The Sunday Mail
AS the rape charges were being read out to him, Admire kept chewing and making silent prayers while facing downwards to avoid eye contact with court officials and people who were in the gallery.
All this while, his hands were tucked in his pockets as if he intended to bury himself in there in shame.
He was fidgeting as someone who was performing a ritual.
He also looked like an unweeded garden — talk of his uncombed hair, dirty clothes and bloodshot eyes.
The moment Admire left the stand after bail had been granted, a mixture of snuff and bird feathers could be seen where he was standing.
“Waionaka muzukuru yandinotamba? Ndinonzi Sekuru Jenura Makwara wekuChipinge ini (Do you still doubt my prowess, I come from Chipinge),” a middle-aged man with yellowing teeth could be heard saying to Admire outside the courtroom.
Such are the goings-on at the country’s courts of law on a daily basis.
I feel sorry for people who work there (courts of law).
Not that I consider myself to be in a better profession, but what they go through on an average working day requires men and women of steel.
Each time I see new magistrates and judges being sworn in, I shudder to think whether or not they are aware of the horror that awaits them in their chosen profession.
It is not a stroll in the park.
Each time one is paid after a month’s work at the courts, there is reason to celebrate. If it were in times of plenty, I would suggest they slaughter a beast monthly to thank the gods.
It does not matter whether one is a janitor, messenger, secretary, magistrate or judge — it is all hell by whatever name.
Popularly known as “courts”, “matare”, “zvikoteni” or “kwamutongi gava”, these places are unsettling enough for anyone.
According to the dictionary, a court is a place where trials and other legal cases happen.
A lot happens in the courts of law, gentle reader.
N’angas and prophets make a living through the courts.
They frequent these places to sprinkle “muti” on behalf of their clients who will be facing trial for fraud, theft, burglary, including rape and murder.
Handwritten posters inscribed: “Mazvikokota wenyaya dzemumatare. Tinodzima nyaya dzese dzinokunetsai” are not unusual in downtown Harare.
The posters usually have contact details of the n’anga or self-styled prophet or healer. Why the authorities do not pay these prophets and n’angas visits to assist them with investigations remains a mystery.
If these n’angas are engaged, they may help solve some criminal puzzles that have plagued the country for a long time. Just my thoughts.
I also hear some apostolic sects have special sessions to “assist” people with cases before the courts of law.
It has become common in the ghetto to find broken claypots, some even brand new, along footpaths and even along rivers.
Apart from the challenges of muti and a motley of other substances sprinkled by n’angas and prophets, those who work in the courts of law also have to contend with bribery. They are approached on a daily basis with tempting offers for vehicles, houses and cash just to sweep some cases under the carpet.
Those not in the know feel working in the courts is a passport “to eating meat” every day.
“Ndikangoshanda mucourt handidye veggie futi,” you hear people saying in beerhalls.
Those who work in the courts of law but do not have a car to their name have become the butt of jokes in the ghetto.
They are always reminded of how they are failing to make hay while the sun shines. They seem to symbolise those who are lazy to think.
“Wakapusa, uri dununu, dzela chairo. Kutadza kugarira nyaya hwani wodya namambo,” you hear sheepish advice being offered.
But, gentle reader, working in the courts comes with a weighty responsibility to make the communities we live in better.
So let us spare these souls unnecessary jibes and muti.
Inotambika mughetto.
