A bad tree cannot bear good fruit

Years ago — when a young Bishop Lazi had just swapped napkins (not diapers or pampers) for those torn and airy shorts that often had a hollowed out “tattoo” at the back, through which pesky hens would occasionally poke tender parts of the anatomy during unguarded moments — no beverage was as popular as the seven-day brew.

And, in the village at the time, no brewer was as popular as the Bishop’s grandmother.

She had really mastered the witchcraft of transforming water and pearl millet into a fiery brew that was known and respected far and wide.

It attracted imbibers as light would a swarm of insects.

Usually, when granny was satisfied she had worked her magic with the brew to her heart’s content, it was time for the Bishop and his siblings to announce the good news.

The task often involved scaling the loftiest anthill or tree one could find very early in the morning, when voices could not be drowned out by chirping birds, mooing cows and strident village chatter, and letting rip a guttural shout to be conveyed by the swift morning wind: Ngoootoooo! Ngoto-ngoto kunooooooo!

For thirsty village drinkers, these were enchanting and sweet words for the ear.

Expectedly, they began trooping in from the break of dawn.

Most often than not, communal village binge-drinking gatherings like this one brought together a motley crowd that vicariously and variously came to either steam off, socialise, unwind or just simply enjoy the wise waters, or so they are called.

Among the frequent guests at such popular fetes was a chap called Maham.

It was a short version of his full name Mahamad.

He was, however, anything but religious.

The first time Bishop Lazarus saw him, he was awed: Here was a fine specimen of a gentleman. Growing up, the system had indoctrinated us to think that the white man was the gold standard for civilisation and was also closer to God than pathetic natives.

And, for us, Maham, whose parents had given him relatively decent education than the average village folk, was as close to the white man — and to God — as they came.

His hair was always trimmed and well-kempt all the time, his nails were religiously clipped and his clothes were always crisply ironed by those contraptions that were fed red-hot charcoal through those serrated lids.

Most of the time, the unmarried 40-something-year-old kept to himself and seemed reserved, an attribute that was usually mistaken for snobbishness.

But this was only before he took a swig or two of that addictively tasty beer.

As the Bishop was to sadly discover, he could not hold his liquor. After a sip or two from the gourd, he quickly turned from being reserved to being irritable, cantankerous, bellicose, abrasive and uncouth.

Fellow villagers could not stand his expletive-laden rants whenever he had one too many and often literally chased him from such gatherings; that is, in cases where he would not have been knocked out cold by the fiery brew.

From that time, the Bishop learnt a very invaluable lesson: Some people, because of their insecurities, usually hide their weaknesses, depravities and moral perversion behind supposedly lofty titles and feigned sophistication.

Only when they are put under pressure do they crack and reveal their true colours.

Toxic Doctor

The Bishop found himself reflecting on these nostalgic memories from back in the day, especially on Maham’s idiosyncrasies, after seeing more or less similar character traits from one reputed doctor who has gained infamy and notoriety on microblogging social media site, Twitter, for liberally dishing out heavy doses of toxicity, hate and misinformation to his fellow countrymen, particularly those perceived to be pro-Government, ZANU PF or seemingly soft targets.

It became so macabre to the extent that last year, the youthful and naïve doctor excitedly celebrated the death of top civil servants, some of whom were in his care, to Covid-19.

Supposedly hiding under the cover of a pseudonym, he diligently and dutifully shared the news with some of his equally depraved social media followers.

What Bishop Lazarus found morally and ethically objectionable and reprehensible was how the same doctor  seemingly relished the prospect of more high-ranking civil servants succumbing to the disease.

All this because he doesn’t like the Government in power and would like to see it replaced by his Triple C friends.

Well, with doctors like these, who needs cold-blooded psychotic serial killers.

It’s crazy!

Maybe it is because he supports English football club Arsenal, who always have roller-coaster seasons that make some of their fans mentally unstable, but the team has so many level-headed supporters — well, except Jonathan Moyo and Tendai Biti. Kikikiki.

Last week, the toxic doctor was at it again.

This time, he chose to mock a well-known gospel artiste he has been stalking on Twitter all along for organising a successful boozers’ soccer match somewhere in the wilderness of Mhondoro.

The singer’s supposed act of magnanimity did not sit well with the doctor, who felt he should have instead travelled to Murehwa to defend political activist Hopewell Chin’ono’s goats against an alien invasion. Kikikikiki.

Unbeknown to our doctor, he was barking up the wrong tree.

A letter of complaint from the artiste’s lawyers swiftly landed on his desk and that of his employers.

He naturally buckled and apologised, but not before a witch-hunt and bitter recriminations followed within the Triple C camp on whom had exposed the doctor’s real identity.

The fallout was so nasty that one of Triple C volunteers, a vegetable vendor who once worked on our sister Fadzayi Mahere’s failing political campaign in 2018, decided to withdraw his participation in the struggling political movement after being accused of being the snitch.

Signs

The moral of the story: You might eat very big book but have poor social skills that could be fatal, as our friend Jonathan Moyo.

It is the same case with the wretched doctor.

But the problem is bigger than that because we are told that this vile, toxic, abrasive and uncouth lot are putative future national leaders that seek to replace the ZANU PF Government.

This speaks to the new debased brand of opposition politics couched in Western culture that values political rancour over intellect.

You should have read journalist Moses Magadza’s interview with author and lecturer Ignatius Mabasa titled “Inside a great writer’s head” that was published on April 3, 2022 by The Sunday Mail, which essentially is a treatise that argues in part that the problem lies in an education system that is couched and defined through Western lenses and culture, which sometimes is divorced from our culture and experiences.

“By looking down upon our languages, we are perpetuating the cognitive domination that existed during colonialism where the colonised depended on the coloniser’s concepts and categories to think about his own reality …

“Then what is the value of political independence if we are looking at the world through borrowed paradigms? At what point will we tell our own stories — if we ever get to tell them — because we are forgetting them and forgetting ourselves?

“There is a mental battle going on; unfortunately, in this ideological battle, most Africans are like the wolf that ate its own tail thinking it had caught a very fat squirrel.

“… There is a strong desire to decolonise the mind,” said Dr Mabasa during parts of the interview.

These are quite rich and wise words — especially coming from a person who wrote his PhD thesis in Shona — insofar as they provide the basis for understanding why some of these supposedly educated chaps cannot organically connect with the majority of our people and instead rely on insults, which are uncultural.

Opposition politics can be respectful and dignified.

What is also worrying, however, is the question of how the opposition, which continues to show us time and again that they are not only vile, toxic, groundless, rudderless and even inept in handling council affairs, can possibly claim to have the capacity and moral gravitas to create a united, peaceful and thriving country that we all want.

Matthew 7:16-20 is clear: By their fruit you will recognise them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? Likewise, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus, by their fruit you will recognise them.”

How can people who continue to let sewer flow into our homes talk of smart cities?

How can people who are so given to the macabre promise us a harmonious and prosperous life?How can people who are so vile preach the gospel of a united Zimbabwe?

And how can those who want us to suffer to gain political power promise us a thriving country once they are in power?

Its preposterous!

Bishop out!