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Of marine spirits, snakes in oil and crocodiles


Who am I? Let us play an old game. We tell you about a trending character and you decide who it is. We will name no names and whatever answer you come up with is yours and not ours. I come across as a humble God-fearing person though I have a prison record to prove that I have not always lived the impeccable life that I am trying to lay claim to now. My works are very similar to those of another person in the same industry.

In fact, if truth be told, that other person started before me so I guess that makes me something of a copycat.

I let private information get into the hands of the media then pretended to be in dire need of my privacy.

The scandal resulting from the said information (whose authenticity some are doubting) has not harmed my career at all.

In fact, the opposite is true. I have become a towering figure in the hearts of many as they stand in awe at my ability to forgive the sinners in this dark vale.

My apparently magnanimous gesture has given hope to many promiscuous wives. It will also help other cuckolded men hold their heads up at the usual place when the banter becomes about Mopani worms leading women to hunt outside the marital pastures. But wait a minute, I seem to be backtracking on that position as well . . .

Spirits, snakes and now crocs?

He claimed the ability to cleanse the mentally ill of their possession by the legions. One alleged mad person apparently healed and installed in a house and the hordes descended on his door seeking deliverance, although the mentally ill still roam our streets, homes, hospitals and prisons with no sign of any reduction in numbers. Then he claimed to be the direct spiritual offspring of that there plane-found-today international liar and was embarrassingly proved wrong.

Then some strange things happened between him and a married couple and the truth of the matter will never be fully known but we hear that the woman is now a fully-fledged entrepreneur and not the rent-a-chair kind. Anyway the crowds continue to flock but the man does not seem satisfied and must go and start with the white clad crowd.

When he came up with his wild tales of marine spirits we immediately nodded into our drinks and spoke sagely about those who can pick unmarked pathways across the faces of low lying expanses of flat rocks.

Then we heard talks of snakes and oil and we again nodded our heads as we remembered the claims of the East African n’angas who claim to be the source of all crowd pulling and brain numbing prowess.

Now he tells us that his impregnable fences have been breached and someone left him a crocodile. If his spiritual eye could not foretell the intentions of this enemy and capture him in real time on the visionary recorder then how can he protect the hordes who have come to depend on his snake oil for survival?

Off to the land of the tankers

Anyway, it concern us not as we have always said that if we must go to church then the good old Roman Catholic one is the only option for us.

Not only are they the original purveyors of all untruths in the name of the One upstairs, they have no qualms with the partaking of fermented beverages, nay they serve the stuff as part of the whole process. As if that was not good enough for us, now we hear that the church is richer than Croesus. Now that the German branch has turned out to be richer than the Vatican, we are seriously considering relocating there. All those beer festivals, a rich church that can afford to take care of the offspring and spouses while we drink ourselves to heaven. What more can a drinker ask for on this earth?

Leaving the ghetto

So dear Bounty Lisa thought that she was upgrading herself? “I have changed my dress code because I am no longer living in the ghetto and must fit into the suburbs,” gushed the chanter as though the ghetto is on another planet and she had gone off to join the Desperate Housewives in Wisteria Lane.

We all imagined that she was now living the fabulous life, slicing up fried liver with a razor blade as our brothers and sisters in the 60s and 70s used to say.

Little did we know that she had gone top to a living hell of bronco induced sewage in the bedroom and a trashed habitat while driving around in an ex-Jap that was serviced less often than Bra Gee goes to church.

Now the ‘burb is no more, the faulty car has been taken, the stinky habit is in the public arena, poor Bounty Lisa may just be ready to admit that the ghetto may not be such a bad place after all.

Like Sekuru, like Muzukuru

Somehow we have a feeling that this is not the last sight or sound of this pair. They will be back again with some antics soon, as the Muzukuru has promised, this is not the last that we will hear from him.

We admit that we rather like the Muzukuru for his irreverent tongue and quick fists and we would not be surprised if he turned around and reinvented himself in a more acceptable mode.

But we are not sorry to say that this exasperated humour does not extend to the Sekuru who we abhor with every atom of beer loving bodies. He has a lot to answer for we believe and must be brought to book for all the multitudes of sins that we know he has committed.

Like we would like to know how the Cold Comfort Farm which should have been the site of a national monument became the personal property of this one man who then went on to parcel out the land into tiny residential lots which he sold off.

Remember how he had the gall to even privately auction off the community school to a private institution leaving the residents who had been good enough to buy the commandeered land from him without affordable schooling for their children?

We also think that this would be a perfect time to hear more about the helicopter and briefcase escapades. Some words about the numerous wives and concubines would also be timely although we refuse to join the feminist mutterings about coerced college students.

What rot! If a girl is intelligent enough to get into a tertiary institution then she is smart enough to choose to decide that a man old enough to be her grandfather and ugly enough to wrestle the Mr Ugly title from the current holder is Prince Charming without anyone trying to say she has been forced into it. It is not as if when she accepts that first bundle of cash she does not realise that seeing the frog prince in his birthday suit is the least of the prices that she will have to pay for her greedy.

Last call — Zesa

trumps them all!

For all those suffering from the manic and erratic blackouts that sometimes last for days, this was stolen from Facebook especially for you.

Google says: I find anything for you.

Facebook says: I link you to anyone anywhere.

WhatsApp says: I make communication easy and cheap for you

Internet says: I am the real power, without me all of you are nothing.

Zesa says: Huh! We will see about that.

Till next week, bottoms up!

Facebook: Bra Gee, Email: [email protected], Twitter: @brageesbar

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