SOUR MEDITATIONS
“To hell with these sinister goons!” I always curse the air.
My name is Gulliver, I was born a couple of years as the firstborn to both my now deceased parents. Most of my friends prefer calling me Gaza because of my ardent childish passion for the world’s most beautiful game. I was born with a great footballing talent that unfortunately suffered arrested development. I had to witness some footballers, I could play way better than, applying their trades professionally a few years later. Mine was stereotype of a talented ghetto child misunderstood by parents who expected more from classroom achievements than the football pitch.
My late father was a member of the civil service. At the time of his death, he had risen through the military ranks in his 11-year career which spanned from 1981 to earn a decent salary. Unlike my late grandmother, my father did not get to witness most of the unfortunate political and socioeconomic dwindles that grumpy old lady did before breathing her last. He bade life farewell when there was no misfiring economy, arbitrary arrests, sewer water running on the streets, even the looted diamonds at Angers had not been discovered. He left us when he was still gainfully employed in the winter of 1992. As a ranked army officer, his ducks were in a role, let alone the general economic situation in the country was still heavenly but he did not get to experience the political motivated hell that later scorched us.
The general state of affairs in my country currently is glaringly obnoxious. Much of the grandeur of the bygone days now belongs to the dungeons of obsoleteness. The central business district buildings now look like ruins of a deserted ghost town. The once smooth-flowing highways are now porthole-infested, with the general national transport sector dismally leaving a lot to be desired. The once long, but timeously cleared terminal queues are now a thorn in the flesh of many hurrying commuters. My former school in the leafy surbab Cheezland is now a pale shadow of its former self. Most of the upmarket Roughands and Bumplands homes have lost their top billing stature, save for just a renovated and upgraded few. The eye-catching greenery on farms along the highway to my south eastern destination has become a ridiculous compromise of its traditional spark and posture. Thanks to the beleaguered ruling government for bringing down our once vibrant motherland to its knees. All credit to the autocratic and corrupt regime for turning the so-called sunshine city, and the rest of the country into a trash catch of political and socioeconomic gloom and doom.
As they chanted “Happy Independence!” in three decades ago they forgot that the glory they were to bask in was hinged on a white-manipulated economy. Myopically, these thieving bastards overlooked that the mainstay of that inherited economic stability was farming. The truth be told, it was absurd and insane to adopt a radical kick out and grab land reform policy given a scenario where most of these farms had been immensely developed to warrant negotiations concerning both production and ownership stakes. It was a sensational case of a collapse of judgement to carefreely meddle with farming activities that had assumed a large-scale status, let alone bearing global trade significance
The saddening situation is the best of the citizenry is now hinged on pondering about the lost economic blossom. Mothers and fathers are always seen palm to chin wishing for a repeat of the sweet tunes the country used to loudly play, with brothers and sisters barely closing their eyes at night as they meditate over the impoverished country with hope of seeing it to the apex again. I detest this government with a passion. Yes! Who can love his killer.
As I travel in inflicted meditation, I envision country without a feast clenching ruling government someday in the future. Like the best of the citizenry, I look forward to the ascendance of a regime that will create a landscape synonymous with observing the rule of law and growth of investor confidence as opposed to that which inflicts gross human rights abuses to its own. I cannot wait for the reincarnation of a country that was highly rated for its distinct quality in virtually all sectors, be it education, health or agriculture. In my wishful extravaganza, I hope for divine intervention in terms of the establishment of a new political and socioeconomic chapter. Above all, I yearn for an end to my refugee status which has spanned for over a decade. In any case, may those wishful meditations come true!
1 February, 2023
