By Johannes Mike Mupisa
It is that time of the year when new life is breathed into every facet of existence—corporates, academic institutions, and even at an individual level. Optimism hangs in the air as many pen down resolutions of what they hope to achieve, while the pious subject themselves to rigorous ten-day fasts.
Coinciding with this season is the release of Ordinary and Advanced Level results, a moment that ushers some young boys and girls into tertiary institutions, while the less fortunate are booed out of the academic journey and the disadvantaged lick bruised egos as their academic paths grind to a dead end. Anxiety, curiosity, and uncertainty are tightly entangled in ways difficult to untangle. So pathetic.
The fortunate who make their way into tertiary institutions embrace a new life, one characterised by a sudden wave of freedom. It takes me back to the days when I first set foot at Midlands State University—back then when we only had the Great Hall, before the erection of the Multi-Purpose Hall and the state-of-the-art hostels outside the main gate. We only had the Runyararos, Magamba, and others. We would sit at the Great Wall, watching God’s creatives move up and down the campus pathways, wriggling seductive behinds in classy outfits as if on a beauty contest stage. The make-ups, stylish hairstyles, and expensive costumes made even the not-so-gifted, beauty-wise, look modest and appealing.
Drooling like little kids, we watched as the Eves took us back to the Garden of Eden. The campus euphoria—believe me—is enough motivation for one to fall in love with the white man’s education. Orientation bashes characterised by loud music and clear alcoholic drinks in their largest quantities took everyone straight to Matthew 25—obviously the Cana Wedding. The atmosphere was electric, even as the mind ingested hefty books and volumes of information. University and college are just one of those places.
January pressures are not only financial; they touch every facet of life. Parents wonder where to place their Form Ones and, like wanderers, they seek the best. This places many under immense pressure as they strive to send their children to the best schools regardless of their financial muscles, all in a bid to maintain some status quo. These are the spooks of the dreaded month of journey worry (pun intended)—the beginning of a journey peppered with worries. It is all about schools and spooks.
Headmasters suddenly become real masters as parents turn into professional negotiators and drafters. They visit schools armed with payment plan drafts and well-rehearsed negotiating theatrics, and in these moments headmasters are highly respected. They walk tall, shoulders in the air, marking their presence on the academic arena. Schools and fees.
The fools will believe everything their so-called men of God say—that it is their year—forgetting the same tantrums were made the preceding year and bore absolutely nothing. One is tempted not to doubt Karl Marx’s opinion that religion is the opium of the poor. Perhaps the poverty is not only of material possession but also of intellect. It is all about life. Even politicians, especially on the other side of the river, are at it again, recycling rhetoric to instil useless hope in their followers. Prophets of doom, like the self-styled prophet Passion Java, have already labelled 2026 a year of arrests—gore rekungangurwa.
To some political pessimists with spooking intent, “2026” is gore rekumhanya. Whether this is a call to physical fitness or merely an illusion of impending power transitions remains anyone’s guess. The year is already upon us; all that remains is to live the experience as it unfolds, stripped of theatrics, prophecy, and manufactured fear. Let us keep our fingers crossed as the year unfolds. This is just a view, nothing else.
