Zimpapers Logo

rib-cage cracking point.
At the centre of the plot is one paragon of beauty, Locadia Karimatsenga-Tembo-Tsvangirai – quite a mouthful tongue-twister.
Just a few days after the soothsayer, the ageless autochthon of wisdom and knowledge, declared that there was no future in such a man, Tsvangirai, the leader of the party of “sexcellence”, lived true to his billing, marrying and divorcing within 12 days, and still being stalked by other mistresses.
What a leader! Probably pulling a Zuma, a Sarkozy or a Berlusconi?
The Guiness Book of Records should be beckoning!
The village soothsayer is warning all the remaining mistresses that they could still fall prey to Moregay More Pants Down, and should never be sure that their marriage will be real or yet another circus.
This villager’s sisters beware!
“Silly. Very, very, silly! Which woman will now trust and accept his hand into marriage?” asks the soothsayer.
One does not need the services of an expert in sexism and sex dynamics to note that Tsvangirai has become an epitome of confusion, flip flop and bed hopping, almost like a village bull, a macho man.
He could not even issue one divorce statement. They had to be two to further confirm confusion.
This villager therefore, expressly forgives the Zwambilas, the Shonhes, and many others from Harvest House for, did they not take cue from their leader?
Hail the party of Sexcellence!
Hail harvest of thorns, Harvest House! With a caricature of a leader like this, who needs enemies?
It is pants down all over Harvest House.
In the village, the soothsayer contends that sex is never a spectator sport but like a silent fart, it soon announces itself through pregnancy or through the bridegroom’s panic mode.
For Tsvangirai, he probably missed the Latin saying to the effect that “I see and approve better things but follow worse.”
Whatever the import of the statement, it reminds of the story of a dung beetle which sincerely rejected a morsel of “delicious” food prepared by a concerned man.
The man should have been surprised, or disappointed even, by the snub.
In comes chief Negomo.
In this villager’s childhood days, his grandfather Gibson Guvamombe, also known as Nhamoyebonde, always told the story of a dung beetle, at times known as dung pusher.
This kind of beetle is known to spiritedly push huge balls of dung with such determination that one could call it a diehard.
Gidza, as villagers colloquially called him, of course without his approval, told of how one day a man decided to give a Christmas gift to the dung beetle.
He rolled a ball of rice mixed with chicken soup, a delicacy of all times, and took away the dung morsel.
Instead of going for the rice-and-soup morsel, the dung beetle ran around looking for its dung ball.
It preferred the fetid to the delicacy that went with the rice. It rejected the delicacy for the fetid.
Two decades later, I was to hear the same story as lyrics of a song by Hosiah Chipanga, a song titled Nyamututa.
In the village, manhood is not having the biggest dangling bits, it is defined by one’s ability to live a dignified life, to act and live within the confines of societal values, norms and ethos.
For a Prime Minister and leader of a political party, certainly one needs to keep his zip up and focused on national development but being human, one may unzip at the right time and for the right person but not to intermittently drop pants as if there is no tomorrow.
How would Tsvangirai feel if Locadia was his daughter or sister?
But why marry if you are not sure? And . . . and . . . and, who forced the Prime Minister to marry?
But his villager knows that Tsvangirai paid lobola or damage, whatever he wants to call it.
The point is he paid and he had copulated without a condom, and thought he had impregnated or Locadia Karimatsenga-Tembo-Tsvangirai and his payment confirm this.
But when you bring in the matrix of gay rights activism and the respect of the woman and womanhood into the equation, you will understand that the man is really confused about what he really stands for.
In the village they say you can fool some people some of the time but you can’t fool all the people all the time and Bob Marley said almost the same.
The Americans, the British and the Moroccans, who so love Tsvangirai, must be scampering for cover with shame and disbelief.
They have tried to groom him but the man certainly lack depth of character, power of the mind and decision making.
This villager would not divorce his beloved wife just because the media has reported about the marriage. To the best knowledge of this villager, no one wrote what Tsvangirai did not know about Locadia.
To the best knowledge of this villager Tsvangirai has been in love with Locadia for about a year and to change his decision within 12 days of media blitz is a sure sign of weakness.
The media did not invest anything.
It is a disgrace to hold public office and use it to get to women and dump them like one duping some piece of rubbish.
Locadia and indeed, all women in Zimbabwe deserve respect, and she is surely heartbroken.
But back in the village, the soothsayer, contents that Zimbabweans and indeed the international community should brace for more circus from the party of sexcellence.
“When the head is rotten, what happens to the body?
“More is coming. A man who swallows a mango seed must surely know that he has a big opening, because the indigestible would soon demand its exit.
“Only time will tell, Mr Prime Minister,” warns the soothsayer.
The circus is not yet over, the village court beckons!