I HAVE an unrivaled love for Winky D. My adoration was triggered by the hotpot of qualities he projects. His lyrical genius; his unapologetic ownership of any stage he steps on; that disheveled but polished look he has going; his voice; the way he “shapes” his words; his disgustingly fabulous arrogance – he has this way of violently descending upon the stage and dropping one brilliant bar after another in a way that says, ‘look, I’m awesome and I know it.” After all, he’s the Messi of Reggae, the Gaffer, Igwe and Bigman. A superior intellect shines through all his work. I could go on and on, but at some point I must seem to respect the man in love with me, so I shall stop here.

I fell in love with Winky D back in December 2015 when he released the song ‘Disappear’. My extremely broke buddies and I were in Victoria Falls for the carnival and we really lived up to the lyrics of the song. There is a line in the song which expresses how he wants to enjoy himself so much that (or until) he’s admitted into hospital like one who is seriously ill. I remember experiencing an involuntary reckless abandon each time the song came on. It resonated well with who I was at the time. Actually no, come to think of it, it resonates well with who I am even now.  A girl with a bagful of problems in this failed Zimbabwean economy but also an ability to magically forget them all and enjoy her life to the fullest.

Whenever I heard him sing “Haburakadabhura” (abracadabra), I literally felt all my problems melt away. I would instantly forget that just a year earlier I had left a terrible marriage; fleeing Gwanda to Harare with nothing but the suitcase I had “stolen” from my mum because I could not afford one. I would miraculously forget that things in Harare had not worked out as I had envisioned because my business partner cum “good” friend had muscled me out of the business we had built together the moment the dollars started trickling in. I forgot that the day before the trip I had moved into some dingy backhouse after I had been evicted from my flat for failure to pay the rent. I forgot that I was a jobless single mother of two. What was really magical though, was the fact that I even managed to forget that I had not heard from my then boyfriend since the day he had left for a business trip to the United States a few weeks earlier.

Unfortunately, in 2016 Winky D seems to have come back to his senses and decided to take us back to earth with his hit song, ‘25’. He must have come to the realisation that we cannot, after-all, wave a magic wand and make our problems disappear. He came at us with a song that basically says, “I opened my up eyes and now I have to face reality. I went to school, I have a degree so what the hell is this?” He laments about how he has had to rewrite his dreams in which he thought by the time he turned 25 he would have a better standard of living. He thought by age 25 he would be driving beautiful cars and “rolling” with beautiful girls. Isn’t that what we all thought?

When he explains how he is now in his thirties and cannot even get a job, let alone put food on the table my heart just breaks. He describes how he spends his days betting but even when he wins he doesn’t get anything significant because he has to split the profits with three others. I assume this is because the four of them are so broke that they have to pool funds together for them to even be able to place a bet in the first place. In one line, he cries out about how corruption has ensured that he cannot even benefit from government programmes meant for the poor; such as Operation Maguta; because the rich have literally  put a chain on the gate and locked it. My heart breaks not just for him but for myself and the millions of Zimbabwean youths in the same boat. Young men and women who were sold a dud dream.

Winky D says all he wants is to sit on the table with food exactly like that on Phillip Chiyangwa’s plate. This potent statement simply expresses the stark inequalities between the lives of Zimbabwe’s chosen few and the lives the rest of us have to live.

There are two Zimbabwes in one. On one side is the Zimbabwe for the select few who benefit from the bulk of our country’s resources. The Zimbabwe whose residents effortlessly plough through heavily potholed roads with their massive all-terrain vehicles. The Zimbabwe whose children live in their parents’ mansions and spend an average of a thousand dollars a night on drinks at Pabloz night club in Borrowdale. The Zimbabwe whose girls cry about having their $300 Brazillian hair wigs snatched off their heads by unscrupulous (or should I say hungry?) thieves. In this Zimbabwe people have access to cash (USD) and they shop in Dubai, China and Johannesburg. This is the Zimbabwe that attained Independence in 1980 but failed to share it with the rest of us. The Zimbabwe that enjoys all sorts of freedoms to the fullest. Financial freedom, freedom of speech, freedom of movement and freedom of association.

On the other side is our Zimbabwe. The Zimbabwe where we fight off touts from fondling our buttocks as we jostle to get into kombis after work. The same kombis that will literally jiggle us all the way home as they recklessly plough through our potholed roads. This is the Zimbabwe where 35-year-old men have to live with their wives and children in their parents’ humble two bedroomed homes because they cannot afford the $50 (per room) rent charged in our high density suburbs. In this Zimbabwe, girls get their hair done under some tree for about $3 for cornrows and $10 for braids.

In my Zimbabwe, our children bring ‘final’ warnings for school fees at least once every month. Parents die in hospitals because their children could not come up with $80 for blood. In this Zimbabwe, girls give lap dances to men in strip-clubs just so they can get a dollar with which to purchase soap. In my Zimbabwe, we sleep in bank queues to access a measly $20 bond in coins (if we are lucky) and we shop from vendors and buy second hand clothes.

Back to Winky D. There’s his one song that starts with the bitter wail of a woman which always leaves me sobbing as it tears up my weak heart. In this song, “Panorwadza Moyo”, Winky D and Oliver Mutukudzi ask God why he takes us down the path which leaves our hearts sore; why he has to make us walk down the road which leaves us with bleeding hearts. They sing about how graveyards now seem like our common “hang out joints” as our people die like flies.

It sounds like a song fit for pre-Independence Zimbabwe when our parents had to bury their children who were dying daily in the war. It unfortunately still applies as there is a Zimbabwe that never attained Independence in 1980. This is the Zimbabwe whose people were massacred in the early 1980s during Gukurahundi. The Zimbabwe whose people were brutalised towards the 2008 election runoff. The Zimbabwe that experienced operation Murambatsvina. The Zimbabwe whose people die daily from cholera, typhoid and HIV related cancers we cannot treat because the hospitals we can afford are understaffed and understocked. The song begs God to carry us through this period as we thought we would get used to the pain but clearly we cannot.

I’m turning 34 today and my future looks bleak. I do not have an official job. I do not own a car. I don’t have a house. I depend on my parents for a lot of things and my siblings have to put up with me dropping hints about needing money from them every day. My only hope is in my vote.

On July 30, 2018, all of us registered voters will be answering the simple question: In which Zimbabwe do you belong? Emmerson Mnangagwa and Jah Prayzah’s Zimbabwe which celebrates “Kutonga Kwaro Gamba” or Nelson Chamisa and Winky D’s Zimbabwe which has woken up to the simple but frightening fact that “pakudiwa chiGafa ku Parliament?”

Twitter: Mamoxn E-mail: [email protected]