At that point it was becoming a yawn. Through the years Old Man has provided free theatre for many of us. We are now tired of the stale script. I mean they could have made life easier for everyone by replaying a tape of one of his many speeches.
Looking at him, he cut a pathetic figure. I somewhat felt sorry for the old tyrant. As he was busy hurling insults, I thought if I were him, I would be behaving myself so as to avoid the noose. I can tell you Old Man did not do himself any favours. As far as I can see, deal or not, he is still headed for the gallows. He has blown the only chance he had of saving his neck.
However, I must admit that signing the deal means a lot of things. For starters, Old Man and his goons might stop killing innocent people whose only crime is to like the illiterate bloke with the face that needs a bit of plastic surgery.
Next, and this is more serious, the deal will affect many people beyond the borders of Timberland.
You see many of the folks who fled here are about to return to their loved ones. There are days of happy family reunions ahead. After all, there is no place like home. And with regard to us in this country, we will have to adapt to the return exodus of Zimbos. For instance, the cheap labour is leaving. If you didn’t know, they too have a country. I think many locals had started to assume all Zimbos would stay here forever. We were mistaken. The deal means they are all returning home. Where else in the world have you seen a university graduate who speaks better English than his employer working in the garden and feeding the dogs? Sometimes even eating some of the food meant for the dog.
In a few months time, we will be saying it used to happen here. It was only in this country where some semi literate could employ a multiple degree holder in some menial job. For example, out in many local villages, Zimbos could be hired by anyone, even by the village water pump attendant. The time when anyone in this country could have their own pet slave is coming to an end.
Heck, so many Zimbos are headed back home. The police are going to be bored. Who are they going to treat as game, chase and beat up all day long?
Surely you recall the story of the patrol of soldiers and police that forced some Zimbos to perform a live porno show for them. Well, they are going to have to find something to do in their night patrols. With so many security personnel doing nothing, the government might have to retrench them. That would serve them right for brutalising the impoverished poor and hungry Zimbos.
So many of us will feel the departure of our good neighbours. Take the kids’ nannies. They can’t wait to return to their children whom they left in the care of their grannies. Local parents are now blessed with little kids who speak good English.
Considering that many of the local mums are severely challenged when it comes to the Queen’s language, we are set for hilarious scenes in the supermarkets. The sort of scene where the kid misbehaves and the mother can only mumble in the vernacular in fear of being subjected to a torrent of English, learnt from a Zimbo nanny.
We are going to see the children’s marks plummeting at school because there would be no one to help with the homework. With the chaps out drinking, and the mums chasing young boys, and no Zimbo nanny or gardener to assist, kids are going to flunk, big time.
For many a male folk, it’s back to the terrible food. Our wives and partners always claim to be too tired to cook. That means from now onwards, the local maids will do the cooking. Given that many of them cannot read a recipe book, we will have to make do with what is offered.
With the Zimbo maids, we ate well. We did not miss the cooking of our wives or girlfriends. In any case because they are so literate and sophisticated, they cooked better because they could devise their own recipes or refer to a magazine. We had gourmet cooks right at home.
The more I think about it the more I want to cry. I am going to miss the Zimbos. The chaps were joyful drinkers. Now with whom am I going to break bread and discuss philosophy? Who am I going to speak good English with? Who is going to help my kids with the homework? Who is going to do my garden and feed my dogs? Who is going to fix my television set when I want to watch the football? I ask myself who is going to build my dream home on slave wages. To whom am I going to boast, in my inebriated state that my country is better than theirs? Who is going to make me feel I am superior because my country is not yet in trouble? Who is going to come up with home cooked gourmet dishes for me? Who is ever going to address me as, sir?
And most painful of all, the prostitutes are also going back. Oh, the prostitutes! Our beautiful, educated and cheap Zimbo girls are returning home. Who is going to provide us with comfort? This is all a big tragedy. I feel so sad. I want to cry!     Â
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by Loose CanonÂ
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