By Zanu PF standards, I pass for a very poor man, almost to the point of rodent bankruptcy.
I don’t even qualify for scraps flung at the far side of the bottom of the gluttonous politburo table.
Had I to be invited to the wedding of a central committee member, I’d be lucky to even clean the soiled toilets.
The pot-bellied, flap—breasted Women’s Leaguers would persistently moan that their powder rooms are filthy: “Nobody is cleaning our toilets!” Yes, it’s me, Nobody. In fact, in their own, crude stupidity, they would be right.
I am a body with nothing, waiting its turn in the crowded queue of paupers’ burials. Just like you, the sensible ordinary Zimbabwean, no 1 000-hectare farms, no three-storey homes in Borrowdale Brooke, no new four-wheeled double cabs and no chain of supermarkets purportedly owned by a Chinese investor.
My son does not attend boarding school at Kutama; neither do I have a daughter at Fort Hare. My wife has never been to China, and she does not own a restaurant at Arundel Shopping Centre.
I have never handled a gun or a piece of diamond.
My only encounter with politicians is when I write about them, because I have never been a councillor, a Member of Parliament, board member of Zesa or an anti-corruption commissioner.
In short, I am what Zanu PF calls povo, nameless, clueless; perpetually waiting for crumbs off the First Secretary’s table.
I am so nobody that I have never bid for or won a local authority, central government, army or police tender.
In fact, I do not know how political power tastes, so I have never had to campaign, and luckily, beat up, imprison, rape or kidnap ideological opponents.
No people like me would ordinarily stand a chance in hell with people like Obert Mpofu, Phillip Chiyangwa, Jocelyn Chiwenga, Walter Mzembi and a host of other known Zanu PF, few but some bodies.
Compared to them, I would ordinarily be an invisible speck of clean water drifting in the polluted Gulf of Mexico.
If only I owned York House, having influence at Marange like Obert Mpofu. Oh, how I wish I supplied the Zimbabwe Republic Police with reflective bibs, I could be somebody!
If I could influence what Happison Muchechetere says on ZTV, or had the last laugh in The Herald like George Charamba.
If only I was the chair of ZMDC like Goodwills Masimirembwa, or had shares in Telecel like Jane Mutasa.
I dream of having incarceration powers like Police Commissioner General Augustine Chihuri or the propensity to alter voters’ rolls at will like Registrar General Tobaiwa Mudede.
If only I could make airport roads like Minister of Local Government Ignatius Chombo or supply water treatment chemicals like David Chapfika; I would be somebody!
I wish I had a citrus farm like former Information deputy minister Bright Matonga or shares in a Bikita mine like Dzikamai Mavhaire.
Oh, how I wish I could count ballot papers as well as Judge President George Chiweshe or run elections like Zimbabwe Electoral Commission official Joyce Kazembe!
If I was a somebody, I would, like businessman Temba Mliswa, have a US$3 million facility from Gideon Gono.
I wish I was a Minister of Tourism like Walter Mzembi; my bus would carry the Samba Boys to and from the National Sports Stadium.
Had I powers like Defence Forces Commander Constantine Chiwenga, I would order all my generals not to salute Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai.
Had I known, I would be a bishop like Nolbert Kunonga, and lock up all the Anglican churches every Sunday and open them on Saturdays only for Masowe eSabata!
If only I had access to a government letterhead like President Affairs minister Didymus Mutasa, I would write an offer letter for Zanu PF chef to grab another farm.
How I wish I was Psychology Chiwanga, I would “sell” land to a property mogul to build more single-room houses for – you guessed right — other nobodies like me at Katanga!
If only I was a Reserve Bank governor, I would donate 10 000 chickens every week to Pakistani flood victims from my “new” Donnington Farm!
I wish I was a Mahendere brother, I would send autographed copies of the song Nyatsoterera to Western envoys Charles Ray and Germany’s Albrecht Conze.
If only my anger turned into power, it would change my country that is so desperate for the second revolution, the war against largesse, gluttony and greed perpetrated by perennial political offenders Zanu PF.
Says Jeremiah Kure, Mail & Guardian blogger: “The time has come for Zim’s post-war generation to fight a different type of liberation war; a war against individuals and institutions who have enslaved them in economic poverty.
Zimbabweans have suffered for too long for them to be complicit in prolonging their misery.”
Some of my colleagues have got it wrong. We must not focus on individuals like Mugabe, they say, Zimbabwe is a victim of systemic decay that has lasting residual impact long after he has gone. Of course, systems make a difference.
Look at it this way: the Zanu-PF system of governance is to pack public institutions with policymakers who are “haves”. These bootlickers are in perpetual acquisition mood, like worms eating away at human waste in the bottom depths of a rural Blair toilet.
They only stop eating when their bellies explode nekuguta (because they will be full).
A policymaker in a psychotic state of gluttonous acquisition will only approve and implement policies that serve his own, personal selfish ends.
The MDC is trapped between these forces of acquisition evil and unending, legitimate expectations of its constituents.
For the MDC to conquer, it has to first contend with Zanu-PF principalities, just like Jesus of Nazareth in the desert of deception. He had to lose his divine dignity before vanquishing evil. I hope Tsvangirai, Deputy Prime Minister Arthur Mutambara and their troops won’t be sucked into this obnoxious rhythm of the creed of greed.