Wonder had a master’s degree in weather sciences. For 10 years after school, he never predicted the weather, let alone his life. The first in his family of four boys and two girls to go to university or do advanced-level studies, his father and mother were peasant farmers in rural Gweru, in Zimbabwe. They eked out a living farming 17 banana trees and doing piece jobs in the summer when the banana crop had been harvested and sold.
It was a tough life, and Wonder, being the last born, was expected to lift most of his family members out of poverty.
“You will have your own wife and kids but know beforehand that your degree will provide meds for mum and dad’s diabetes and BP; your degree will create earnings to lift us too,” Shashiko, his eldest brother, told him bluntly.
“It’s a heavy load,” Wonder sighed.
“Mum and dad carried heavy loads of bananas to fund your master of weather science degree,” Shashiko replied to him.
Wonder felt pressured by this weighty expectation of being seen as the family’s savior on account of his university degree. It would have been better if his brothers and sisters were educated and employed too, and the load would be equally shared. Going to university had been a struggle for Wonder. His parents didn’t have the money for the bachelor’s stage. Luckily, the King MisiZulu Foundation paid his tuition fees at the University of Pretoria, in South Africa.
As for food and basics, he had to fend for himself and scrape by. So in undergrad and graduate school, Wonder thrust himself as a sweeper, occasional guard, and part-time tutor. In six years of university, he wore just five shirts, which is all he could afford. So taxing were his circumstances that in six years of university, he only took two semester holidays, each a month long. There was always a casual job to hold down at the university while other kids were flying to various resort towns with their parents for semester breaks.
“We play the cards that we were given,” Baba Dubula, the university janitor, always whispered to him.
Expectations were high on graduation that Wonder would get a job as a weather forecaster, modeler, climate analyst, or even a junior banker advising hedge funds trading in climate catastrophe bonds. But no job came his way for the first year after graduation. He thought this was a temporary anomaly since classmates with lower marks than him had already moved on to entry-level jobs abroad in Dubai. Some were at the national weather service in England and several were weather analysts for cargo airlines. Three years passed with no job and Wonder’s circumstances became desperate.
He was hungry with a lofty degree, watching weather forecasters ten years younger than him presenting hurricane and cyclone forecasts on tv. He, on the other hand, nibbled on hard green guava fruits, jobless with a wife and son, with his mom’s relentless calls for BP meds refills filling his cellphone.
“Hi mum, I have no money yet for your meds—I’ll try to borrow from the church pastor,” he tried to assure her.
“You better hurry; my feet are swollen; your dad is also out of his diabetes insulin,” she texted back.
Before Wonder could let out a large sigh of relief, his wife pestered him.
“The meal cabinet is empty and my last food savings are finished too,” she said.
To Wonder, being highly educated and jobless was “a spiritual curse in need of lifting,” Gudo, an elderly pensioner who lived five blocks away from his rental home, told him one day during a church outing. Prophetta B, a popular prophet in Gweru City, could exorcise Wonder, and afterwards, he wouldn’t spend more than sixty days without finding a job.
“My daughter was unmarried at 37 despite being a medical doctor until Prophetta B prayed for her. By 38 she brought us a groom, and they are expecting their first twins as we speak,” Gudo said and gave him a piece of paper with Prophetta B’s number.
Wonder wasted no time visiting Prophetta B’s apostolic shrine.
“Yeah, the spirit showed me that you are coming.” The prophet in his long white robe charmed Wonder. He sprayed water filled with coarse salt on his face, a prophetic ritual for chasing evil spirits.
“God’s gifts are free; I pray for you; your life changes.”
“Man of God, I’m impressed,” Wonder said, kneeling for exorcism.
Prophetta B prayed for Wonder, lifted his wooden stick, motioned to the clouds, briefly placed the stick on his stomach, shoulders, and feet, and dismissed him.
“Go in peace, Wonder; your situation will change in 30 days.”
Dramatically, a week on, Wonder was called for an interview at Temasek, the financial firm that sold insurance to businesses guarding against extreme weather damage for their assets. Wonder would be a junior climate finance modeler and the salary on offer was pleasing: $1500 a month, free family group health insurance and a company car he could take home at will. Wonder made the most of his opportunity, got promoted to senior officer in a year, and was building the first brick-and-mortar home for his parents while his son had been upgraded to a private creche school.
Prophetta B began calling weekly, asking for small amounts of $20, $30.
“To continue fasting and praying against your enemies,” he said.
Wonder was grateful at first but increasingly got annoyed at the prophet’s emotional blackmail to get his money.
“But you said your spiritual gifts are free, Prophetta B. Is it?” he asked him one day after the prophet had requested $50 for an urgent “spiritual tour to Harare City.”
Prophetta B cleared his throat on the phone and made a groaning sound with his voice.
“You owe me, Wonder, for life,” he said.
Wonder realized that he would be tied to the prophet for life, afraid that if he ignored the man of god, he might again be cursed to joblessness. But one day, he found himself pondering all the stories he had heard about some noble men and women in town surrendering their riches to prophets. It was all in the name of getting the prophet to pray and fast for their progress and threats of losing everything if they did not oblige. Some surrendered car and mansion keys, large sums of money and even their daughters to prophets.
So he decided to take a chance anyway, changed his number, and never spoke to Prophetta B again. To his surprise, nothing happened, and he has even climbed the ladder of success to junior manager.
“After all, God’s gifts are free,” Wonder said, chuckling to his wife over a romantic dinner in one of the top restaurants in Gweru.
