Even when you’re eating african sausage?

I work across the road from the sadza joint, and when I can (or when Vusa’s kind enough to buy) I take the short stroll to number 13 for a graze. Situated where I am, I’m also the first to arrive, and can position myself strategically in the sunny corner before the masses cruise in.

So last time I went (read: Monday), there I was in my corner, eating my ($500) sa-and-beef quietly in the corner, when this loud, obnoxious female (with a nice ass) walks up. Of course, we’re up on the balcony, and the rest of her (male) work chums are out on the lawn, so she begins a long and boring (and LOUD) discussion with them. And she’s two metres away from me. And she’s screaming at the top of her voice. Like, excuse me, we’re trying to eat here without a dissertation on how many chinas are are hitting on you via text. Fuck off.

Today, I was well into my lunch when, again, the Sadza Bitch walks up. With 3 (male) colleagues. First off, what is with this bitch and men? Also, ass is not so nice. Anyway, they sit down quietly enough, order a little louder, their order comes…then it begins. Oh dear God, there’s no ketchup at the table.

“Meeeeeeh-moooooh!” – I can feel my blood racing, heart beats faster, my head’s gonna explode.

Memo, not knowing what’s good for her, traipses up to the balcony.

Hapana tomato sauce. I need tomato sauce, handidye pasina tomato sauce inini!” – Short of breath. Dying.

As if that was the cue she needed, the rest of the convo is conducted at ear-shattering volume, and I can’t take it anymore, I run before I say somethin clever (or really dumb, considering male colleagues).

Like, I bet you don’t worry about ketchup with a dick in your mouth, Sadza Bitch.

Getting the hell out

Yeah, I think I’ve arrived at that stage in every Zimbabwean’s life where I look around, dig deep inside and ask myself that age-old question: should I stay or should I go?

I’m tired, peeps, dead tired. Of the runaround, the rat race, the drama (oh, the drama) and the all-round EXCITEMENT associated with being a resident of Hahahaharare, FCOSA*. I’m not really gonna dwell on the reasons here (do I have to?), but I feel more like examining the options, i.e. – where to now?

I wanna go the islands, man. Sun, sea, sweating away doing menial jobs in some hurricane-prone corner of the world…very appealing. In fact, I can actually see myself traipsing down some forlorn beach, camera in one hand, fruity alcoholic bev in the other, swilling the days away, shaggin out the nights.

Dreams? Fuck, yeah. Okay, probably Unit K. Or Unit S. Even South Africa (at last resort, really), just ANYWHERE but here. Like I said, I’m tired.

Watch this space. Actually, you know in a year I’ll be here, writing the same shit, whining away as any good Zimbo does best. A luta continua.

*FCOSA – Fun Capital of Southern Africa, dumb-ass.

Dear Violet Moyo, I’m your biggest fan

Alright, for those of you uninitiated in the pleasures of Violet Moyo’s music, I’m gonna educate your ass. So, there I was listening to Wedgie’s iPod when I came across some of the dumbest shit I’d ever heard, and asked him what the hell I was listening to?

Well, that was Violet Moyo, some dumb-ass, ghetto Zimbabwean chick overseas, who it appears happens to have both an internet connection and a microphone: the most lethal of combinations. Not sure if she’s ever been in a recording studio, info is scarce, but this chick is building a small and dedicated cult following.

Here’s a link to the esnips page where you can download 5 of her tracks (as mp3), or you can just go straight to her “homepage” (thanks Wedgie).

If there’s any more info on this female anywhere, please feel free to put in the comment area. Cos this is some funny shit.

NB: It looks like downloading from esnips is a painful process, I’m getting 1.8KBps on ZOL, so I’m considering putting her shit up here when I eventually get it all. For any of you who may have similiar trouble, anyway. Ain’t I nice?

Zim: 10 things I hate about you

I know it’s rare, kinda weird and naggingly un-patriotic, but I thought it was about time I put down a list of things that really get on my tits. It’s not all about hating my native country, I just think anywhere on this planet, the following shit would piss just about anyone off.

1. People, please learn to drive. If you’re gonna get behind the wheel, at least have a slight clue what you’re up to. Women reversing: the scariest shit in Harare. Seriously, the mirrors are for more than checking your lipstick. Embassy drivers: speed thrills, we know, traffic signs are not mere guidelines and please, does CD stand for Crazy Driver? And you, on the highway with one headlight…and it’s not even the one on the inside. And yes, please, park anywhere you like, the hazards will tell me not to bother you.

2. Yeah, I do enjoy trying at least 5 times before I get through to a mobile from my landline. It’s fun, like rolling dice, “which tone will I get?” Tel*One, or PTC or whatever you call yourselves this week, first of all, a customer service department is meant to SERVE it’s CUSTOMERS. A two-year wait for connection is not service. Blaming the exchange and ‘faulty copper’ for my lack of leased-line internet is not service. It’s YOUR faulty copper, asshole. That’s why I called you, not the Zambian Ministry of Mines.

3. “Plain, Mild or Hot?” Uhm, mild thanks. Would you like chips with that? No. Would you like a hideously over-priced yellowy fruit “Juicy”? Fuck, no. Anything else…..NO, dammit! If I came in here, looked at the board above your head, scanned the prices, made a choice, smiled at you to indicate I was ready to order and ORDERED a quarter chicken, that’s all I want; deal with it. And you too, Miss Chicken Inn, if I wanted your shitty BBQ sauce or runny egg on my burger, I would ask for it. Who trains these morons? And yes, you’re ugly.

4. Dude, just cos you pulled me over doesn’t mean I can’t leave till I give you “something”. I know you get a shitty salary, I know your family starves too, but the gray uniform and reflective vest is NOT licence to solicit. Yes, my registration is in order. The boot? Open it and see…aaaw, nothing there? Okay, check my glove compartment. Nada? Scan the back seats; of course I’ll open the bag for you, that’s my rent money, wanna come along and watch me pay it? Oooh, NOW you want my licence? There it is. All good? Thanks. Try not to look so disappointed. Doos.

5. Sweetie, just cos I promised to call you on Sunday and didn’t does NOT mean I don’t love you any more. If at all, I love you today more than I did on Sunday. Why can’t you ask me why I didn’t call? It’s not that I have an excuse, but you can’t know the reason, maybe something came up, something serious, and of course nothing more important than you, but I had to take care of it and ran out of airtime. I apologised. Deal with it. Sulking won’t help. I know I stood you up, it happened, I’ll fix it. Geez.

6. No, it’s not a priviledge for me to be in your commuter omnibus. In fact, you should be thanking me for jumping into this over-speeding deathtrap. And please, dude, get you armpit out my face, if you want money from the lady two rows behind me, ask me, I’ll gladly pass it along, as long as I don’t get the pleasure of your two-day-old armpit love. Seriously, your potty mouth does nothing for you either, be polite asshole, there’s 18 of us and two of you. Watch out driver, Mob Justice 5 Km.

7. Oh dearie me, Zimbabwe TeleVision. No wonder people don’t pay their licenses. Getting to watch Cheers, Golden Girls and then LA Heat all in a row, from 10.30 at night, should be a wonderful experience for the dedicated TV fan. But considering this is about all the good shit you have, and it’s all on one night, you’ve gotta do something. And what’s with all the bullshit at prime time? You know what? There’s just too much, I’ll save this for another post, let’s just say, for now…be afraid.

8. Radio. Come on guys. Power FM, or Radio 3, or whatever you fools are today: we get it. These are nice songs. Yes, we like Wyclef’s L.O.V.E. just like you do. And Mary J’s Be Without You is fucking awesome. But please, not 5 times a day, each. Yeah, every DJ wants to play these songs, but chill. They’re NOT the only songs you dumb shits can pirate off the internet.

9. Politicians. On the news. Every day. And it’s the same old characters. Uncle Bob. Ray Kaukonde. Enough now.

10. Thank you Delta Beverages, for the recent price increase. More than anything else in this shitty economy, it has shown all of us grown men the folly of spending all our free time in bars and nightclubs. Thanks to you, Paul Sinclair now sells his booze at half-a-million dollars a pint*. And that’s enough to get even me sober, and for that you should be proud. Assholes.

*Yes, I know it’s now 500 dollars arsehole, doesn’t really sound the same though, does it?

What the hell’s the greenback for?

You have to wonder. Not long ago, Guv of the Reserve Bank of Zimbo, Dr Giden Gn (he’s removed 3 zeroes from his name) introduced the new and ‘convenient’ ZWD100k bearer cheque. Which, of course, is bright green. Now, having wasted all that money and effort, that thing becomes useless in 19 days.

Cos we have NEW currency, baby. With three zeroes slashed off the end! Not millions now, but thousands. Woo-hoo. Wait a minute? What? No new currency, you say? Just new bearer cheques? Bugger: so how long will it be till we actually get currency? Oh, when the economy turns around and we can AFFORD to print new money. Till then, it’s more useless bits of paper.

Right then, not to worry, new bearers it is. Weirdly designed things too, and a lot more ‘minimalist’ than the old (well, current) colour blocks of brown, blue, red, pink and, uhm, green.

Never a dull moment, I tell you. Hahaharare rocks!