The Best 5 Of: Dr Amai Grace Mugabe Quotes


by Simba The Comic King

When we found out that Grace had been awarded with a secret PhD we were baffled as f**k. Then she started coming up with these quotes that exceed the very limits of man wisdom, quotes like, “Stop it!” In my twenty something years of existence on this planet I have tried to come up with such smart a** quotes but the best I could come up with is, “F**k it, ndiani asura?” I’m not sure whether she writes her  own dazzling speeches or there is a “ghost” writer who may have died but continues to write from a special wheelchair  even after he’s dead and with that our first quote….

 “If God decides to take him, then we would rather field him as a corpse.”



Analysis: Sometime this month at a rally in Buhera, Dr Amai reiterated that her husband would run in next year’s elections even as a corpse. The dexterity and poetic nature of this sentiment is  unparalleled and is something that the writers of Walking Dead are probably kicking themselves for not coming up with.

“Anyone who was with Mugabe in 1980 has no right to tell him he is old. If you want Mugabe to go, then you leave together. You also have to leave. Then we take over because we were not there in 1980,”



Analysis: That’s right homeboy! Since you were born at a time when Fresh Prince of Bel Air and Paraffin were the s**t on TV that means you are not Zimbabwean. You only qualify for that privilege if you were born in 1980 or before. Seeing as only those who participated in the war are the only ones who have a right to say how the f**k this government has to be run, it looks like a whole lot of corpses are going to be running this country. Resurrection will not only be something you read about in the Bible but big business as well. Looks like you ain’t no homeboy after all.


 “We are going to create a special wheelchair for President Mugabe until he rules to 100 years, because that is what we want,”



Analysis:  Sigh…It’s getting redundant really.

“I might have a small fist. But when it comes to fighting, I will put stones inside to enlarge it. Do not doubt my capabilities.”



Analysis: Not only does she hold a PhD in whatever she holds a PhD in, she also holds one in the mystical martial art known as Kung- Put-A-Stone-In-Your-Fist-To-Make-It-Bigger-Fu. Let he without a PhD cast the first stone.


“Girls have a higher chance of falling pregnant than boys. If you look at the statistics, girls have nearly 100% chance of getting pregnant, while boys have nearly zero chances of falling pregnant. This means girls have to be extra extra vigilant.”



Sadly the best-eat  of her quotes really wasn’t her words but a very fascinating satirical article that The Southern Daily released.  But still it really sounds like something she would say. Since then I’ve been taking pregnancy tests just for extra measure gaddhemeti!


4 Things to expect as we approach 2018 elections


by Chipo Kakora 

It is that time of year again as we eagerly await the highly anticipated 2018 elections which are just around the corner. The stage has been set and the rallies have begun. I have been old enough to witness and experience quite a number of elections and it all now seems like Déjà vu. Each year brings its own twist and surprises hence 2018 will be the same. Here are a few things we should definitely expect for 2018.

Castles In The Sky Type Of Manifestos:

Election time usually means the building of castles in the sky by overzealous parties as they rally the masses for that precious X. Last week Wednesday we perhaps got a pre-empting of ZANU-PF’s manifesto for the 2018 election via the Minister of Information, Media and Broadcasting Services, Dr Christopher Mushohwe who announced that very soon after the digitilisation process as much as 3.8 million jobs would be created. How? One might wonder. Well according to him, they want to set up about 12 channels of which half will be public channels and the other half will be for private players. After they set up these channels the mathematics goes like this;

12 channels broadcasting 24 hours a day = 288 hours

288 hours x 7 days of the week = 2 016 hours

So the minister says imagine hypothetically speaking your content is worth $2000, multiply that by the number of channels and broadcasting hours. So here we go again the last round of mathematics

                                $2000 x 2 016 hours = $4 032 000 x 12 channels =48 384 000

                                $48 384 000(Money made in a week) x 51 weeks = 2  467  584 000

So somehow after all has been added and subtracted the final figure he came up with was about 1,5 billion dollars in revenue and 3,8 million jobs created. In a country where the only broadcasting channel available is failing to maintain standards and struggling to pay workers it will be more than a miracle to achieve such a feat. So be wary of such useless and impossible promises and don’t be hoodwinked by “tele-tubby” economics. I sometimes wonder why they even bother giving us these figures but in the end it will probably be used to justify their “landslide victory”.


Rise Of Data Tariffs:

This is one thing we should definitely expect as a strategy to try and thwart “Social media-lism”.With the rise of social media activists like Pastor Evan Mawarire or  #Tajamuka, platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Whatsapp etc. have proven beyond doubt to be very efficient tools. An example of this was when we had an internet shutdown last year. Even though recently tariffs were hiked to unimaginable levels and then brought down again, there is still an ongoing debate on what should eventually be the floor price and what we can only expect is something not in the least bit “budget friendly”. Your phone can now be a tool for regime change as such it needs to be tamed.

Long Queues At Banks

I foresee lines at banks getting longer and longer as the months progress towards 2018. This will definitely be another strategy employed to keep people busy with other things. Whether deliberate or not queues will certainly be a permanent feature as cash shortages loom.


As usual ZANU-PF never disappoints in this department. With the Bikita by-elections which took place recently marred with allegations of violence, nothing has changed much and we can only anticipate for the worst. But despite all these obstacles let us not forget to register to vote. Especially the youth who constitute a large percent of the population.

Kindergarten jokers & a gullible audience


By Patson Dzamara

That leaders of a country bedevilled with unprecedented challenges and on the verge of a precipice would fight and dedicate efforts including acres of space to discuss a mug is not only shocking but satanic. When the clowns are at it, of course, the gullible audience will be ululating.

A few days ago, I learnt that ZBC got excited over umbrella sales to the extent of making that a story on the main news! That’s shocking. Whoever thinks that the economy is boosted by sales of umbrellas dumped from China is a kindergarten joker whose head need serious examination. The investor apathy, cash crisis, potholes, poor drainage systems and uncollected refuse don’t bother them. Zanu PF and its appendages undermine our intelligence but we seem to enjoy their act of mockery. For some mysterious reasons, we seem to enjoy their shenanigans.

In 1983, Mugabe’s ZANU PF led government presided over the massacre of over 20 000 Zimbabweans in Matebeleland. To date they have not accounted for all those lives. Instead they have actually remained faithful to their evil inclinations. My brother Itai Dzamara is one of the victims of ZANU PF’s evil tendencies. He was abducted two years ago by state security agencies and he has not been accounted for. Meanwhile, some ZANU PF kindergarten jokers treat this as something they can joke about while the gullible audience cheers.

In 2008, Mugabe lost an election to Tsvangirai with a “huge margin”. Election results were withheld for more than 30 days after which a bloody re-run was held. The rest is history but 9 years later, at 93 Mugabe is still Zimbabwe’s President. In fact, he is ZANU PF’s presidential candidate for the 2018 elections. By the way, he now resorts to visiting Zimbabwe occasionally and it seems as though he has a home address somewhere in the air because he is always on the plane. Whenever he returns from his mysterious trips, a gang of his poisoned minions throng the airport to welcome their terror captain. This they do through song and dance. The poor ladies compete to outshine each other in shaking their shrunk and ostensibly impoverished bums hoping they could get the attention of the senior male minions. What a kindergaten joke!

Interestingly, in Zimbabwe everyone is an expert, everyone is an analyst, everyone has a strategy, everyone has a valid opinion, everyone is educated, everyone has an organisation, everyone is everything and on top of that there are over 50 registered opposition political parties. However, it is mind boggling that for 36 years one old and frail man together with his legion of equally morbid and clueless surrogates have been urinating on the heads of Zimbabweans. Talk of kindergarten jokers and a gullible audience!

Meanwhile, Zimbabweans find amusement in tearing up and undressing each other on social media for a handful of likes. We go to town over issues that don’t mean a bag of beans. We romance trivia in a shocking way. Our level of frivolity is petrifying and of epic proportions.

In this land of keyboard warriors, vanity is celebrated. Anyone who dares to take a stand against evil is persecuted. For doing what others can’t do, they are labelled attention seekers by those who sound brave, sophisticated, philosophical and yet they are nothing but a bunch of cowards in real life.

When Evan Mawarire left, running away from that gang of terror we have allowed to preside over the affairs of this country, some grown men and women weeped while others engaged in a competition to give him all sorts of derogatory names. How grown men and women expect one man or a few individuals to risk their lives, fighting for them while they sip expensive wine in the comfort of their homes is ludicrous. Well, Evan returned yesterday. Upon his return, the keyboard warriors remained true to their colours. Some attacked him for coming back while the other equally surprising bunch concluded that their salvation had arrived. To the latter, it is never about them and what they can do but what another person can do. Talk of kindergarten jokers and a gullible audience!

To me Evan is a senior brother with whom I have a relationship from long back. We are both authors and conference speakers, as such we have interacted on several platforms prior to this activism trajectory. Whatever he is and whatever he represents to different people, Mawarire is not the problem, we are the problem. Even if he is a deceiver like what others say, Mawarire is not the problem, Zimbabweans are the problem. How some in a nation of people who boast of being highly educated think that their destiny is hinged upon the actions of one person or a few individuals is a kindergarten joke.

While we flaunt our borrowed English accents in our meaningless debates, the country is sinking deep into an abyss. Of course, it’s therefore easy to understand why we cannot speak with a single voice against our oppression. We have so many borrowed accents and identities. We are too artificial.

Patson Dzamara is a pro democracy activist, leadership coach and author, and conference speaker based in Zimbabwe

…and I never saw her again: My encounter with an angel


By Patson Dzamara

Who said Angels are lofty beings with whom we can not interact? I am convinced I had an encounter with at least one angel.

Growing up in the high density surburb of Highfield, I never had a clue of what the world out there had for me. My world revolved around the little space within which I was raised. It was within that space that I got acquainted to the systems of life and to other people. In that space, i also got oriented to how other people- especially my siblings, friends and classmates-viewed me.

They all seemed to concur on the notion that I was really ‘blessed’ with a big head.

As such I had to endure nicknames such as Humpty Dumpty.

Aggressive and arrogant as I was and probably still am, those who were close to me knew how to deflate my steam and roll whenever I became a nuisance. They would just remind me who I was; Humpty Dumpty. Calling me that or anything denigrating linked to ‘my big head’ was a sure way to frustrating and reeling me in.

We used to play street soccer with my friends and elder brothers in the dusty streets of Old Highfield. They all knew the best way to frustrate me. They would just say something about my head and that would pack me into my own corner of self doubt and feeling of inadequacy. Without them knowing or paying particular attention, they were actually infusing self doubt and inferiority complex in me. I remember I was a class monitor several times in primary school but that still never eliminated the self doubt.

Every time when my grade six teacher would ask me to go carry books from her car, I would literally feel my head weighing down on me while walking out of the classroom. I used to think that’s all the girls see when they look at me, so I never did many adventures in that regard during my primary school going days.

I am a bit athletic and I used to compete at inter house competitions. I won’t forget the day I pulled out of a 400 meters race which I was actually leading. Left with less than 100 meters and leading the race, I heard one of my classmates cheering from the sideline saying, “go Humpty, go Humpty”. That killed my spirit and all of a sudden I indeed began to feel that my head was heavy.

I then tumbled and pulled out of a race I stood a chance of winning. In the middle of all that confusion and impoverished self esteem, something happened and it marked a complete turnaround of my life. It was the first day of the second term of my grade six. As the Headmaster gave the opening speech none of his words got to my heart as I found myself raptured in the world of uncensored fantacy while gazing at a new comer to our school.

Even though my poor self concept then did not allow me to carry out many expeditions in the world of relationships, I still had a good enough inclination towards beauty. I appreciated and still appreciate beauty. I am sure I was not the only one salivating and novicely fantacising over this new comer while the Headmaster was speaking. She was beautiful. An immaculate stunner. Whilist my eyes still feasted on her superimposing beauty, her eyes coincidentally greeted and for about 5 seconds locked with mine. I almost jumped out of my skin. Time froze for me.

My heart began to pound harder. My joints became weak and I was simultaneously teleported into the world of hallucination. Unfortunately, just having our eyes greeting was the furthest I could go because after all I was Humpty Dumpty. I would never even dare open my mouth to greet her. Other boys were the most eligible candidates, I told myself.

For that entire term that incident was my most treasured, palatable and appreciated mental picture. I would several times find myself replaying how our eyes greeted and that would make me feel great. Just the memory of the greeting of our eyes would make me feel good even though I never dared to greet her in reality, neither did I have the guts to have a repetition of that greeting of our eyes. I would still gaze at her but from a distance and I always made sure I was not caught.

One afternoon, in the third term of my grade six, the most unexpected happened. That same girl walked up to me while on my way from school. For some reason on that particular day, I had left behind my friends with whom I would walk to and from school. I could bot believe it when she greeted me.

It felt like a dream and I really felt the call of nature in both dimensions pressing on me. I stummered and replied her greeting. The words she said after the greeting totally changed my life for good.

“I always see you everyday and I like how you are a cool and smart guy,” she said.

Upon hearing those words, the call of nature pressed even the more and I honestly registered a little something there. I did not know what to do and what to say. I just looked at her and I said thank you. Meanwhile, she was already walking away from me.

From that moment my step even changed. I now had a spring in my step. I began to feel myself. I told myself that after all I was not as bad if the most pretty girl at school could come and tell me she liked me. I began to feel like I was the man. I began to feel important and handsome.

That incident transformed my life for good. My self concept got healed from that moment. I began to spend more time in front of the mirror. Even my perfomance in school improved. I just began to feel good about myself. I began to like and love myself.

Of cause, I was inexperienced and clueless, so I did not fully utilise her liking of me. We would greet and at times chat briefly here and there.

Whenever I would look at her, even from a distance, that would give me a good confidence boost. It made me feel special to think that the girl every boy at school wanted, actually liked me, ‘Humpty Dumpty’.

Amazing how the right words at the right time can change a person for good. The power of words.

My plan was to tell her that I love her soon after writting our final grade seven exams but that was never to be. Soon after my last exam I was sent to our rural home so I could help my mother with her farming while waiting for the results. The improvised plan then was I would tell her that I love her when we go pick our results.

So I returned to the city the week our results were to be released but I never saw her during that week. I didn’t know where she was. I would spend hours walking around her neighbourhood hoping I would bump into her but that was never to be.

…And I never saw her again. Her name was Valerie.