December 29 2010
| Let’s vote to save Christmas |
| PHEW! What a Christmas, this was. Like the caress of a returning, long-lost lover, it had been a while since many a family felt that joyous hand of Christmas. This is the time we are all supposed to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. A birth that signified God’s undying love for his greatest creation, man, when he chose to descend from the heavens and live among mere mortals, just to try to save them from purgatory. So there we were in Gweru. The Zambezi was really going down and we were seeing first hand the truism of the adage ‘‘nguruve inokangwa nemafuta ayo’’ as pork chops sizzled on the braai stand. All around us we could see evidence of the return of the good times. Chickens and goats were cackling or bleating as they were dragged home to meet a fate similar to that of the pork chops we were tormenting on the braai stand. All around little kids, smartly turned out were running around, blowing balloons or blowing those noisy, irritating fire-crackers that they love so much. Macheso and Dhewa were competing to drown each other out on many hi-fis. This was what it was all about. A time to be with friends and family, to see and be seen, to eat but not be eaten, to drink but not drown. Let me enlist the help of Musaemura Zimunya, whose gem of a poem, Kisimuso, really captured the spirit of Christmas as we know it. Says Zimunya: The family were gathered The eldest son from Bulawayo Boastful of his experiences in the city of knives and crooks; One son from Harare, a fish pocket who can slang everyone into ignorance with the stupefying s’kuz’apo tongue (the family believe he is the chief mechanic at Lever Brothers!" a sister, latest to arrive from Gutu blue-painted eye-lids, false eye-lashes, red lips bangles gritting in her hands with a European hair-wig above an ambi-proof face. she covers her thighs with a towel when she sits (as for her the family will always believe she is a dressmaker in Fort Victoria) the rest of the family, mum and dad are happy to admire the latest from town. Kisimiso means feasting Dozens of bread loaves, drums of tea, mountains of sadza Rock-size pieces of meat of the he-goat in lakes of thousand-eyed soup And of course, large pots of fizzing, frothy beer. Nothing about the print themes of goodwill and peace Of course goodwill was always here; an old man well-known to me lost half his hair while pulling a tourist out of a blazing car’s wreckage – in June, six months before last Christmas. A child without clothes sat nodding with sleep his belly as big as a muchongoyo drum; buzzing flies were fighting, spinning and tumbling into the smelling parting between his buttocks, Kutu the scraggy dog was retching in front of him; they ultimately gave the mother water that had washed the madman’s beard because she could no longer leave the bush or close her oozing behind and brother s’kuz’apo filled the boy’s hut with urine and vomit and a powerful smell of beer gone stale The next day They talked of the greatest Kisimiso for many years. From Zimunya’s foregoing characterisation, it’s evident that what goes on around Christmas is as similar to what Christ embodies as night is to day. What with the drinking binges, gluttony, adultery, fornication; false-pretences, you name it. It’s all done in the name of Christmas, and much like many other things that are done in the name of love, politics or such similar pursuits, its all in a day’s work. Well let’s hope those who cost innocent families Christmas over the past decade through sell-out politics or ruinous economic sanctions will see the error of their ways, reform and ensure that the nascent stability that we have experienced since the introduction of the multi-currency regime is consolidated so that Xmas 2011 is even better than this year’s edition. WikiLeaks has, to a large extent, confirmed what we have already known that there are some among us who worked with outsiders to cost us many things, including Christmas. Let’s hope now that they have been unmasked, they well not walk their well-beaten path to perdition. I believe progressive Zimbabweans will agree with me if I say, when we shout "Happy New Year" at midnight on December 31, we want that happiness to transcend to each of the 365 days of 2011. When we wish each other "a prosperous New Year", we should not forget that true prosperity does not come from fronting multinational corporations, earning five-figure salaries, driving company cars or living in company houses; it comes from having dominion over our God-given resources. It comes from owning our economy and participating fully in economic production. It comes from pro-people programmes like the indigenisation and economic empowerment drive. It accrues from prospering the nation by building a genuine, wealth-creating middle class that can defend the gains of the liberation struggle that began as early as 1896. And as we head into election season next year, let’s remember the cost we paid to get that ballot, and who was denying us the vote and why. Most importantly let’s not forget that along with one man one vote we were also fighting to be masters of our destiny, to have dominion over our resources down to our rats and ants. The gains of the revolution need to be protected not only for our sake and for the sake of those patriots who paid the ultimate sacrifice, but for future generations in whose trust we hold this country and all that reposes in it. Let’s not prostitute our right to our country and its resources, simply because the erstwhile coloniser has dangled a few dollars before our eyes. Next year’s election should be about a society that has become mature, that has had time to evaluate what is at stake and hence can tell a proxy from a bona fide contestant. Let the next poll be a time for judgment. A time to show that we have not only gone to school but we are also educated, that we have not only heard but listened, that we have not only read but have understood, that we have not only been taught but have learnt. Next year’s election should not just be about punishing those who cost us Christmas over the years, it should also be about ensuring future great Christmases for our families. It should be about telling the Westerners and their lackeys that we want our livelihoods and our Christmases back for good. caesar.zvayi@zimpapers.co.zw |
| Let’s vote to save Christmas |
| PHEW! What a Christmas, this was. Like the caress of a returning, long-lost lover, it had been a while since many a family felt that joyous hand of Christmas. This is the time we are all supposed to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. A birth that signified God’s undying love for his greatest creation, man, when he chose to descend from the heavens and live among mere mortals, just to try to save them from purgatory. So there we were in Gweru. The Zambezi was really going down and we were seeing first hand the truism of the adage ‘‘nguruve inokangwa nemafuta ayo’’ as pork chops sizzled on the braai stand. All around us we could see evidence of the return of the good times. Chickens and goats were cackling or bleating as they were dragged home to meet a fate similar to that of the pork chops we were tormenting on the braai stand. All around little kids, smartly turned out were running around, blowing balloons or blowing those noisy, irritating fire-crackers that they love so much. Macheso and Dhewa were competing to drown each other out on many hi-fis. This was what it was all about. A time to be with friends and family, to see and be seen, to eat but not be eaten, to drink but not drown. Let me enlist the help of Musaemura Zimunya, whose gem of a poem, Kisimuso, really captured the spirit of Christmas as we know it. Says Zimunya: The family were gathered The eldest son from Bulawayo Boastful of his experiences in the city of knives and crooks; One son from Harare, a fish pocket who can slang everyone into ignorance with the stupefying s’kuz’apo tongue (the family believe he is the chief mechanic at Lever Brothers!" a sister, latest to arrive from Gutu blue-painted eye-lids, false eye-lashes, red lips bangles gritting in her hands with a European hair-wig above an ambi-proof face. she covers her thighs with a towel when she sits (as for her the family will always believe she is a dressmaker in Fort Victoria) the rest of the family, mum and dad are happy to admire the latest from town. Kisimiso means feasting Dozens of bread loaves, drums of tea, mountains of sadza Rock-size pieces of meat of the he-goat in lakes of thousand-eyed soup And of course, large pots of fizzing, frothy beer. Nothing about the print themes of goodwill and peace Of course goodwill was always here; an old man well-known to me lost half his hair while pulling a tourist out of a blazing car’s wreckage – in June, six months before last Christmas. A child without clothes sat nodding with sleep his belly as big as a muchongoyo drum; buzzing flies were fighting, spinning and tumbling into the smelling parting between his buttocks, Kutu the scraggy dog was retching in front of him; they ultimately gave the mother water that had washed the madman’s beard because she could no longer leave the bush or close her oozing behind and brother s’kuz’apo filled the boy’s hut with urine and vomit and a powerful smell of beer gone stale The next day They talked of the greatest Kisimiso for many years. From Zimunya’s foregoing characterisation, it’s evident that what goes on around Christmas is as similar to what Christ embodies as night is to day. What with the drinking binges, gluttony, adultery, fornication; false-pretences, you name it. It’s all done in the name of Christmas, and much like many other things that are done in the name of love, politics or such similar pursuits, its all in a day’s work. Well let’s hope those who cost innocent families Christmas over the past decade through sell-out politics or ruinous economic sanctions will see the error of their ways, reform and ensure that the nascent stability that we have experienced since the introduction of the multi-currency regime is consolidated so that Xmas 2011 is even better than this year’s edition. WikiLeaks has, to a large extent, confirmed what we have already known that there are some among us who worked with outsiders to cost us many things, including Christmas. Let’s hope now that they have been unmasked, they well not walk their well-beaten path to perdition. I believe progressive Zimbabweans will agree with me if I say, when we shout "Happy New Year" at midnight on December 31, we want that happiness to transcend to each of the 365 days of 2011. When we wish each other "a prosperous New Year", we should not forget that true prosperity does not come from fronting multinational corporations, earning five-figure salaries, driving company cars or living in company houses; it comes from having dominion over our God-given resources. It comes from owning our economy and participating fully in economic production. It comes from pro-people programmes like the indigenisation and economic empowerment drive. It accrues from prospering the nation by building a genuine, wealth-creating middle class that can defend the gains of the liberation struggle that began as early as 1896. And as we head into election season next year, let’s remember the cost we paid to get that ballot, and who was denying us the vote and why. Most importantly let’s not forget that along with one man one vote we were also fighting to be masters of our destiny, to have dominion over our resources down to our rats and ants. The gains of the revolution need to be protected not only for our sake and for the sake of those patriots who paid the ultimate sacrifice, but for future generations in whose trust we hold this country and all that reposes in it. Let’s not prostitute our right to our country and its resources, simply because the erstwhile coloniser has dangled a few dollars before our eyes. Next year’s election should be about a society that has become mature, that has had time to evaluate what is at stake and hence can tell a proxy from a bona fide contestant. Let the next poll be a time for judgment. A time to show that we have not only gone to school but we are also educated, that we have not only heard but listened, that we have not only read but have understood, that we have not only been taught but have learnt. Next year’s election should not just be about punishing those who cost us Christmas over the years, it should also be about ensuring future great Christmases for our families. It should be about telling the Westerners and their lackeys that we want our livelihoods and our Christmases back for good. caesar.zvayi@zimpapers.co.zw |
| Let’s vote to save Christmas |
| PHEW! What a Christmas, this was. Like the caress of a returning, long-lost lover, it had been a while since many a family felt that joyous hand of Christmas. This is the time we are all supposed to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. A birth that signified God’s undying love for his greatest creation, man, when he chose to descend from the heavens and live among mere mortals, just to try to save them from purgatory. So there we were in Gweru. The Zambezi was really going down and we were seeing first hand the truism of the adage ‘‘nguruve inokangwa nemafuta ayo’’ as pork chops sizzled on the braai stand. All around us we could see evidence of the return of the good times. Chickens and goats were cackling or bleating as they were dragged home to meet a fate similar to that of the pork chops we were tormenting on the braai stand. All around little kids, smartly turned out were running around, blowing balloons or blowing those noisy, irritating fire-crackers that they love so much. Macheso and Dhewa were competing to drown each other out on many hi-fis. This was what it was all about. A time to be with friends and family, to see and be seen, to eat but not be eaten, to drink but not drown. Let me enlist the help of Musaemura Zimunya, whose gem of a poem, Kisimuso, really captured the spirit of Christmas as we know it. Says Zimunya: The family were gathered The eldest son from Bulawayo Boastful of his experiences in the city of knives and crooks; One son from Harare, a fish pocket who can slang everyone into ignorance with the stupefying s’kuz’apo tongue (the family believe he is the chief mechanic at Lever Brothers!" a sister, latest to arrive from Gutu blue-painted eye-lids, false eye-lashes, red lips bangles gritting in her hands with a European hair-wig above an ambi-proof face. she covers her thighs with a towel when she sits (as for her the family will always believe she is a dressmaker in Fort Victoria) the rest of the family, mum and dad are happy to admire the latest from town. Kisimiso means feasting Dozens of bread loaves, drums of tea, mountains of sadza Rock-size pieces of meat of the he-goat in lakes of thousand-eyed soup And of course, large pots of fizzing, frothy beer. Nothing about the print themes of goodwill and peace Of course goodwill was always here; an old man well-known to me lost half his hair while pulling a tourist out of a blazing car’s wreckage – in June, six months before last Christmas. A child without clothes sat nodding with sleep his belly as big as a muchongoyo drum; buzzing flies were fighting, spinning and tumbling into the smelling parting between his buttocks, Kutu the scraggy dog was retching in front of him; they ultimately gave the mother water that had washed the madman’s beard because she could no longer leave the bush or close her oozing behind and brother s’kuz’apo filled the boy’s hut with urine and vomit and a powerful smell of beer gone stale The next day They talked of the greatest Kisimiso for many years. From Zimunya’s foregoing characterisation, it’s evident that what goes on around Christmas is as similar to what Christ embodies as night is to day. What with the drinking binges, gluttony, adultery, fornication; false-pretences, you name it. It’s all done in the name of Christmas, and much like many other things that are done in the name of love, politics or such similar pursuits, its all in a day’s work. Well let’s hope those who cost innocent families Christmas over the past decade through sell-out politics or ruinous economic sanctions will see the error of their ways, reform and ensure that the nascent stability that we have experienced since the introduction of the multi-currency regime is consolidated so that Xmas 2011 is even better than this year’s edition. WikiLeaks has, to a large extent, confirmed what we have already known that there are some among us who worked with outsiders to cost us many things, including Christmas. Let’s hope now that they have been unmasked, they well not walk their well-beaten path to perdition. I believe progressive Zimbabweans will agree with me if I say, when we shout "Happy New Year" at midnight on December 31, we want that happiness to transcend to each of the 365 days of 2011. When we wish each other "a prosperous New Year", we should not forget that true prosperity does not come from fronting multinational corporations, earning five-figure salaries, driving company cars or living in company houses; it comes from having dominion over our God-given resources. It comes from owning our economy and participating fully in economic production. It comes from pro-people programmes like the indigenisation and economic empowerment drive. It accrues from prospering the nation by building a genuine, wealth-creating middle class that can defend the gains of the liberation struggle that began as early as 1896. And as we head into election season next year, let’s remember the cost we paid to get that ballot, and who was denying us the vote and why. Most importantly let’s not forget that along with one man one vote we were also fighting to be masters of our destiny, to have dominion over our resources down to our rats and ants. The gains of the revolution need to be protected not only for our sake and for the sake of those patriots who paid the ultimate sacrifice, but for future generations in whose trust we hold this country and all that reposes in it. Let’s not prostitute our right to our country and its resources, simply because the erstwhile coloniser has dangled a few dollars before our eyes. Next year’s election should be about a society that has become mature, that has had time to evaluate what is at stake and hence can tell a proxy from a bona fide contestant. Let the next poll be a time for judgment. A time to show that we have not only gone to school but we are also educated, that we have not only heard but listened, that we have not only read but have understood, that we have not only been taught but have learnt. Next year’s election should not just be about punishing those who cost us Christmas over the years, it should also be about ensuring future great Christmases for our families. It should be about telling the Westerners and their lackeys that we want our livelihoods and our Christmases back for good. caesar.zvayi@zimpapers.co.zw |
| Let’s vote to save Christmas |
| PHEW! What a Christmas, this was. Like the caress of a returning, long-lost lover, it had been a while since many a family felt that joyous hand of Christmas. This is the time we are all supposed to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. A birth that signified God’s undying love for his greatest creation, man, when he chose to descend from the heavens and live among mere mortals, just to try to save them from purgatory. So there we were in Gweru. The Zambezi was really going down and we were seeing first hand the truism of the adage ‘‘nguruve inokangwa nemafuta ayo’’ as pork chops sizzled on the braai stand. All around us we could see evidence of the return of the good times. Chickens and goats were cackling or bleating as they were dragged home to meet a fate similar to that of the pork chops we were tormenting on the braai stand. All around little kids, smartly turned out were running around, blowing balloons or blowing those noisy, irritating fire-crackers that they love so much. Macheso and Dhewa were competing to drown each other out on many hi-fis. This was what it was all about. A time to be with friends and family, to see and be seen, to eat but not be eaten, to drink but not drown. Let me enlist the help of Musaemura Zimunya, whose gem of a poem, Kisimuso, really captured the spirit of Christmas as we know it. Says Zimunya: The family were gathered The eldest son from Bulawayo Boastful of his experiences in the city of knives and crooks; One son from Harare, a fish pocket who can slang everyone into ignorance with the stupefying s’kuz’apo tongue (the family believe he is the chief mechanic at Lever Brothers!" a sister, latest to arrive from Gutu blue-painted eye-lids, false eye-lashes, red lips bangles gritting in her hands with a European hair-wig above an ambi-proof face. she covers her thighs with a towel when she sits (as for her the family will always believe she is a dressmaker in Fort Victoria) the rest of the family, mum and dad are happy to admire the latest from town. Kisimiso means feasting Dozens of bread loaves, drums of tea, mountains of sadza Rock-size pieces of meat of the he-goat in lakes of thousand-eyed soup And of course, large pots of fizzing, frothy beer. Nothing about the print themes of goodwill and peace Of course goodwill was always here; an old man well-known to me lost half his hair while pulling a tourist out of a blazing car’s wreckage – in June, six months before last Christmas. A child without clothes sat nodding with sleep his belly as big as a muchongoyo drum; buzzing flies were fighting, spinning and tumbling into the smelling parting between his buttocks, Kutu the scraggy dog was retching in front of him; they ultimately gave the mother water that had washed the madman’s beard because she could no longer leave the bush or close her oozing behind and brother s’kuz’apo filled the boy’s hut with urine and vomit and a powerful smell of beer gone stale The next day They talked of the greatest Kisimiso for many years. From Zimunya’s foregoing characterisation, it’s evident that what goes on around Christmas is as similar to what Christ embodies as night is to day. What with the drinking binges, gluttony, adultery, fornication; false-pretences, you name it. It’s all done in the name of Christmas, and much like many other things that are done in the name of love, politics or such similar pursuits, its all in a day’s work. Well let’s hope those who cost innocent families Christmas over the past decade through sell-out politics or ruinous economic sanctions will see the error of their ways, reform and ensure that the nascent stability that we have experienced since the introduction of the multi-currency regime is consolidated so that Xmas 2011 is even better than this year’s edition. WikiLeaks has, to a large extent, confirmed what we have already known that there are some among us who worked with outsiders to cost us many things, including Christmas. Let’s hope now that they have been unmasked, they well not walk their well-beaten path to perdition. I believe progressive Zimbabweans will agree with me if I say, when we shout "Happy New Year" at midnight on December 31, we want that happiness to transcend to each of the 365 days of 2011. When we wish each other "a prosperous New Year", we should not forget that true prosperity does not come from fronting multinational corporations, earning five-figure salaries, driving company cars or living in company houses; it comes from having dominion over our God-given resources. It comes from owning our economy and participating fully in economic production. It comes from pro-people programmes like the indigenisation and economic empowerment drive. It accrues from prospering the nation by building a genuine, wealth-creating middle class that can defend the gains of the liberation struggle that began as early as 1896. And as we head into election season next year, let’s remember the cost we paid to get that ballot, and who was denying us the vote and why. Most importantly let’s not forget that along with one man one vote we were also fighting to be masters of our destiny, to have dominion over our resources down to our rats and ants. The gains of the revolution need to be protected not only for our sake and for the sake of those patriots who paid the ultimate sacrifice, but for future generations in whose trust we hold this country and all that reposes in it. Let’s not prostitute our right to our country and its resources, simply because the erstwhile coloniser has dangled a few dollars before our eyes. Next year’s election should be about a society that has become mature, that has had time to evaluate what is at stake and hence can tell a proxy from a bona fide contestant. Let the next poll be a time for judgment. A time to show that we have not only gone to school but we are also educated, that we have not only heard but listened, that we have not only read but have understood, that we have not only been taught but have learnt. Next year’s election should not just be about punishing those who cost us Christmas over the years, it should also be about ensuring future great Christmases for our families. It should be about telling the Westerners and their lackeys that we want our livelihoods and our Christmases back for good. caesar.zvayi@zimpapers.co.zw |
PHEW! What a Christmas, this was.
Like the caress of a returning, long-lost lover, it had been a while since many a family felt that joyous hand of Christmas. This is the time we are all supposed to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ. A birth that signified God’s undying love for his greatest creation, man, when he chose to descend from the heavens and live among mere mortals, just to try to save them from purgatory.
So there we were in Gweru. The Zambezi was really going down and we were seeing first hand the truism of the adage ‘‘nguruve inokangwa nemafuta ayo’’ as pork chops sizzled on the braai stand.
All around us we could see evidence of the return of the good times. Chickens and goats were cackling or bleating as they were dragged home to meet a fate similar to that of the pork chops we were tormenting on the braai stand.
All around little kids, smartly turned out were running around, blowing balloons or blowing those noisy, irritating fire-crackers that they love so much. Macheso and Dhewa were competing to drown each other out on many hi-fis. This was what it was all about. A time to be with friends and family, to see and be seen, to eat but not be eaten, to drink but not drown.
Let me enlist the help of Musaemura Zimunya, whose gem of a poem, Kisimuso, really captured the spirit of Christmas as we know it.
Says Zimunya:
The family were gathered
The eldest son from Bulawayo
Boastful of his experiences in the city of knives and crooks;
One son from Harare,
a fish pocket who can slang everyone
into ignorance with the stupefying s’kuz’apo tongue
(the family believe he is the chief mechanic at Lever Brothers!"
a sister, latest to arrive from Gutu
blue-painted eye-lids, false eye-lashes, red lips
bangles gritting in her hands
with a European hair-wig above an ambi-proof face.
she covers her thighs with a towel when she sits
(as for her the family will always believe she is a dressmaker in Fort Victoria)
the rest of the family, mum and dad are happy to admire the latest from town.
Kisimiso means feasting
Dozens of bread loaves, drums of tea, mountains of sadza
Rock-size pieces of meat of the he-goat
in lakes of thousand-eyed soup
And of course, large pots of fizzing, frothy beer.
Nothing about the print themes of goodwill and peace
Of course goodwill was always here;
an old man well-known to me lost half his hair
while pulling a tourist out of a blazing car’s wreckage – in June,
six months before last Christmas.
A child without clothes sat nodding with sleep
his belly as big as a muchongoyo drum;
buzzing flies were fighting, spinning and tumbling
into the smelling parting between his buttocks,
Kutu the scraggy dog was retching in front of him;
they ultimately gave the mother water that
had washed the madman’s beard
because she could no longer leave the bush
or close her oozing behind
and brother s’kuz’apo
filled the boy’s hut with urine and vomit
and a powerful smell of beer gone stale
The next day
They talked of the greatest Kisimiso
for many years.
From Zimunya’s foregoing characterisation, it’s evident that what goes on around Christmas is as similar to what Christ embodies as night is to day.
What with the drinking binges, gluttony, adultery, fornication; false-pretences, you name it. It’s all done in the name of Christmas, and much like many other things that are done in the name of love, politics or such similar pursuits, its all in a day’s work.
Well let’s hope those who cost innocent families Christmas over the past decade through sell-out politics or ruinous economic sanctions will see the error of their ways, reform and ensure that the nascent stability that we have experienced since the introduction of the multi-currency regime is consolidated so that Xmas 2011 is even better than this year’s edition.
WikiLeaks has, to a large extent, confirmed what we have already known that there are some among us who worked with outsiders to cost us many things, including Christmas.
Let’s hope now that they have been unmasked, they well not walk their well-beaten path to perdition.
I believe progressive Zimbabweans will agree with me if I say, when we shout "Happy New Year" at midnight on December 31, we want that happiness to transcend to each of the 365 days of 2011.
When we wish each other "a prosperous New Year", we should not forget that true prosperity does not come from fronting multinational corporations, earning five-figure salaries, driving company cars or living in company houses; it comes from having dominion over our God-given resources.
It comes from owning our economy and participating fully in economic production. It comes from pro-people programmes like the indigenisation and economic empowerment drive. It accrues from prospering the nation by building a genuine, wealth-creating middle class that can defend the gains of the liberation struggle that began as early as 1896.
And as we head into election season next year, let’s remember the cost we paid to get that ballot, and who was denying us the vote and why. Most importantly let’s not forget that along with one man one vote we were also fighting to be masters of our destiny, to have dominion over our resources down to our rats and ants.
The gains of the revolution need to be protected not only for our sake and for the sake of those patriots who paid the ultimate sacrifice, but for future generations in whose trust we hold this country and all that reposes in it.
Let’s not prostitute our right to our country and its resources, simply because the erstwhile coloniser has dangled a few dollars before our eyes.
Next year’s election should be about a society that has become mature, that has had time to evaluate what is at stake and hence can tell a proxy from a bona fide contestant.
Let the next poll be a time for judgment. A time to show that we have not only gone to school but we are also educated, that we have not only heard but listened, that we have not only read but have understood, that we have not only been taught but have learnt.
Next year’s election should not just be about punishing those who cost us Christmas over the years, it should also be about ensuring future great Christmases for our families. It should be about telling the Westerners and their lackeys that we want our livelihoods and our Christmases back for good.
caesar.zvayi@zimpapers.co.zw
