When Zimbabweans overcame the enemy against all odds in 1980 we were all consumed by the ecstasy and euphoria of living our dreams during our lifetimes.
We had hoped that our lives would change for the better forever. We had confidence that those who were in the forefront of the liberation struggle would stir the country into the calm waters of positive nation building from the choppy waters of colonial misery.
Maybe it was wrong to build up so much hopefulness. We desperately clung on some hope that was riding on the falsehood of dreams.
Of course, we were not gifted with the power of clairvoyance to predict that some of our so-called liberators would hold us for an undisclosed ransom.
We were not privy to the contracts the liberators signed when they joined the liberation struggle. We were not aware that the liberators had an entitlement to perpetual payment for their gun-toting antics during the struggle.
Worse still, we had not been warned that our liberators would demand a pound of flesh and a pint of blood off each of us at regular intervals.
We were just happy to have removed the chains and yokes of colonialism off our weary backs.
We were grateful that the nation’s honour had been restored after 90 years of bondage. We were appreciative of those who faced the enemy head-on.
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We were aware that during the long and perilous struggle for emancipation death had visited upon a number of citizens. We acknowledged that we lost fighters, recruits, villagers, children and others during the war.
We do realise that it was a war and in any war there are losers, victims, casualties and victors.
We do realise that even victors sustain casualties. It is our national duty to continue respecting those who perished in pursuit of this noble cause without being subservient to personal whims.
We continue to remember and respect those who walked that journey. Can we, however, walk with them without feeling pressured to give them our lives as payment for their courageous deeds?
We should walk with them, eat with them and live with them.
Unfortunately, their radars seem to be locked on a frequency which renders them gluttons that eat for us and tread on our weary backs while we toil for them.
Had most known that skipping the borders into Mozambique to join the liberation movements was the only passport to living the dream, most people would have skipped.
Maybe the fighters would have enjoyed chasing the enemy with no chimbwidos (liberation war collaborators) distracting their attention.
If we had all joined the struggle, we would all be recognised as war veterans.
We would have the exclusive right to brag and to gather huge crowds for the sake of expressing our political standpoint. Unfortunately, in our supposedly classless Zimbabwe, the term “Comrade” is the only artificial link between them and us.
The nostalgia of 1980 is killing!
We did not know that there were unpleasant surprises in wait for the Zimbabwe we welcomed with frenzied celebrations.
Our hopes and thoughts were securely locked in the belief that Zimbabwe was going to epitomise the ideals of equality and fairness. Unfortunately, it was never to be the case.
It turned to be a hungry man’s dream in which there is so much food around, but that food being so difficult for the dreamer to lay his hands on.
The Zimbabwe we have today is not the Zimbabwe we got bruised for. We did not see anything this drastic coming our way. We did not know that we would live under the dark shadows of the madness occasioned by the horrors of war.
We did not expect that 34 years later we would still be forced to pay unparalleled homage to the volunteers of the armed struggle.
We did not envisage sacrificing our innocent children as burnt offerings in satanic altars to meet the selfish and demonic needs of some of the so-called liberators.
We did not know that 1980 would create a new political sect led by demigods of a selfish, ruthless, merciless, incompetent, corrupt, murderous, inconsiderate and ugly nature.
We did not know that the dreams we had before independence would mutate into nightmares. Before 1980, we used to dream about utopia; now we are actually living a nightmare.
An alien looking on Zimbabwe through a powerful telescope from outer space would be horrified by what he sees and would react by quickly moving the telescope to view elsewhere. The alien would pray for the nation in turmoil.
If someone observing from a safe distance can be traumatised by the prevailing nightmarish political crisis in Zimbabwe, imagine how it is for the millions of Zimbabweans who have to wade through the nightmare on daily basis.
Indeed Zimbabweans seem to have been forced to leave their dreams a long time ago so they could live at false harmony with their nightmares.
Masola waDabudabu is a social commentator
