nation is supposed to be run.The people in the high offices always turn up to work marveled by the ‘LUCK’ of having been appointed by the great leader himself into a leather-laden office in the nominal cabinet. The long and short of it is that Zimbabwe is a country on the continent called Africa in the Southern hemisphere of the planet called Earth. This particular country is led by an imperial king called Bob just as North Korea have their ‘self-omnipresent’ king called Kim. Mugabe has made a cesspit of the nation and the country continues to wither on in the harsh climate of Antarctic-cold politics that defy even the summer solstice of the little Sub-Saharan nation.

Zimbabweans are a peaceful (at worst cowardly) group of dark-colored individuals who know where they came from but do not care where they are going. History itself has betrayed them into thinking that war will always be the most loyal remembrance of their existence. Many died fighting for a black Commander-in-Chief but an equal number if not more of the survivors have lived to ask the infinite question of WHY that has continually been banished from all pursuits of an individual’s mind to state the obvious.Zimbabwe does not have a President, nay it has an absolute monarch called THE Mugabes. Every intellectual who is worth his word will testify to the fact that in the midst of all the chaos in the country a consistent pattern of conferring power from the king to the queen regardless of due inheritance of the subordinates (Mnangagwa has no blood-relational links to the Mugabe dynasty making him an outsider) the name Mugabe will forever prevail. The ‘queen’ said so herself a the national shrine for deceased heroes conveniently called the National Heroes Acre. She said, “Mugabe will continue to rule even from his grave.” At face value this might be taken to mean that Grace is a delusional schizophrenic harlot who wants to gain personal capital over the king himself just like the biblical harlot Jezebel.

It is absolutely impossible for one to express an innocent view of a typical family Christmas holiday without first venting their anger on why they got themselves in this hell-hoe in the first place. The president is always sound asleep everywhere he goes, his minions tear at each other like savages even in his presence, his illiterate wife continues to bitch around with an attitude of a Hollywood diva, all his new friends in his own country are his grandchildren and still millions wonder why their Christmas seems to be more of a burden than a celebration in comparison to the stories they are told of life on the other side by their fortunate relatives who  ‘made it out’. Life on the other side is largely devoid of common-place nuisances such as power cuts, water disconnection, inaccessibility to one’s own money, fear of seeing a reflector vest of any kind and other nuances that pretty much everyone else take for granted – hence being called ‘human rights’.

In earnest truth Christmas for a Zimbabweans depends on where you spend it. Christmas for Zimbabweans abroad is definitely a MERRY CHRISTMAS indeed but Christmas IN Zimbabwe is just another Christmas whose appointed time on the Roman calendar happens to fall on the 25th of December.






My daughter, the apple of my eye, listen to your father. I know you can neither read nor can you understand what all the hullabaloo is all about. Today you have turned 2 years of age; meaning the only number you know is two (don’t you start lying to me baby girl I know the number 2 is your favorite; your kindergarten teacher  told me so). Never hide anything from me, I am always walking behind you even when you think I am not there. Remember how I carry you on my shoulders and you think you’re seeing farther than I can? Well you were right most of the time but you never stopped to consider than you might see your destination but I know how to get there. While your eyes are only looking up at the horizon my eyes are looking down, finding the path you should take to get there. You will always have a vision but my job is showing you how to get there.

In the midst of your confusion today, which has made you cry more than you have laughed, know that you gave me the ultimate Christmas gift. You made me smile. When you opened all those gifts I got for you, your smile (just your smile) filled me with unspeakable joy. A confession: I knew I became a father when I realized that I am happier (if not the happiest) when I sacrifice my own happiness for the sake of your happiness. Never forget that. I will always throw away my happiness for your sake. Instead of buying a six-pack of beer I will get you a teddy bear. When I go shopping for shoes, I will always look for your shoes first. When I spend the entire day at work hungry I will always save that little money I have to buy candy for you. I will always trade my own happiness for your smile. I hope than this alone will justify my claim of the esteemed title of “father” in all your life.

Your father adores and loves you my love. I will always sell my happiness for your sake and I will always carry you on my shoulders when you get tired. That to me sounds like a father whose adoration for his daughter defies all logic…what more can I say?



That slimy pulp of tissue between your ears cannot function without functioning. The mind was meant to be used; when it stops working you lose your humanity. Note my graciousness to Science by stipulating the non-functionality of the brain as the loss of one’s humanity and not the end of one’s life. Reference is made to the thousands of patients on ventilator machines whose brains have thrown in the towel.

It is such a pity that the majority of this species voluntarily shut down their super chip. They have chosen to be sparkling tube gazers (couch potatoes), assassins of anything with more than two full stops and religious zealots who worship Time. Ever since our ancestors invented learning words have become the most lethal weapons in human existence. The more words one knows the more power they possess (thus explaining the power women have).

An idle mind, a silent mind, creates a vacuum in which unfiltered thoughts, ideas, emotions, beliefs and such invade docile nerve cell circuits. A lot of Science has been published on the subject and almost every blog in existence has had a say on the value of reading. Even Spiritualists bow down to the power of words; The Bible, The Quran, and other sacred texts. If the evidence is so overwhelming why do people continue to choose to destroy themselves? Have their minds been taken over by “neuronal viruses” in the form of thought insertion and withdrawal as in a classical Schizophrenic patient? Psychotic perhaps? What if everyone is mad expect for those who read? Open a book, read and save your humanity.


While cleaning my bookshelves I came across an old little book with the boring title, “Prague Spring: A report on Czechoslovakia 1968” written by an obscure historian by the name of Dr Zbynek Anthony Bohuslav Zeman. I was genuinely taken aback by the parallels in the Czechoslovak uprising and our own Zimbabwean situation. I was inspired by the tenacity of the intellectuals in that communist country in fighting against their oppressive and redundant regime. Writers, university students, lawyers, doctors and professors of every imaginable field outwitted the Novotny regime all the way to General Svoboda’s regime until they prevailed over the greater majority of injustices imposed on them. Naturally I began wondering why Zimbabwe’s intellectuals have not and are not doing the same. Of course the MDC conceived the struggle in 1999 (remember the MDC was a coalition of intellectuals mainly lawyers) but that struggle has since dissipated into an uncoordinated attempt at shelving a colossal regime deeply entrenched in all spheres of power. I believe there is still room for a ‘Zimbabwe Spring’ led by the intellectuals in our middle-aged nation. Fortunately for us the greater majority of citizens in the peripheries of the centers of power (Harare, Bulawayo, Gweru, Mutare, Masvingo) are full-fledged intellectuals in their own right by virtue of them being unemployed University graduates. All we need is a way to unify and harness that fierce intellectual fire power. Where there is a will there is a way.


The Scholars (William Butler Yeats – 1917)

Bald heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love’s despair
To flatter beauty’s ignorant ear.

All shuffle there; all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbor knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Catullus walk that way?


Those moments when you look over your shoulder and see those crossroads where you took the wrong turn. That sordid feeling of rue that rouses you from amity; pacific bliss that only sleep can bestow. Agony becomes your only friend. When the morning light pierces your very soul; a soul ravaged by despair. That perfect one you lost by losing grip of the reality that deluded your destiny. That one person you forgot to cherish. When the passage of the day tyrannizes that elusive emotional gem the demented call ‘happiness’. Only silence bears witness of your pangs. When rhetoric of ‘be positive’ evokes tinnitus; a shrill that only translates to a sweet melody to the elect – those annoying narcissists who had the good fortune of taking the right turn. Some zealot coined this refutable ‘truth’ – life is all about the choices that we make. What a repertoire of nonsense. Life is an attempt at rectifying the choices imposed on us by fate. What could have been can never be. Penitence. Penitence. Penitence.


Things are not looking too good in the ZANU-PF camp. Their leader continues to be subdued by the burden of the dour judge called TIME as evidenced by his prolonged naps and shortening speeches. As Zimbabweans we were used to the flurry that accompanied the demagogue’s state of the nation address. It used to be that chilling day when all radio stations and ZBCtv would resonate with the orator’s voice, a man whose syntax and articulation mesmerized both friends and foes. We were treated to a minimum of 2 hours of the Mugabe show. Apparently those days are gone; this year we were given sour grapes; a 23 minute speech that lacked the inspiration and wit of the once great man. It is fast becoming a public secret that our president is a tired man. I have always said I feel pity for the man. He really needs a rest.

As if that was not enough a bald (not bold as he wants to call himself) minister who has no clue how to do his job gives us an oration whose quality was in the regimen of the ramblings of the local tavern drunkard. Chinamasa needs to get off the bottle.

ZANU-PF is in serious trouble. Their weaknesses (which they used to cover very well) are getting exposed like a perfectly timed flow of dominoes. Parliament is smelling really bad; too many old hacks sleeping and farting.

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