Another Nightmare 

The sunlight is creeping in through the gaps between the curtains, it’s finally morning. I’m struggling to find the strength to open my eyes. My head is pounding like a stone is bouncing around off the walls inside of my skull. There’s a ringing in my ears. I lazily start yawning, and as I try to lift my hands the blankets feel so heavy. 

It’s like a tonne of bricks is on top of me. Not that a tonne of bricks is heavier than a tonne of some other thing else but I’m just saying so you get the picture. I try to wiggle my legs but to no avail. My whole body is numb, it feels like it’s not even there. My vision is still blurry, to me this is all getting a bit too scary. I start to panic, my heart starts pounding, my breath gets shorter. It’s as if I’m drowning under water. I can finally see as my vision has cleared. I’m on my bed but I’m not in my room. I’m staring at four walls but there isn’t a door. Tears rush to my eyes, my vision gets blurry as the floodgates open. I’m slowly loosing hope as if it’s literally being ripped out of my hands, I just want my life to stop. I try screaming out but no sound comes out. 

My voice is silent. I’ve lost it all, no more will to push on, no motivation to keep fighting, no belief in a greater plan or belief in the notion that everything happens for a reason. 

I think to myself let me just end it, let me just find a razor and slit my wrists or bang my head on the wall till I bleed. Then all of a sudden everything slows down, I feel weak, I’m fading. I feel as if my soul is about to leave my body. My mind is filled with regret. If I only had got one more moment to thank my mum and tell her I love her, if I had only confessed to the love of my life my true emotions, if only.. If only…

Then all of a sudden like I’ve received a jolt of high voltage I wake up screaming, out of breath and in a pool of my own sweat. It hadn’t been real, it had only been just a dream. 

I smile. 

I’m alive. 

I’m not dying. 

I’m still surviving. 

I’m filled with so much joy, but as quickly as the smile came to my face it leaves. For my head starts pounding. I think back to the dream and I’m fear stricken but then I remember last night. The countless alcoholic drinks I had. I came home late. My friends convinced me to smoke cigarettes. So it was just a hangover, I was getting sober. It was going to be one hell of a hangover. So although in pain I smiled again. Joyful thoughts ran throughout my brain, but happiness never lasts for long. 

For a while you can brighten your mood by listening to a song but the problems always come back to your thoughts, your limiting circumstances and all the things you did wrong. I remember the misery that is my life and a part of me wishes in the dream I hadn’t survived. It might not be literal but I feel like I’m somehow living this nightmare. Life can be so depressing. So many cliche statements telling us to be alive is a blessing but I honestly can’t stop stressing. Even at God sometimes I curse. How can I be in so much pain if for me you only want the best?.

I take a deep breath and tell myself in the next day my problems will still be there. Even though dreams like this will keep giving me a scare. I smile once more, it’s for the third time. Not that I’m keeping score. I keep smiling as I pull my blankets up to sleep some more hoping as I sleep my blessings will continue to grow. A nightmare within a nightmare but I still have time to smile.

-The End

On Saturday last weekend, this mentally disturbed guy who always hangs out by the shopping centre close to my house came to me to have a conversation. He’s the type of person everyone calls crazy, I’ve called him crazy a couple of times myself. He has in depth conversations and loud arguments with himself but last he weekend he came to me and said, “I know people call me mad and sometimes I’m lost in what I’m doing but I remember the important things.” 

He told me he sees me and my struggles and he said that God sees and knows everything, he has my needs in his mind. He told he was proud of the progress I was making and he said everything comes and passes in life. I’ve just had one of the worst weeks but when I thought of his words I’ve never felt more blessed in my life.

This conversation went on and it was all good until he congratulated me on getting married and said he knew I had a beautiful wife. I had to contain my laughter at this point because I’m not even engaged in fact I don’t even have a girlfriend but nevertheless I welcome the blessings of finally finding my soulmate.

I hope you all had a bleesed week and if it had it’s struggles, next week is a new beginning. We’ll rise and fight again. Power to you and your battles. Laughter heals the soul.


PS: Someone told me when you picture people in black and white, you remove all distractions and you picture their souls. I think we all look better when we’re laughing or we’re dancing.


Rule Of Law Chapter 4 

Genre: Suspense 

If you missed out on the last chapter you can find it here, Rule Of Law Chapter 3. I hope you enjoy the read.

As she gently lied down to sleep, Yeolanda couldn’t help but feel the walls of her room closing in. The space kept getting less and less and her lungs couldn’t expand. She tried closing her eyes but the moving walls were only replaced by bullet wounds, blood and broken glass. She tried crying but her eyes were struck by a drought. All that was possible was to try and imagine this nightmare wasn’t real. But no reprieve came and it remained the same until sunlight began creeping through the crevices of the curtains.

Her mind ran a mile a minute, it was all over and nowhere in the same moment. The only constant thought was that she had to call Vincent. Both to let him know she was alright to get him to help get to the bottom of things.

Footsteps could finally be heard, trickling water and the crackling of bacon on a hot pan. This was accompanied by a delicious aroma and Yeolanda suddenly realized she was really hungry. Conversation arose from nowhere and she got ready for breakfast. After finishing dressing she put on a false facade of contentment and headed out. Only eager to get her hands on a laptop and a phone.

“Good morning’s,” were exchanged in a rather dry atmosphere. People seemed to have just picked up where they had left things off at dinner the previous night. The clanking of cutlery echoed throughout the room. As she noticed her father finishing up, Yeolanda took her opportunity to speak.


“Yes darling what’s up?” He replied.

“I was wondering if I could get a phone to use and a laptop.”

“I’m sure your brothers can help you out but they are certain things you can’t do…” She wanted to retort but he cut her off. “No social media, no calling people not cleared by my security team and no contacting your business.”

She wanted to argue but she thought better, she was sure she could drain enough information from her brothers. The little remains of her breakfast, she devoured in a single bite and rose up just in time to walk with her brothers into the kitchen. They quietly put their plates in the sink and went into the lounge.

“Lemme get you that phone and my laptop,” Prince said as he went up the steps to the bedrooms. He was the oldest in the family and also the most quiet.

“Cool,” Yeolanda replied as she faced Dennis. The black sheep in the family. The one who had always needed his messes constantly cleaned up by their father. Everyone saw him as kind of a spoiled brat.

“So what the fuck is going on D?” Yeolanda asked when they were alone.

“Your father is a GANGSTA!” he said as he made common hip hop signs with his hands. Yeolanda kept staring with a stern face and he burst into laughter.

“Can you be serious for a second?”

“I’m as serious as a heart attack, just ask mum.”

The conversation died out as Prince tossed a phone to Yeolanda and handed her the laptop. She couldn’t risk her two brothers noticing her google searches or overhearing her conversation with Vincent so she got up to leave the room.

“A girl needs her privacy she shouted behind her!”

The leather chair squeaked as Brian adjusted his position and put his feet on top of his desk while interlacing his fingers behind his head. He was already picturing his inauguration ceremony and looking forward to having Mr President before his name. He had however grown tired of the continuous speeches, interviews and arguments with reporters. He was leading by an unassailable margin in the opinion polls and only the voting was left to seal the deal. He had one tiny problem however. A problem that could toss the presidency down the drain.

There was a loud knock on his door and he bellowed, “Come in.”

“Good morning sir,” said a young gentleman dressed in a bespoke suit. He was slightly out of breath and rivulets of sweat were forming on his forehead.

“Good morning Gregory.”

“Well sir they’re some new developments.”

“Go on then.”

“Five bodies were found in the burnt down house but… Yeolanda escaped our assassin at the law firm. So we don’t… or rather we can’t confirm the identities of the deceased.”

“If Chindera didn’t die then those files better have been destroyed.”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t disappoint me Greg, or else it’s you who I’ll be dealing with personally.”

“I won’t sir.”

“You better hear what talk within the region is saying, if he’s out of the country I want to know by middady!”

The morning papers ran with various headlines;

“Chindera family feared dead in monster blaze”

“Prominent family feared dead in fire”

“A blaze at sunset”

But there was a smart tabloid that ran with a different cover story. Vincent had been interviewed by this paper and had given as much detail as he could about the events. The shooting at Mutenda’s law offices was centre stage in its headline. In his attempts to deal with encountering Terrence’s carcass and seeing her friend kidnapped before his very eyes, Vincent was hit with the news that Yeolanda had perished in a house fire. To say the least he was distraught.

So as mid morning approached, Vincent was still in his pajamas sipping from a coffee mug full of whiskey. He was still trying to piece together what the hell had just happened and in that moment his phone rang. He identified the call to be coming from Namibia, which was weird because he didn’t know anyone there. But he still answered.


“Hello Vincent,” Yeolanda said and instantly Vincent recognized the voice, it was unmistakable. His heart just went still for a moment and he was flooded with emotions.

“YEOLANDAAA…” He shouted into the phone and near ear bursting volume…

Miles away at a cubicle in the same building as Brian Katsande, a young woman took off her headphones, stood up then shouted, “She’s alive, she just called Vincent.”

-The End

Rule Of Law Chapter 3

Genre: Suspense

If you missed the last chapter you can find it here Rule Of Law Chapter 2. I hope you enjoy the read.

There was just the sound of knives and forks clinking against the ceramic plates as the Chindera family ate their dinner. The atmosphere was tense and no one dared to speak because of the fear of where the conversation would shift towards. Yeolanda couldn’t stomach the meal, she kept staring around from her father to her mother and her two brothers. They all seemed absorbed with their food. A meal which was rice and beef stew and a side of potato salad.

Mr Chindera realized his plate would soon be empty and began eating slowly. He was dreading the conversation with his daughter and still couldn’t find a lie to hide behind. Luckily as if on cue the chef came in and offered everyone dessert, which everyone welcomed except Yeolanda. Yeolanda’s parents had not given her the burden of not knowing the family secrets and even as things had turned out they still would’ve made the same decision. Yet they were now at a crossroads, they couldn’t just brush off the attempt on her life.

Dessert was served and besides a few comments on how it looked the dining room remained void of conversation. It was chocolate cake, Yeolanda’s favourite and she couldn’t help it but dig in. Though even as she ate she was waiting for her moment to burst out with questions. If they didn’t have any she would tell them she was going to search for them on her own. As the flavour of the chocolate cake got infused with her tastebuds, nostalgia took over and she was overwhelmed with happy memories. But just a thought of the gun barrel she had looked into and Terrence’s lifeless body, she knew things were never going to be the same.

“I think everyone should get some sleep because we all definitely need the rest and we’ll talk tomorrow,” Mr Chindera finally said after the dessert plates had long been empty.

Yeolanda was ready to protest but out of the corner of her eye she noticed her father’s briefcase. It was right in the corner of the room balancing against the wall. She held her tongue as she hoped her father would leave the briefcase in the dining room. For ages now the code to his case had been her birthday, so she expected it to still be same. Slowly people began exchanging goodnight’s and leaving the room. Yeolanda said she wanted a cup of tea before bed and she left for the kitchen.

After an agonizing ten minutes of waiting she returned to the dining room with half a cup of tea. And in the corner there it still was, her fathers briefcase. Still in the same position it was at dinner. She listened for a moment and made sure no one was about then she went after the briefcase. She scrolled the dials on it to 1203 standing for her birthday the 12th of March. On pressing the buttons right next to the numbers the briefcase clicked open to her relief.

Inside there was just one folder without a title on it and a hard drive that read 800 gigabytes. She opened the folder and inside were several pictures. All with her father some unknown men in suits and one man she knew all too well from posters that adorned nearly all streets in Harare. He looked younger in the pictures but it definitely was Brian Katsande, the front runner in the race for Zimbabwe’s next president. But how on earth did her father know him? And why these pictures? They were all time and date stamped to be from 20 November 1997.

There was a lot she was missing and she was already driven to connect the dots. Underneath the last picture she found a transcript of her father and Brian Katsande’s conversation on the day;

“Brian Katsande: The payment was made as agreed.

Gregory Chindera: But I’m only getting involved once you’ve got your goods to the border.

Brian Katsande: Agreed but make sure the feather pillows don’t get wet it would put my profit in a ditch.

Gregory Chindera: Well you came to me because I don’t make mistakes 

Brian Katsande: I hope this is one of many lucrative transactions 

Gregory Chindera: One can only hope Brian.

Brian Katsande: Haha actions are better than hope.

Gregory Chindera: Well I’m going to do my part.

Brian Katsande: I’ll call when my guys confirm delivery.

Gregory Chindera: Until then Brian.”

It seemed innocent enough because after all his father did run a shipping company across various borders within the region. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if there was something deeper to this. She kept thinking she was failing to read between the lines. Then at that moment she heard footsteps coming towards the dining room. She quickly stuffed the pictures and the transcript back into the briefcase and closed it. Siting down and lifting her cup for a sip just in time as her father entered the room.

“You’re still up,” he said as he reached for his briefcase.

“Not for long.”

“Do try and get some rest Yoyo, you shouldn’t worry yourself with anything we’ll talk in the morning.”

“I will daddy, I’m just finishing my tea.”

“Alright goodnight darling.”

“Goodnight dad.”

And with that Mr Chindera was out of the room leaving Yeolanda to her thoughts and assumptions. She knew she had to dig into this and there was only one person she could call. Vincent. Only now did she start thinking of how distraught he must’ve been seeing her dragged away by unknown men. They had never dared to cross the line of friendship but there was always something more between them. Yet they managed to maintain their professional relationship.

She headed to her room to call him both for his sake and for her own. In this moment his arms began feeling like a safe place. She had been single for so long and right now was her loneliest moment. Was it wrong to crave love in these moments of fear and confusion?

-The End

Rule Of Law Chapter 2

Genre: Suspense

If you missed where the story began you can find it here Rule Of Law, I hope you enjoy the read.

A corolla in desperate need of a new coat of paint glided to a halt in front of the Mutenda law offices. Yeolanda checked her mirror once again before going out, her little daily dose of vanity. All the while a few steps away from the car Terrence suddenly felt the heaviness of the pistol in his shoulder holster. His heart ran at olympic pace but his breathing was calm. Yeolanda closed her mirror then stepped out and headed for the office door with her keys in hand.

Terrence shook the coins in his cup and Yeolanda obliged by taking a dollar out of her purse and throwing it in there. “Thank you mam,” he said in a low voice.

A few seconds after she had entered into the building Terrence followed in. He found Yeolanda busy behind the front desk searching for the day’s meeting calender. She was struck with the usual horror business owners had when bums entered into their premises. But before she could say anything, Terrence with the swiftness of a seasoned professional had swung his pistol from its holster and now Yeolanda was staring into its barrel. Her hands instantly developed a twitch, her mouth went dry and she lost the ability to blink.

“Your father did this to you,” Terrence said with coldness in his eyes and as he took a breath bracing himself before pulling the trigger.

Yeolanda closed her eyes and said one final prayer before her life ended. She wasn’t holding on to any hope. Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass and Yeolanda felt blood splatter all over her face. She opened her eyes just in time to see Terrence fall to the ground. Well to her he was still the homeless man with a gun in his hand and now a hole in his head. To her left the front door had shattered indicating the bullet had come from outside but still suffering from shock, to Yeolanda this all hadn’t just happened.

Time was still not ticking and for a moment she actually forgot to breathe. As she began to digest the situation, the questions also came flooding in. Who was the man on the floor? What did he mean, “her father did this to her”? Who had just shot him? Was it mistaken identity? These questions were interrupted by Vincent a colleague of Yeolanda’s pushing the door open. 

Across the street unknown to most, in the first floor of a building supposedly under going renovations, a security detail had been posted there. The bill was being paid by someone anonymous with the directive of keeping Yeolanda safe. Safe from who? This question hadn’t been answered but they were watching her around the clock. They even had a post close to her apartment. But it wasn’t the kind of security you found in the yellow pages, they were simply people you’d be introduced to if you had deep pockets and dangerous enemies.

“What do we do now boss?” Asked the guy positioned at the window wielding the sniper rifle. 

The smell of gun powder was still fresh in the air and the barrel of the rifle still warm to the touch. All three of the men in the room were dressed in nearly the same dull colours, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. They all wore caps and had the built of active athletes with the stiff jaw appearance of members of the military. There was one guy who seemed to be the one in charge, he was pacing nonstop and the other was busy packing up as they got ready to close up shop with the third still looking through the sniper scope.

“I’m calling our beneficiary but let’s get ready to extract her,” replied the guy in charge. “Benjamin you’re driving and George be in position to get the girl.”

These were code names, chosen from the first names of presidents on US currency notes. Only the man in charge was just referred to as the boss.

On the command Benjamin began taking his rifle apart and packing it in a travel bag. He retrieved a 9 mm pistol and tucked it into his waistband. George was already out of the door and heading for the law office. The wheels were in motion and as soon as the boss got off the phone action would be taken. 

Mr Chindera was in his office going over the morning paper. Gone were the days when he went there to actually do any work. It was now just a ritual for him and an escape from his wife. In that moment he heard his phone vibrating and he checked his pockets but it wasn’t that cell ringing. He immediately went into a state of panic as he retrieved his secret cell from his briefcase. It couldn’t be good news, only the security detail looking after his daughter had this number.

“Hello,” answered Mr Chindera.

“Hello Mr C, we’ve encountered a problem over here,” said an extremely calm voice.

“What’s the problem?”

“There’s been an attempt on her, how do we proceed?”

There was silence for a moment and only breathing was heard. Mr Chindera contemplated his options and he decided to take the most drastic of measures for the safety of his family.

“Take her now and I’ll send you a location of where we’ll meet!”

In front of the Mutenda law offices just as people were beginning to gather outside, George felt his phone vibrate and that was the signal. He charged into the offices and without a word grabbed Yeolanda’s arm and dragged her outside. As she began to resist, George lifted her and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The SUV being driven by Benjamin came screeching to halt just a short distance from them. Yeolanda was thrown into the back seat and the car took off.

A few hours later Yeolanda was on a helicopter landing in Namibia being received by her whole family. The news was running with a headline that said, their house had just burnt down with everyone inside. She still didn’t feel safe and she still had questions. What was going on with her world?.

-The End

Rule Of Law


Genre: Suspense

A slight fog lifted from the earth as the sun began peeking from the other side of the world. It was approaching the dying days of winter, a winter that had been much colder than usual. Streets were still taking time to come alive and even in full flow, business still seemed languid. Coats and jerseys were still a common sight as was the sound of sneezes and snivels.

It was just after 6 in the morning when he closed his car door and began making his way 400 metres down the street. Back to a place he had just driven by twice. It was one of his more awkward jobs, he hadn’t done anything like it. The worst part was that he had to smell so raw. It was something totally unlike him.

For a person who dealt in a world of arm twisting, extortion and assaults, he liked to keep himself clean. This morning however he was decked out in putrid rags and his face looked unkempt too just for good measure. For a man earning in the thousands per week he did poor well, he was the quintessential homeless man in this moment. He grabbed hold of his coffee and tried to seamlessly ease out his car into the early morning pedestrian traffic.

Navigating through the early morning streets he had managed to escape all wondering stares except for one. One person had however noticed a man who’s dressing did not match the car he was in. He blamed himself for not thinking a battered car would be pertinent to the identity he was trying to portray. Yet through his highly trained and adept intellect he had dejected himself further from his surroundings making him even less noticeable. Just another face in the crowd. To him skill mattered so was the quickness to adapt but uniqueness was utterly of no use.

He held a styrofoam cup full of steaming hot coffee as he began looking around taking in every inch of his surroundings. They had told him repeatedly at last night’s meeting, “You can’t be followed and no one can know what we’re doing!” A few minutes into his walk he was at his desired location. The law offices of Mutenda and associates, a rather humble outfit that occupied the bottom floor of a three story building. It shared it’s entrance with a salon on the 2nd floor and an internet cafe/fast food joint on the third. This made for an assortment of traffic through the buildings doors but such is Zimbabwe, the misunderstood and confusing was everywhere.

A few steps from the door, Terrence took a seat against the wall while finishing the rest of his coffee and began the wait for the law offices to be opened. He had studied the file on his target top to bottom, he knew how she looked, her favorite food, her preferred drink and even her shoe size. The styrofoam cup now empty was quickly converted into a container to beg for change. Terrence was now fully in his element, no one would give him a second look, he was now just another middle aged men who had succumbed to the ravages of a horrible economy and was left with nothing else but the streets.

On the other side of town in the epitome of middle class mass housing, a young Yeolanda unaware of events being set in motion elsewhere was getting ready for work. The first lawyer in her family, the first daughter in the clan to graduate from university and also the first daughter to move out of her parents house without being married. She was breaking the mould and pushing boundaries but to her it didn’t carry the weight everyone seemed to think it did. 

All she had ever wanted in life was just a little bit of freedom. It had started with getting into university and being given the chance to live on campus. Away from family, normal life and being surrounded by just your reckless peers. No judgements, well not really there was always the body shaming and the demand that one couldn’t just simply change their mind.

Yet all in all university was a riveting experience for Yeolanda. Approaching her mid twenties and eager to have some slight respite from her parents, she had decided to move out. She loved her parents, absolutely adored them but they simply had no notion of personal boundaries and much so was the rest of her family. The decision to move out wasn’t greeted by kind words though. Interventions were held but her mind was made up and people finally pretended to accept it. She still lived with the constant whispers of her name at family gatherings.

In her now home away from home she was far away from all that nonsense. The third floor of a five story block of flats. Tucked in between numerous others she had a single bedroom, half a kitchen, half a lounge and a bathroom with a shower. A shower that was however selective with its availability of water. Beyond 7 in the morning and before 8 in the evening, barely a trickle came out. It wasn’t the most luxurious living but it served it’s purpose and she promised herself she’d move again soon. The floors were tiled and carpet was in her bedroom although it was still not fully furnished. There was a unique warmth to the apartment.

In the present moment she was standing in her kitchen with a mirror in hand, adding a few touches of makeup. Her morning alarm had gone off at 5 am and she’d got into her now familiar morning ritual, which always started with her sleeping for five minutes more before actually getting up. After that she livened up, the prospect of another day at her job was exhilarating.

20 minutes later with her makeup finished and a donut stuffed down her throat she walked out and headed for work. A white shirt completed with a silver & diamond necklace and a black skirt with stockings and high heels. She never dressed down unless she was in doors. As a worthless quote she had read said, “There’s no greater weapon than always wearing your best look!” But a pair of sneakers were always in her car because you know it’s always good to be prepared plus you can’t run in heels.

Across the street from her as she left, “Subject has exited the building!” A burly bearded man spoke into a walkie talkie. Would Yeolanda find out she was being watched?.

-The End

Breaking News: A Nation’s Hopes Realized

The day dawned slower than usual as the streets were still punctuated with the sound of the words “Asante Sana.” (Which according to Google translate means Thank you very much but Mugabe had given the phrase a totally different life)

Souls on the streets were still restless from hearing “Goodnight” instead of “I resign.” A 93 year old man with ashy hands that were shaking from just the weight of a paper had just dared to pull off the greatest comeback ever seen. Greater than the Undertaker vs Andre the giant at Wrestlemania 7, greater than Barcelona vs Paris St Germain in the 2016-17 Champions League season. It was as if we were witnessing a real life Frank Underwood, the ultimate mastermind.

Mugabe’s political party had given him a deadline of midday on the previous day. It was resign or get impeached but the old man didn’t seem fazed. He had called a cabinet meeting, he was trying to dissolve parliament, ministers were trying to bribe members of parliament not to vote, he wasn’t going down without a fight. As usual the sources were doing their job, filling us more with confusion rather than information.

I was quietly debating whether or not to delete some of my posts; 



I had said a lot of premature shit to be honest and I was seeing that, “undermining the office of the president charge coming soon.” Yet I comforted myself with the fact that half of the Zimbabwean’s on Twitter would have to be arrested too. But one could always be unlucky especially in Zimbabwe. Just ask Martha O’Donovan.

So as what had become the norm we were promised an announcement but I wasn’t holding my breath. “Asante sana,” had given me enough chest pains. But the wait began again, we had a cautious optimism that the impeachment would go through yet hopes easily faded when it came to this government. Because I was sure if 15 billion could go missing in front of 14 million people, surely impeachment could be escaped.

Though the people weren’t letting down, a picnic was held in Africa Unity Square opposite parliament with people vowing to stay there until we had a former president. University of Zimbabwe students were demonstrating also, they announced they wouldn’t write exams until Mugabe left office and their vice chancellor was sacked. They also demanded that First Lady Dr Amai Grace Mugabe’s doctorate be revoked. Apparently she got it for coming up with the conclusion that a lot of orphans have parents that have passed away. I don’t see why people criticize that, it must’ve taken every ounce of her intelligence to figure it out.


I suddenly received a ton of texts claiming he had resigned. I was like NO! I didn’t believe it. I immediately tuned in to the BBC and there it was “Mugabe resigns!” I switched to a couple more channels just to really make sure it was truly happening. 37 years, 37 freaking years of rule had come to an end. As soon as I finally took in the news I heard the city erupt. The scenes were unimaginable, less than 2 weeks ago a man who has roads named after him in almost every city had just had the airport renamed in his honour but now he was unemployed.




“Iwe neni tine basa,” (You and I have a job) but his job had just ended. The celebrations had just begun. I don’t think even the 4 days of samba on the streets of Rio De Janeiro during the carnival could match the atmosphere that enveloped Zimbabwe. Traffic came to a near standstill and there was just happiness as far as the eye could see. Young infants had no idea what was going on but they were out there in the streets with placards. I can just imagine what would happen if we won the world cup, as a country we would probably just die from celebrating.


The sound of drums filled the streets right into the depths of the night. CNN kept showing the crowd singing, “Hatitongwe nehure.” If only someone had told what the song meant. 

     Image source; Google images
People believed but they were never ready for the actual moment. The emotions couldn’t have been put in words. But even if they were tears of joy, I told myself I wouldn’t cry because of Mugabe.

Some politicians had welcome words but others uttered utter nonsense. I’m talking about Theresa May. The people who gave Mugabe knighthood and imposed sanctions on a whole nation for the actions of one man and stood bye while elections were conducted like a game of monopoly were suddenly the oldest friend of Zimbabwe. I must not know what friendship means or maybe BREXIT has the British prime minister with her countries confused.

Well the movie plans have already been put into action. Hollywood and Twitter are nothing if not efficient. It’s still debatable though as to who will play Robert Mugabe better between Don Cheadle and Forest Whitaker. I’m already writing my own alternate script titled; 37 years a slave starring Lupita Nyong’o. Living in Zimbabwe has been a near death experience for a long time, I guess it’s time we flourished.

People are saying it’s just a retweet but I know Don Cheadle is relishing the chance to take this role. Probably already practicing his accent and the Mugabe walk.

Well with movies already in the pipeline what do you think Gucci Grace’s (First Lady Dr Grace Mugabe) reality series will be called?

-The Real Housewives of Dictators

-Rob & Grace

-Keeping Up With The Mugabe’s 

  Image source; @comradefatso (The people’s washing line)

It’s the dawn of a new Zimbabwe but their always doubters and mood killers. The so called political analysts were out in full force fueled but not very well thought out conclusions;

“Mugabe might be gone but Zanu PF is still in power so it’s nothing different.”

“What then now that Mugabe’s gone?”

“Mnangagwa is just another dictator!”

I say to these people please give us our chance to celebrate. We’ve had AIDS for so long we welcome the chance to have a different STI or even CANCER. Because at least in some cases CANCER can be treated. Zanu PF might still be there but this change in still leadership brings hope for a better tomorrow.

Let a Zimbabwean dare to dream.

#Zimbabwe #MugabeGone #NewEra

-The End

Sources; “He has agreed to…”

Journalists : “Sources say…” What sources? Who? Just source? Raw source? When did journalism just boil down to sources say? Journalists need to stop playing with our emotions. As a country we don’t need such misguidance, we’ve been led right into the toilet for too long.

For a short moment in time just a whisper of a moment, I understood Donald Trump’s hatred for the media. For 37 years one man had ruled over Zimbabwe with an iron fist, though lately he struggled to make a fist at all. But his reign had finally come to an end or so “sources” said. From midday we were told to anticipate the announcement from Robert Mugabe himself. Anytime it was said they would be going live to the presidential home. Running of the euphoria of the past day I could barely believe what was happening.

A man had gone from having an airport named after him on Wednesday to unemployment on the following Sunday. You couldn’t make this up it was simply unbelievable. Let me play out the timeline for you again because I simply enjoy reliving it;

Monday : Robert Mugabe fired the first Vice President Emmerson Mnangagwa from office

Wednesday : The Harare international airport was renamed the Robert Mugabe international airport.

Then the week that followed;

Tuesday : Tanks moved into Harare and blocked off certain roads (Not to look down on my country or anything but I actually didn’t think we had tanks or at least I thought the ones we had were either not working or in the museum, that’s how I knew things were real)
Wednesday : The Military took control of the state broadcaster Zbc. My mum woke me up at around 5 in the morning and told me to come to the lounge and as I entered everyone looked all serious and gloomy. I thought someone had died but then I was greeted by General Chiwenga on the tv screen. (As Nelson Mandela was critical but stable it was announced that president Robert Mugabe was fine but confined) It was also not a coup (This is hard to believe when army officials are giving you the news; It was a coup that really wasn’t a coup. You know that moment when your girlfriend tells you that she doesn’t want to break but you’re just taking a break where you can date other people, yeah it was that sort of thing)

Friday : Robert Mugabe finally appeared in public at a graduation ceremony. A graduation ceremony were he capped the army commander’s wife (The army commander who had just not done a coup on Wednesday) like I said you couldn’t make this up. -(Sources say)

Saturday : People march in support of the army and the removal of Robert Mugabe as the president of Zimbabwe.

Sunday : Robert Mugabe resigns from office or so sources said.

Anyway following Wednesday’s events suddenly experts on Zimbabwe’s political situation appeared out of thin air, unknown opposition party’s suddenly materialized too (Vakangonyuka kunge nzimbe dzepasewage) and most of Mugabe’s allies suddenly realized what the man had been doing was wrong. 37 years you were there watching even helping out but as soon as tanks appear in the capital you realize you were being led astray. Lawwwwwwwwwwwwwd lol. Politicians should have alternate careers as comedians.

The whole process was peaceful and there was just a buzz about town. The international community said no one should celebrate a coup but Zimbabwean’s celebrated the it’s not a coup coup anyway. Some idiots from foreign lands were shocked when we trended on Twitter like we don’t have the Internet. Well fast forward a few days from Wednesday to Saturday we had the solidarity march;

Image source: I got these from Whatsapp no idea who took them, if you see your handy work let me know 
 If there’s ever been a superheroes appreciation in Zimbabwe it was how the army was treated by the people. It was something surreal. People marched right up to state house and sang songs that expressed just how much we had craved freedom. We chilled by places were it was formerly illegal to chill and we took pictures in places were cameras were once not allowed.

As usual Arsenal fans didn’t forget their struggles, they were seeing the fall of one dictator as the chance to take another one down. If Robert Mugabe gets to read this please take Wenger with you. Imagine being oppressed by both Wenger and Mugabe it’s been such a struggle but things are looking up for us.

As usual Zimbabwean’s couldn’t take anything too seriously but I second this one. In fact someone should start a petition to exchange Bob for Boity. In fact we’ll throw in the rest of the Mugabe family though I don’t think Grace would be too welcome but Sandton mall would definitely appreciate her business. But Boity needs to let us know where she stands.

Well the sources continued to speculate through all this right up until Sunday when the resignation was to come. From 12 pm we were eagerly expecting it, people were excited. All over my Twitter timeline people were tweeting “I’m going to be live streaming Mugabe’s speech on my Instagram live,” and you have to know how long Mugabe’s speeches are and understand how expensive data is in Zimbabwe to feel how much excitement that is. So the wait began. According to sources the speech was coming soon. Soon seemed like 30 minutes then became an hour then turned into 2 hours into 3 into 4 into 5 into 6… Up until I realized soon means something totally different when it comes to Mugabe.

However the memes came out in anticipation;

I believed it was long past his bedtime when Robert Mugabe finally popped up on the tv screen, somehow he was still awake. It was one of those pop corn and a 2 litre of diluted Mazoe moments. The anticipation was simply unbearable. WHAT A WASTED 20 MINUTES OF MY LIFE IT WAS THOUGH. He finished speaking and said goodnight, like it was nothing. I waited a good 5 minutes hoping Steve Harvey would pop out and say, “Oh sorry wrong speech, he actually resigned.” But Steve Harvey is never there when you need him. 

Robert Mugabe’s speech summed up;

-Iwe neni tine basa (You and I have have a job; but Zimbabwe has 90% unemployment -Sources say)

-Learn to forgive (But man didn’t apologize for nothing)

-We should not be ruled by vengefulness (But man fired his Vice President for ambition though)

-Wish you a good agricultural season 

-Asante sana (In my own translation: I’m still here so your tweets and posts are still crimes deal with it)

-Goodnight (But suddenly the whole nation was wide awake)

Trust “sources” to give us false hope, this 93 year old president is still holding on to power like retirement is a deadly disease. If I hear one more report tell me “sources say…” Oh well…

#Zimbabwe #Coup #ItsNotACoup

– The End