The Sunday Mail
Rosenthal Mutakati
I drank beer and roasted meat with a dead man last weekend. The guy was jovial and readily quaffed a lot of cold ones with me at an old and seemingly neglected bottle store in Goromonzi.
He even cracked more than a few rib-crackers, which belied that fact he had left this life for a dance with the angels. Unbeknown to him, his nephew, whom I work with, had declared him very ill and subsequently dead over five months ago.
As I write this piece, I personally do not even know how many times I have died and to who I have been declared dead and for how many years. People, especially Zimbabweans, lie a lot.
They tell a lot of fibs to the point where one can end up believing the lies to be true. The reasons for lying are many and varied.
Called “vharaz”, “dupington”, “nyepimbi”, “closaz” or “jutaz” in ghetto lingo, lies are like a small cross most people will carry with them to the grave. Learners lie to their parents about educational requirements so they can get money to splash on burgers, soft drinks and many other eats.
They lie about “stolen” uniforms and shoes just to milk a few extra dollars from their parents. Nowadays, the lies centre on laptops.
“Daddy, laptop yangu yakabiwa apa ndine exam on Friday, so I do not even know where to start. Kindly source money for an immediate replacement because I cannot make do without one,” I heard a friend being told by his son.
Those with multiple lovers lie about attending funerals out of town to make time for their lovers.
“Sorry honey, this weekend we cannot meet because I have to attend my grandmother’s funeral in Masvingo. She had been in hospital for a long time but you know with old age she just could not make it. This is a horrendous blow to the family,” women are often made to believe before being asked to part with a bit of cash for fuel.
Some people lie so that they can get time away from work to get soft loans, duck a pressing creditor, spend quality time with a new lover and at times just for the sake of it.
“I personally hate it but at times I find myself having to tell lies just for the sake of it. If I spend a day without telling a lie, I simply do not feel comfortable,” I heard a guy saying in a packed kombi in Kuwadzana.
It can be worse if one is a boss at his workplace. These people are lied to left, right and centre by subordinates wishing to spend the Christmas break away from work. These characters will tell fibs about a close uncle or a family matriarch dying.
They will spice the lies with tear-jerking stories that one would have to be a satanist not to believe them or grant them the needed permission to attend the “funeral”.
It is not surprising that some people are working like donkeys while their peers are drinking like fish, thanks to the lies they tell.
A word of advice this festive season: If you don’t earn like them, don’t spend like them.
There is life after Christmas.
Come January, there are fees and rentals to be paid, uniforms, books and food to be bought, bills to be settled, perhaps loans to be repaid, so spend wisely.
Never follow the crowd.
Know your financial status.
Wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Inotambika mughetto.
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