ONE cannot help, but be amused by the current state of affairs in Zimbabwe.
By Costa Vhingi,Our Reader
Somewhere along the road to 40 years of pseudo-independence, we have allowed one might dare say, our personal freedoms to become the personal teething rings for those toddlers whom we call businesspeople, politicians, pastors, organisations and some foreign powers of the variety.
It hurts the people now to notice that they are busy queuing for a cup of rice donation from Zanu PF.
The majority has been reduced to a mass of peasants that must grovel at the feet of some self-aggrandising entity.
But this could be of our own doing. You know, we have been smoking the opium of our own mediocrity for so long that anything/anyone that seems to be beneficial (even beneficial in the most remote sense) captivates us, consumes us, enslaves us.
No matter how morally reprehensible their actions may be, no matter how far they take liberties to degrade us, no matter how selfish they become, we always harken to their serpentine hiss with vigour and joy. After all, it is us that willingly allowed the puppet strings to be attached.
You could say Zimbabwe is like a mad man, a mad man who dances to the music that only he can hear.
A mad man who finds delight in the stench of his unwashed skin and in the nakedness of his own pitiful and withered body, a mad man who cannot help himself, but to gyrate to the tune of the parasites that live inside his own mind.