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Lenox Mhlanga 

You will burn in hell and damnation,’ she warned. 

To this day, I don’t take that threat too lightly. So this article is written in that spirit . . . of not lying to avoid being called out for spreading alarm and despondency.

We’re headed for a difficult Christmas, no doubt about that. Back then, this was the time to go crazy, open presents and generally party until the break of dawn.

As the ‘how do you survive in this’, trickles from the diaspora for the holidays ukuzothethela, we brace for their dubious stories of fame and fortune.

We enter yet another festive season (pronounced ‘fistive’ by one of my uncles) amid difficulties accessing cash. Understood that we are moving with the times and going cashless. Yet, between you and me, we all know that you still need cash to pay for many things. 

Worse still when people are losing faith in that ubiquitous mobile money service that has so disappointed us this year. Talk about arrogant monopolies dominating our economy.

The possibility of the Christmas of 2019 celebrated in the absence of money is giving the term “cashless economy” a whole new meaning.

We find ourselves having to go through hell and high water just to withdraw our hard-earned cash from banks. They resemble refugee camps as people literally live on the pavements just to be the first in line. Bank aides, just like their cousins — the fuel station attendants, have been catapulted to messiah status once again. 

As they dole out queue tickets with a look of disdain on their faces, we ask ourselves how we got to this point. Even landlords are putting up signs stating: “One room available. Petrol Attendants only to apply!”

I half expect the local tabloid Umthunywa to write a screaming headline saying: Yikhisimusi bani engelamali? (What kind of Christmas is this without money?) After all, Christmas is supposed to be a time of giving, not about taking away!

But the critical issue for many is not being able to visit their beloved relatives in rural areas. Christmas in the communal areas — ikhisimusi eye reseva — with all the sentimentality of spending quality time with the old folks in the sticks is a pipe dream.

I struggle to find the words to describe what is to become of this year’s Christmas. It was the time to travel emakhaya to flash around that hard-earned money and bring cheer to the backwoods of rural Zimbabwe. 

It was an experience that earned bragging rights until the following year.

The acrid smoke in the pole and dagga kitchens and having to use Blair toilets used to be the least of our worries. How are we going to catch up on the best gossip of the year?

We will surely miss being animatedly told about how Sibanda from behind the anthill bewitched uMoyo from the swamp because his truant son Bigboy had impregnated the former’s star daughter Esinathi earmarked for an arranged marriage to Nyathi the local headman.

Never mind the fact that Nyathi was secretly eyeing NakaNtombi, Siziba’s vivacious second wife. Her latest baby’s paternity already in question as a result though no DNA tests have been done to prove this.

What about old man Dube from near the mission, struck by lightning on a clear day after poisoning Zulu’s emaciated hunting dogs ngedibha?

At least we can look forward to seeing our long lost relatives from across the border eGoli pouring over the Beitbridge border because the rand has valued this time around. It’s almost at par with our own dollar. 

So their visit will be largely humanitarian, bringing all those groceries that cost an arm and a leg on home soil for some selfish reasons. The other reason, as I have stated earlier, is spiritual. The ancestors will surely get their long-awaited dues.

 We expect them to bring anything that is not nailed down, from water to whiskey, food and fuel, plastic drums and junk. Not forgetting the coveted rands that have become the currency of choice in Bulawayo and the surrounding areas.

Injiva had a nasty shock the last time they came. Discovering, in their borrowed lingo, that ekhaya mara kushubile ne! (Things have gone bad at home!) Apart from learning that their rands were no longer worth the paper they were printed on, the booze proved to be way too expensive for them to buy every Tom, Dick and Themba.

As I write this piece, I face one of my greatest challenges ever. Either to tell it as it is, or to throw a bit of sunshine. The last thing I would want to do is to jeopardise the editor’s job. The fact is that all is in God’s hands just for comfort. 

Perhaps I will witness to you all when all this is over and someone wakes me up saying it was all a dream. On the positive side, we get the therapy that we now need. To laugh with and at ourselves in spite of the situation.

Some things will never change. The churches will be filled to the brim with believers and non-believers alike hoping to receive the special blessings that the day holds. 

The bars will be packed to the rafters with people either drinking down their sorrows or injiva doing what they know best, that is, show off.

With all that, let me wish all and sundry a merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year. Brace for my predictions for 2020.