As Zimbabweans, we tend to talk a lot of shyte; I am one of the culprits. Here are a few things we love to say that piss me off.
“Let’s agree to disagree” – It is the classic response of someone who holds views so outrageously nonsensical, that they can’t accept criticism of said views, or even contemplate that they may be wrong.
This is usually deployed when all attempts at knocking reason into an idiot, whether by logical or voluminous arguments, has failed. Said idiot generally tries to escape the quagmire, and excuse their arguments, using that old rhetorical trick of “well that is what I think,” and flees.
I translate it as “I’ve run out of shit to say to you, I’m out of thoughts, so I don’t wanna talk anymore!”
Well, no, we haven’t agreed to disagree, I think we’ve both agreed that you’re an idiot.
“Ndizvozvo (that’s just the way it is)” – have you witnessed corruption? Is service delivery gone to shit? Have you encountered one of the myriad moments of absolute crap that Zimbabwe dishes out by the hour?
Oh well, just shrug your shoulders and move on. Many people take things in their stride, when they should be protesting and putting their feet down and removing their clothing and screaming hells naw and taking a stand.
I am tired of seeing people give up on basics like running water and electric power. I live in an entire Capital City of an entire nation – how can I be bathing in a bucket?
At no point should I ever be found gymning buckets of water up the stairs. I should not be hoarding gas tanks and stoves just to make food when the power is cut.
“Wafa wanaka (roughly don’t speak ill of the dead)”- this is by far the worst of the lot. It is used to excuse, forgive and whitewash the many sins of people after their deaths.
Whether they are politicians who ruined countless lives during their reign, or musicians who performed for brutal regimes and profited off the suffering of many, the theory is that once someone is dead, we cannot speak of their sins.
I call bullshit. This culture of faking respect for thieves and murderers because they’ve finally done us a favour and fecked off to hell, is nonsense.
The only way a society can grow is to learn from our mistakes; if we cannot discuss how Uncle Jeftas in the casket drank himself to death, how can his son learn to drink in moderation?
If the dead person was a murdering ZANU-PF thug, or a priest who fiddled with little children, we can’t be getting censored in 2015 about what we can and can’t say about a dead person.
I have more, but I’m bored now.