As if elected to be exhumed in sprawling dust of this
forgotten valley of death. The cows no longer moo, the bulls no longer bellow,
the goats scarcely populated due to the adverse of land mines, their toll a sacrifice
to save human limbs. The puffed faces of its inhabitants may be misconstrued as
a result of good living but alas, a gene of adaptation to this valley of death,
for after all the hardships, you must leave energy for hospital organic smile,
that for generations has oozed out of this valley of death. Christmas doesn’t
exist anymore, not that it ever did but almost did!
The mothers of the valley of death, with babies stripped at
their back, some front like Kangaroo, know too well that their blessings may
not live to see their 5th birth day, yet alas, they still steal a
smile or two; for if you are from the valley of death, a smile isn’t an option
is a generation gift. The only thing that subsequent governments failed to take
away and maybe will never take. The ululations, the provocative dances that
pound the already exhausted land dunes of the valley, giving rise to a min tornado
of coordinated dust spirals. Bare footed children giggle and men in over exhaustive
torn cloths clap in suggestive looks of approval and sexuality. As if they have forgotten that they need food after the dance, or the dance after the food, both which are none existent. Yes that is a proper Christmas befitting a
king, I thought, the drummers with beads of sweat from the inhospitable weather
of the valley of death. Christmas doesn’t exist anymore, not that it ever did
but almost did!
In all intent and purpose, men and women of the valley of
death have voted in every election, remote from the civilization they maybe,
politicians were quick to close the distance gap for a vote, but complain of
its remoteness once elected. 36 years has passed, they have never seen the
country’s president, have never seen his face, there are no TVs, no newspapers
apart from a few radio handsets which seem to hold true of the neighboring
country’s stations, Mozambique. Getting a Zimbabwean station would mean a terrestrial
aerial, in the valley of death, some people have never seen the new currency 7
years on, such a cost is not only a luxury, but a fantasy. The last time the
president came to the region was 70 km away in a helicopter complaining about
the state of roads, as if their existence or lack of existence stops with the
gods of the valley of death. Christmas doesn’t exist anymore, not that it ever
did but almost did!
The clinics are empty, the symbolic shops are empty, the
schools are empty of any meaningful resources; all what remains is the valley
of death, its people and voting spirit for a government, which quickly forgets,
absolutely abusively. When you see government cars, people scatter in all
directions for the last time people stopped to inquire got a biting, some had
their hands chopped, some died, some got
raped in the operation wavotera poyi (operation whom did you vote for)! But
today is 25 December 2015, the birth of Jesus Christ, who died for our sins. We
the people of the valley of death are not going to run away from a government
of morons, we will stand put after all we have had enough, we have not
benefited from this government since it took power over 36 years ago. We are
the people we are the numbers, this is it! Xmas defiant against a government,
which has always stolen our dignity, our Christmas. Where is our Christmas
parcel Mr. President? What does this evil party think we are, animals of the
jungle? Over our dead body, come fill the
cup!
Christmas doesn’t exist anymore, not that it ever did but
almost did!
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