NUST Cricket Squad Voodoo continues at 2018 Campus Cricket World Finals

Staff Writer
less than a minute read

ZIMBABWE representatives at the 2018 Redbull Campus Cricket World Finals from the National University of Science and Technology (NUST) have put up a disappointing show in the two games they have played so far.

The Zimbabwe team has played against Pakistan and Bangladesh in T20 series World Finals in Srilanka.

On Sunday, the boys displayed one of the worst performances against Pakistan falling by 92 runs and 10 wickets.

On Monday, the team played Bangladesh who proved to be a thorn in flesh. NUST scored only 78 runs in 20 overs with the rival team sailing to as high as 218 runs, creating a gap of 140 runs between them.

This is not the first time NUST has represented Zimbabwe in this tournament and have continued to display unsportsmanlike performances in all chances they have been given.

ZIM 78 9  20 Ov    Bangladesh won by 140 runs  RBCC 2018   WF    Bangladesh vs Zimbabwe   Batsman   Cricket.png

Almost half of the players in the team have participated in the tournament before,hence, there are expectations that they could have learnt and found some experience to give a spirited performance and avoid embarrassment time and time again.

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I’m Zimbabwe, and I’m in an abusive relationship with Zanu PF

by Thandekile Moyo | @mamoxn 
5 minute read

MY name is Zimbabwe and I am in an abusive relationship with Zanu PF.

Domestic abuse is defined as “chronic mistreatment in marriages, families, dating and other intimate relationships”.

In 1979, a woman named Lenore E. Walker developed a social theory known as the cycle of abuse which explains patterns of behavior found in abusive relationships. Initially, it was called the battered women syndrome as in her study Lenore had only interviewed women who had been subject to domestic violence. Further study has shown this cycle applies in most cases of abuse regardless of whether it is men abusing women, women abusing men, men abusing other men or women on women abuse.

What she discovered is that abuse follows a certain pattern that becomes a cycle repeated over and over again until it is broken by either the abused person leaving, intervention from a third party and in some cases, death.

I have examined my relationship with Zanu PF and I have no doubt the relationship we have fits the cycle of abuse to the tee. The cycle has been modified over the years but basically has the following phases that are repeated over and over again over long periods of time.

* Honeymoon phase
* Tension building phase
* Explosive phase
* Reconciliation or calm phase

I started dating Zanu PF in 1980 after he saved me from Rhodesia, another abuser I will not dwell much on. To win my affections Zanu PF fought Rhodesia to the bitter end and drove them almost completely out of my life. I remember my independence from Rhodesia like it was yesterday. We marked it with massive celebrations that lasted late into the night. Zanu PF was my knight in shining amour. He offered me a sense of security and I felt he loved me dearly. This was undoubtedly our first honeymoon phase.

About a year later, Zanu PF accused me of infidelity. He’s a jealous man you see. He thought I wanted to leave him for ZAPU and went into a raging fit. I tried everything to convince him he was seeing things. He then told me he knew ZAPU was hiding arms caches which they wanted to use to destroy him, so as to take me from him. He made wild accusations and told me I was hiding ZAPU and did not love him. He then withdrew all his love and threatened to wipe out my family. This was the first tension building phase.

The first explosive phase came unexpectedly. There was nothing I could have done to stop it. Under the #Gukurahundi code name, Zanu PF killed thousands of people accusing them of hiding ZAPU. I have never known such fear in my life. I couldn’t believe he was capable of such. He said I had pushed him to do it. I made him kill them. I would weep day and night because of the pain he caused me. I told his family but they didn’t believe me. I found myself thinking it would be better to leave him and told him so.

When he realised I was about to leave his change was “catapultic”. He apologised profusely and promised he would never do it again. On the 22nd of December 1987, he and my father signed a unity accord. He agreed to go for counselling. Said he loved me, couldn’t imagine a life without me and therefore asked me to stay. He promised there would be no more violence. Some say my father only agreed so that the killings of my people back home would stop. I don’t know. Typical of abusers, after that Zanu PF chose to completely ignore the incident. This marked our first reconciliation phase.

The next few years were relatively calm. I can safely say we went back to the honeymoon phase. We all got along great and he was the man I had fallen in love with once again. Some of my relatives still hated him for the earlier incidents but to be honest I simply tried to forget about the incident. Although through it all I watched what I said, was on my best behaviour and tried not to provoke him.

In 1999, the MDC came on the scene and the tensions yet again began. MDC continued trying to woo me and in 2008 I decided to give him a chance. This led to another explosive phase where Zanu PF tortured and murdered my cousins and other relatives whom he accused of encouraging me to leave him. He beat us all into submission until we agreed to another unity accord. He decided to give MDC a few rights to me, what they called a power sharing deal.

We entered another calm phase and in 2013 I forgave him completely and broke all ties with MDC. We were back to the honeymoon phase which ended with another jealous rage on August 1, 2018. Since then we have been in the reconciliation phase. He is up to his usual tricks, has asked neighbours to come and help him wash his hands of the blood of August 1. He’s promising me the world again and claiming he has changed for the better. He is a new man, he says, and calls this the “new dispensation” of our marriage. I do not know what to make of it.

A few days ago he called in my brother Zenzele Ndebele for questioning because he intends to show a documentary of Gukurahundi, an era he refuses to acknowledge at all. He also sent his police force to arrest my friends in town, the vendors, who retaliated with surprising violence. Through all this my beloved Zanu PF takes no responsibility for his actions. ZAPU pushed him into Gukurahundi. He denies 2008 killings ever happened. He says MDC incited the August 1 army killings. He has never admitted to any wrong-doing. He says the vendors provoked him so he had no choice but to beat them up. He says he is as soft as wool.

Thomas L. Cory in the Healthscope magazine says by definition, a toxic relationship is one characterised by behaviours on the part of the toxic partner that are emotionally and, not infrequently physically damaging to their partner. He says a toxic relationship damages self-esteem and drains energy. A toxic relationship is not a safe place. It is characterised by self centredness, insecurity, dominance, control and we risk our very being by staying in such a relationship.

I am in a toxic relationship with Zanu PF and I know not what to do.

Curated Post from Zim Live: https://www.zimlive.com/2018/09/im-zimbabwe-and-im-in-an-abusive-relationship-with-zanu-pf/

Mfana Graduate — The Lens Blur.

 

Its well past after the hour of 9 in the morning and there I am in bed. I try to act if I am sleeping but consciously I am wide awake, feeding my brain with what I want to dream.

via Mfana Graduate. — The Lens Blur.

It’s been almost a year now since I graduated and this has been my daily routine now, and even accustomed myself to be time ignorant. ‘Around 10’ I say to myself in my laziness. I reluctantly open my eyes as I sleep on my back. My eyes meet the aligned timber trusses on the roof. My eyes quickly get drawn in my absent-mind and get focused on that little hole on the asbestos which sends through the beam of light straight to the age of my bed. In my contemplation my mind start thinking how that little hole gives me trouble during the rainy season that I will be forced to rearrange the room so the water from the roof does not wet my bed. Quickly I snap out of it, bringing myself back to reality. It is awfully quiet outside, all the kids are at school obviously. I drag myself out of the bed and reach out to the light switch near the door. ‘Click, click’ I switch on and off the light. “Better kune magetsi” (Good, there is electricity), I mumble to myself with a slight grin on the edge of my lips. As I say this, my head is all now engrossed on the idea that I will spend the rest of my day binge watching the TV series I got on the disc from a friend next door. Quickly I put on my slippers and get out of my room.

*****

I walk out of the house now heading kumashops (grocery shops). As I walk past a group of 4 boys of my age sitting on what is now only left visible as the remains of what used to be a small bridge on the edge of the streets. “Mfana graduate” a voice emanates from the 4 and the other 2 crack in laughter. I force a little smile from my lips and I raise a thumbs up to the boys on the bridge. ‘Mfana graduate’ as it seems, is now my nickname. For those who want to be subtle they cut it short to ‘graduate’. Like they say, the nicknames that you hate most are the ones that stick. Well I did not care anymore. As I draw past them, the other one shouts, “ko chimbondisiirawo 5 bond”. I turn and shaking my head respond faintly, “wangu, pakaipa apana mari”. He nods and they quickly get back to their business, with what looked like the other boy was selecting the good marbles in his hands and throwing away the bad ones. I pay no attention to detail and I just keep on walking.

*****

It seems like a long walk of shame to the shops alone. In a flash a chubby boy of the age of 6 or 7 ran past me, in what seems like they are playing a game of chasing each other. I quickly turn my head to look behind me and other 4 boys of the same age, with untucked uniforms, the other 2 with shoes in their hands, are running chasing the boy who just passed me. All break in laughter in pure joy in their little game as it seems. I break into their joy and ask, “ko sei musiri kuchikoro?”, the so-seems-talkative one snaps at me and sharply answer, “tadzingwa”. They seem not to care less that they are out of school right now as they are so caught up in the moment of their play right now, or does it ever cross their mind what not being in school means anyway? A memory comes to me, those days I was still that age and never cared for anything, attending the nearby council primary school and spent most of the times playing and just being a child. How I miss that. With that thought, subconsciously my mind then links that to the image I saw posted on our class WhatsApp group from university, it read “DO NOT GROW UP, IT’S A TRAP” in that jiffy I manage to just laugh at myself. What an irony!

*****

In that moment a loud hooter horns followed by a shout “town here? Town mota! town Coppacabana! Town yakuzara mota! mukuenda here akoma?” In my awakening I realise a commuter minibus going up and down the road looking for passengers going to town.“Mukuenda here akoma?” the boy standing at the door of the commuter minibus shouts again now looking in my direction. I check behind me, looking maybe there was someone he was referring to. But no. There was only me in the proximity. I realise he was asking me if I was going to town, and I shake my head sideways then he shouts“zvinotooneka kuti hamusikuenda kutown, nedzapata ramakapfeka iro akoma” the few passengers in the minibus crack up to the joke, which also made me crack up on my own as I walk past the minibus too.

*****

“Aaah graduate urisei”, William shouts sitting behind the newspaper stall. I can sense the sarcasm in the tone but I just play along, “zvirisei vakomana” I reply. William, profoundly known by many as Widzo or Baba Tanaka, almost the same age as me but now has a child turning 3 this year. Widzo and I shared the same primary school and grew up together. He now runs an array of stalls at the grocery shopping mall, from the newspapers, airtime, discs and even vegetables. He is an ‘accomplished’ person and commands awe from the people around his stalls whom mostly have vegetables but their sales are not as high as how Widzo sells each day. In that light he has managed to cater for his small family that he even moved his wife and child from his family house and now rents a one room in the same high density surbub. I go straight to Widzo and we have a fist hand shake – ‘big up’ they call it. He opens a space for me to reach out the newspaper on the stall and I begin to browse through. “So what is being said in the papers today, graduate…”, another man who has a stall of tomatoes next to Widzo’s interrupts me. “#ThisFlag yanyarara ka?” (#ThisFlag have gone quiet now?) he adds on inquisitively before I could even gather what to respond to his first question. Before I could even talk in the wake of it all, it seems like all hell let loose as everyone on the stalls throwing their views to the question.

 

“Haa Pastor aida kudya mari dzedu uya”

“…saka chii chakuitika manje zvaarikunzi akaenda America?”

“isu sema vendor tinofanira kuenda kumarch nekuti kanzuru yatinyanyira”

 

Men and women around the stalls simultaneously talk in what seems like a whole episode of questions without answers and no one is even cares or heed to answer what the other asked. The debate goes on and on that they do not even notice my bids of farewell as I take my way back home.

In that moment as walk back home, I was in deep thoughts. So is this really going to be my life? Is this how I will have to be like for the rest of my life? These are some of the questions which scares every fibre in me and I try hard to evade from confronting myself with the realities of it. Ever since I graduated, no matter how many times I try applying to all the advertised positions I am academically qualified for in the newspaper, I still haven’t got a job yet. It’s past a year now and still nothing seems to be changing or is there going to be any change? I draw myself into more questions again. Is it going to be any better for you graduate?

*****

SLIPPING AWAY FROM YOUR EYES…

by Andile Ndlovu | Nust-ZW

Dad, today i possess an aching heart

For the things you have failed to do

And those you are even failing to do now.

Its really breaking my soul.

 

I feel time is ticking fast

To get my heart pieces together.

Hatred is now a norm to me

I don’t even know where to begin

 

You have left me hopeless

That i will never find love from any man

How should i cope,dad

I am in so much hurting.

 

I feel like screaming and yelling

But in fear of my voice cracking

I feel like expressing myself

That you have really hurt me dad.

 

Listen to my hurtful words

For they are all i can say

I wish you had treated me right

Than just throwing me away like this

 

POCKERFACE

by K Cheryl Mwanza | Episode #13

What is this about exactly?”

“We just want to talk, Mrs. Mtandwa.” Detective Sergeant Brandon Makiwa said as he gathered his hands on the table in the conference room.

“Call me Jaylee.” She said quickly. “What is it you want to talk about?”

“Your fight with Debra-“

“Why?”

“She was found dead-“

“Debra is dead?” Jaylee asked with an expressionless face as she began to drum the table with perfectly manicured nails. “A part of me wants to be happy she’s gone. But being married to Nyasha has taught me something, and it’s that some little girl is going to come along and occupy him again.” She rolled her hands then crossed her hands. “You people think I killed her?”

“Did you?”

“No. I didn’t have to. In fact I didn’t need to. His affairs usually fizzle out with time. If that doesn’t happen, I just have to call my father. Nyasha is who he is because of my father’s money, and he damn well knows it.” She said then blinked once. It was the first time that Makiwa noticed how cold her eyes were. She was very beautiful and very intimidating. Her eyes were hollow and dry, and so was she. “I married that guy because I loved him. Ten years of my life I spent on him, and I got a broken jaw for it.” She looked straight into Makiwa’s eyes then added, “Will you arrest me for totally breaking him?”

“I don’t follow?”

“The mother of his child just died. He is obviously broken. I want to totally destroy him by taking away the only thing that is keeping him sane. His company.” She added in icy calmness, Makiwa didn’t feel comfortable interviewing her even further.

Nyasha had arrived at the station when Jaylee was long gone. He was however close to Debra Chimhepo, and he found himself on the other end of a desk in Detective Chief Inspector Tanaka Dube’s office. With her was Detective Mudiwa Chiwenga.

“He is here for his wife and seeing that she is not in here-“

“You were close with Debra, weren’t you? The two of you even had a son.” Chiwenga said instead.

“He is not answering any questions. If you think he’s guilty of something then charge him. Otherwise we are out.” Matthew said as he helped his friend up.

“You are under arrest for statutory rape.” Dube said as she produced handcuffs.

“Rape has to be reported. Otherwise you cannot charge him.” Matthew said.

“I know.” Dube said as she cuffed Nyasha. “I’m not doing this because I want him convicted. I mean, I want him convicted but her mother approved the relationship. All I need is for enough journalists to see him in cuffs and to write about how, with the help of his lawyer, he made a 15 year old pregnant and probably killed.”

“Ok, stop.” Nyasha said in a softer tone. “I will tell you everything you need to know about my relationship with Debra, if you take the chains off. Detective, my relationship with my wife is hanging in the balance, and will not survive something like this. Please.”

“You talk to these guys and you are going to be public news. Your relationship with Jaylee will be doomed.” Matthew said.

“It’s doomed either way.” He said turning to detective Dube. “I will tell you anything and everything you need, detective.”

“How do you sleep at night, detective?” Matthew asked in disgust.

“Better than you.” Dube hissed. “Debra was as old as your first born daughter when she had Nyasha’s baby. As a father, how do you sleep at night?”

Matthew grind his teeth as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He was so close to Dube he wanted to strangle her. To tear her apart. To destroy her. How dare she challenge him like that? Mudiwa drew out his gun and let it known to Matthew that one slip and he was going to shoot. Matthew swallowed hard then stepped back turned around and left.

“What do you want to know?”

“Initially we wanted to talk to you-just to talk. But your friend put on such a fierce fight to prevent that from happening, I want to know what it is you are hiding.”

“I am not hiding anything.”

“Then WHY would Zvinavashe vehemently deny you to talk to the police?” Chiwenga demanded.

“Half of my company is his. He stands to lose as much, if not more, if I get caught up in a scandal. So, what is it you want to know?”

“Debra’s killer picked her up in a really nice place-“

“Really nice place?” He said as he sat up straight. “Debra says that about The Pink Dollies. We have been to many exclusive restaurants, but she referred to only the Pink Dollies as nice. Where those exact words that were used?”

“Something like that. Why?”

“Then that means she was talking to strangers again. And her death might be really my fault.” He said cracking up. “You see, we were supposed to go a date to the Pink Dollies to celebrate our one year anniversary but I cancelled last minute?”

“Why?” Chiwenga asked.

“My marriage is on the rocks and my company is hanging in the balance. I might have loved Debra, but Jaylee is my life line. I had to make a choice.”

“You chose Jaylee.” Chiwenga said angrily.

“Don’t judge me.”  Nyasha snapped defensively. “You think it was easy for me to do that? I had been looking forward to our date, and it was just as hard on me as she was on her!”

“You said something about her talking to strangers. What was that all about?” Dube stepped in to try and diffuse the tension that was building in the room.

“Whenever I missed a date, she would go to the Pink Dollies, get drunk and end up pouring her heart out to some lonely random woman that she would have met in the bar.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She said there were things she couldn’t talk about with her mother because her mother wouldn’t understand. She found it much easier to go home with some random women, and I always told her that was dangerous. I always told her that one of these days she would end up-“, He stopped himself from finishing the sentence. Instead he said, “In moments when she was really raw with emotion, she would turn to women she considered mother figures.”

“In a bar?” Chiwenga asked.

“She did the strangest things when she was drunk.” He said with a nervous sad laugh. “The strangest.” He whispered.

“So there was no way she would have left the bar with a man?”

“No way. I know-knew her and she would never leave a bar with a man who wasn’t me. You see I was her first-“

“Too much DETAIL man!” Chiwenga yelled out in disgust.

“You didn’t let me finish. I was her first boyfriend. After we had our son, her focus was solely on me. Debra was capable of anything except that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mtandwa. If we need anything, we will be in touch.” Dube said as she stepped in front of Chiwenga.

Once Nyasha was out, she turned to Chiwenga who looked back at her unapologetically.

“I understand you feel that Debra’s life was cut way too short, and you want justice for her, but she was just guilty as this man.”

“How would a girl from Hunyani Creek come to know about the Pink Dollies?” He asked. “Without him, she would be alive today.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“Why are you taking his side? He exploited a vulnerable kid! He robbed her of her INNOCENCE and he participated in her death! He should be jail.”

“Mudiwa.” She said softly.

“NO!” He banged the door after himself.

 

“Is Mudiwa going to be okay?” Detective Inspector Qiniso Dhlamini asked as Dube joined her and Makiwa.

“I don’t know.” Dube sighed then said. “Let him sit tonight out. So what do we have on the girl that was picked up at the airport?”

“Gono is with her right now.” Makiwa answered. “I made a call to the Pink Dollies and they confirmed that Debra was there and that she was also drunk out of her mind. And here is the best part-“

“She left with a woman?” Dube asked.

“Yes. The waitress said the woman is well in her forties, even though she takes care of herself. She is beautiful with a dark complexion and expensive taste. The waitress said that Debra was pouring out her mind and soul to this woman like they knew each other, even though they had arrived separately.”

“What do we have on CCTV footage?”

“They don’t have any. They take the privacy of their clientele very seriously.”

“Well, the description they gave fits Sasha Mubaiwa.” Dhlamini said as she produced a khaki file. “Sasha’s husband just filed for divorce, and the two have been leaving separately for a month. Her job as a defense lawyer is hanging in the balance as well. She is being investigated for witness intimidation and evidence tampering. All of this happened at the same time and around the same time as when she crossed path with Cynthia. What is really interesting is that, during Sasha’s tenure as High court judge, ten people landed on death row and three were executed.”

“Sasha is slipping off then she meets Cynthia whom she feels weirdly connected to, and then these women who remind her so much of  past that she wants to forget.” Makiwa said.

“Do we have anything on Sasha Mubaiwa during her early days? The author despised her mother and that is the reason for the killings right. We need something to support that, otherwise we don’t have a case.”

“Anything below 20 years is sealed.”

Just then Detective Keegan Gono entered the working area with a file in his left hand.

“Do you have something for me?” Dube asked as she made some notes on the murder board.

“Yes. Karen Chimuti said that Martin Gondo gave her the bag. She swore on her mother’s life.”

“And you believed her?” Dube asked.

“Considering she almost died when I placed my gun on the table, yes. I have already called to have in brought him in, and we are in for a treat. His lawyer, Sasha Mubaiwa answered the phone and they are coming together.”

“We are fairly certain now that the author is a woman. However, we cannot totally rule the idea of a male killer out. Where would Martin have found Laura’s bag?” Dube asked.

“Maybe Sasha gave it to him.” Dhlamini said as she concentrated on a cell phone that she had in her hand. “According to the GPS on Laura’s bag, before the bag found its way at the airport in was in two places. The first place, being a house in Westlea. The same house where Laura was held captive.”

“So we think Sasha might have done this right? Why don’t we do a little experiment to be sure?” Gono said, and everyone turned to look at him. “The second letter specifies that the author’s attention was grabbed by the scent our victim had on, right? Why don’t we find someone who resembles both out victims and have her wear the same exact perfume. We monitor her and hopefully catch Sasha in the act.”

 

 

Nyasha went straight to his office after his trip to Harare. Not wanting to face either his friend or his wife, he knew being at his company would afford him that. He wanted to mourn the death of the woman he loved in peace. He found a lone envelope on his desk, and he opened it without a second thought. He felt himself crumble to pieces as the letter began to make sense in his head. Jaylee Nyoni had just divorced him.

Nust students develop data management system

BY MTHANDAZO NYONI(newsday.co.zw)

Zimbabwe appears to be on the sidelines and indeed at the “back of the line” when it comes to technological advances. But two young men from National University of Science and Technology (Nust) have recently challenged that dogma.

The duo, Richard Macklin Kunhuwa and Godknows Mdhari developed an affordable school management system that seeks to digitalise local schools.

“Well, I think I got a bit frustrated that almost all the software we use in this country are not locally made yet we have the best education on the continent,” Kunhuwa a final year Engineering student at Nust, said

Richard-Macklin-Kunhuwa-L-and-Godknows-Mdhari-1
Richard Macklin (left) and Godknows Mdhari (right) of NUST have developed a school management system that seeks to digitalise local schools

 

“If we could find a way to actually use our skills to address local problems, we will really become a powerhouse in Africa. We realised that a lot of our local schools do not have a proper digitalised record keeping system, so I teamed up with a friend who was studying Records Management to build this system.”
He said the software system was fast, powerful and very affordable.

“We also understand the challenges we face in this country of poor internet connections etc. that’s why we build this system to not require internet connections,” Kunhuwa said.

“We also have built a team of dedicated technicians who are available 24/7 if any problems arise. I think that’s also our advantage over foreign online systems.”

Mdhari, who is also the Zimbabwe Congress of Students Union chairperson, said the goal was to build a better Zimbabwe through creative thinking and innovation.

“It goes without saying that this is how we can solve the biggest problem in this country of unemployment,” he said.

“When Richard approached me with the idea last year during my attachment period at the Nust Information and Communication Technology Services department, I saw it as a noble idea as the system gathers and processes records such as student records, staff records, payment and receipts records allowing administration to make quick and informed decisions in real timer and with required support, the system is targeted to go regional in assisting convenient information management,” he said.

However, the two are finding it hard to compete against products from well-established companies.

“We have to compete with products from Microsoft which is a multibillion company. However, if we could get support from locally I think we will make it. We implore the government to support us a little bit. Our growth is their growth and we are going to raise the country’s flag higher,” Kunhuwa said.

The African Network Information Center

Apply to the AFRINIC-25 Fellowship 2016 (Funded), reserved for individuals representing small organisations, universities, and media who are actively involved in Internet operations and development or ICT policies in their countries.-@opportunitydesk

Deadline 28 August 2016

http://opportunitydesk.org/2016/08/08/afrinic-25-fellowship-2016/

 

 

THE AUDITION

by Farai Kwesha| @fatsoRai

Image Credit: www.abbeytheatre.org.uk

It was 4:45pm, and Tatenda might as well have been the only one in the waiting room. The only other person was his father, and as far as Tatenda was concerned, that was as good as no one at all. His father appeared more nervous than he was – he would clasp then unclasp his hands, pace up and down the room, and at ten second intervals check his watch. Tatenda thought he was being overly theatrical, but it amused him and as a consequence also put him at ease. He shook his head as his eyes followed his father across the room. Save for the sound of his father’s heavy breaths, the room was silent.

The silence was quickly broken by the sound of a screeching door being opened, and a young woman walking into the room, evidently dejected. Her eyes glistened – the looming threat of tears apparent, prompting her to walk the rest of the way out face-down. Tatenda gulped loudly as he stared on, and suddenly he was uneasy again. Following behind the young woman, a man walked in and told him his audition was up. Not fully aware how, Tatenda mustered up enough courage to rise from his seat follow the man to the audition room.

This was the day he had been preparing since he was 5 when his parents had invested in a grand piano. His father always told him that as a toddler, Tatenda was always drawn to the piano and would reach out his tiny arms for the keys and start jabbing at them. He remembered this in vivid detail, and his first piano teacher – a grumpy old German woman from his prep school who cracked the whip on him every time he missed a note. He remembered how miserable she made him.

Over the years, his love for piano had only grown stronger, only surpassed by his parents’ love for his piano playing. He was a prodigy. He played at high school showcases, in church, and at family events to rave reviews from those who had the honour of watching him perform. During his high school talent show in his senior year, a recruiter from Juliard had asked him to audition for a scholarship in their music programme, much to his parents’ elation.

And now, here he was. The only thing standing between him and a future in his craft was the door to the audition room. He grasped the door knob tightly, looked at his father’s anxious countenance, then at the door knob again, and finally the floor. “Was this what he really wanted? Did he want to spend the rest of his life playing piano?” All these were complex questions his mind cavorted on with no definitive answer, but the one that followed was a much more determined question. Was playing the piano his dream or his parents’? He began to think deeply. To find the answer to this question he had to reach far beyond the limits of his mind, but he couldn’t. Tatenda looked at his father’s eager face once more, and suddenly it hit him.

He loved piano, he always had, but along the way that love had been tainted by his parents. Although with noble intentions, they had adulterated his love for piano because now he only played as a filial duty – he did it for them.

After this epiphany, Tatenda slowly began to release his hand from the door knob and stepped away from the door. He looked at his father intently and said, “I have to do this for me” and walked out of the room.

ARE THEY TRUE PROPHETS?

 The question that has not only chucked a lay man void of knowledge and understanding, but has brought immense confusion and bitter debates in Zimbabwean Christendom. Even the Pentecostal fathers are caught in web of dissenting views over the famous and controversial men of the cloth…

by Reinhard Ncube |@ReinhardNcube

Scrolling down through a social media page, are all insults, blasphemies, arguments, squabbles and justifications, some are slandering, others defending and a few negotiating. The topic of debate is whether the so-called men of the cloth (Emmanuel Makandiwa, Walter Magaya and Eurbet Angel Madzanire) are true prophets or colossal imposters.

From left: Prophet Walter Magaya, Uebert Angel and Emmanuel Makandiwa. Image Credit-nehandaradio
From left: Prophet Walter Magaya, Uebert Angel and Emmanuel Makandiwa. Image Credit-nehandaradio

The topic has brought immense confusion and bitter debates in Zimbabwean Christendom. Are they true prophets? This is the question that has not only chucked a lay man void of knowledge and understanding, even the Pentecostal fathers are caught in web of dissenting views over the famous and controversial trio, some authenticating them as Biblical Elijah’s of our time and the other faction rendering them as Satanists, thieves, magicians and performers of false miracles.

Many at times I have been very hesitant and careful not to comment slanderously on things I lack knowledge and understanding on. The bible renders such who speak evil of things they cannot affirm as “natural brute beasts” (2Peter 2:12). However, I have decided to answer the question from an objective and biblical stand point.

False and true prophets have long existed side by side since the days of Moses in the bible, where the man of God competed and contested with the Egyptian magicians. The bible states and shows from the Old Testament (OT) to the New Testament (NT) that even false prophets can perform and work miracles.

Here are points to note when distinguishing between a true servant of God and a false one.

  1. Never judge a prophet by miracles he performs but weigh everything by the word of God, be it the word of prophecy he or she is giving. I grew up in the rural areas where Zionist or cult churches are popular; one thing I noted from the Zionist prophets is that their prophecies impart fear of evil. True prophecies edify, encourage, guide, rebuke and warn, they lead men to the fear of God, repentance, acknowledgement and glorifying of God.

When it comes to miracles, signs and wonders, the argument is that the bible does not designate miracles as real or false. It actually gives a blank cheque when it says those who believe shall do even more miracles than those which Jesus did. Furthermore,  it continues to say that nothing is impossible with God and to him that believes. Therefore if all things are possible it simple means God can even give miracle money and many more strange things. On the other hand I had also to consider and appreciate the existence and reality of magic. During my primary school days, I used to attend magic shows and one of the things that perplexed my mind is the fact that magicians are also able to make “miracle money”.

Coming to what is called deep or forensic prophecies as the emergent Pentecostals will want to call it, it baffled my mind to learn that Buddhist seers are able to hold your hand and tell you your biography and everything you know about yourself even as the contemporary prophets do. After pondering on all these things that non-Christians are able to do I concluded by saying that we cannot judge or prove prophets as of God by the extra-ordinary things they do only.

  1. A prophet of God exists to give glory to God and not to amass glory to him There for any prophet who seeks glory is not of God, prophets who want men to bow for them no matter how they want to justify themselves they are not true prophets, Its funny to see a man standing or just seating throughout the worship or prayer sessions only to kneel and fall down before a man. In Acts 10:25 Peter refused that Cornelius should fall before him, Paul and Barnabas rent their clothes when the people of Lystra worshiped them. It’s only prophets who prophesy for fame and money that applauds people for worshipping mankind. However a man of God does not becomes false because he has money or is rich, money does not define godliness or ungodliness. As far as having your ten dollar note does not make you evil what makes you think that having a million of ten dollar notes makes one a child of devil.
  1. Prophets are distinguished by the doctrines they teach. Nowadays the doctrine of anointing water and oil is prevalent both in the apostolic and Pentecostal sects .The use of water to exorcise spirits used to be a mapostori (white garment churches) practice but it has now penetrated deep into the Pentecostals. The use of water as a doctrine or tradition is absolutely unbiblical. Jesus did not say in bottled water shall they cast out devils but in his name. When the apostles went about preaching they were casting out devils and healing the sick in the name of Jesus and not with bottled water. Though Peter used his shadow and Paul his handkerchief it never became an established daily practise or doctrine. What the bible simple shows in those passages is the power and the grace of God that was present to heal the sick and deliver the oppressed. Otherwise the use of water as a form of cleansing and exorcising spirits is a common practise among ancestral worshippers and cultic people.
  1. Mathew 7:15, “Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?” Every fruit bearing tree is named after its fruits, so are men. Some people call it judging but I call it facts. I only call a spade by its name and not the other way around. What do you call men of God who rape women, abuse children and make merchandise of poor citizens?. There are times and seasons where every man’s works are exposed to be tasted before the sun. This is where you will begin to read in newspapers about prophets rapping, committing fraud and involved in sex scandals.