Partying a la zimbabwean

It’s been a while, my first world computer seems unwilling to host third world websites.

But I digress. So, yet once again it has been confirmed to me why it is that I tried to stay away from Zimbabweans this end of the diaspora. My uncle turned 50 and so his relatives decided to throw him a ‘suprise’ birthday party. As organisation goes, these people could be taught a thing or two by schoolground bullies, coz the words ‘piss up’ and ‘brewery’ immediately spring to mind.

This thing was supposed to start at 2pm and the first prayer (I kid you not, the first of many, many a prayer) was said at 9pm to get proceedings rolling. They even had church songs. It turned out to be more of a prayer meeting than a party, although on the booze front, they did alright. Us Catholics and a spot of the strong stuff, can’t hold us back from our boozy pleasures, since the whole celibacy thing seems to be a big deal (think 27-year old virgins. PLEASE!).

I ask you. Peeps get me out of my house in sub-zero temperatures to force me to pray on a day that’s not Sunday, what’s wrong with folk? And who can forget how natives love the sound of their own voices, and that tedious habit of announcing zvipo, punctuated by a church song and a prayer. A bullet to the head would have been kinder, kinda like putting a dumb animal out of its misery.

Times like that make me wish for the hedonistic bliss of Scud and Nanny.