Online ReporterStanford Chiwanga, [email protected]
WE have been saying it since the start, but we never put it to paper. Today, we do. And it must be said with the clarity and conviction it deserves: Mongameli Tshuma is not a winger.
He is a 10. A playmaker. The earlier Benjani Mwaruwari and his coaching staff realise that, the better for Highlanders, the better for Mongameli, and the better for the football that the Bosso faithful pay to witness.
It took one training session at Barbourfields Stadium for Warriors coach Mario Marinica to grasp this simple truth. One session. A few touches. A few clever turns. A handful of passes that sliced through lines like a hot knife through butter.
Why it has taken the Bosso technical team longer is a mystery that defies football logic. Perhaps it is habit. Perhaps it is the comfort of labels. Perhaps it is fear of risk. But whatever the reason, the reality remains unshaken: the boy is a 10.
And make no mistake — Mongameli is not a 10 because someone else once wore the jersey with grace. He is not a 10 by inheritance. He is not a 10 by comparison. He is a 10 in his own right, forging his own path, chiselling his own identity with the ball at his feet.
Do not compare him to Ronald “Gidiza” Sibanda — that silky, effortless conductor of rhythm. Do not liken him to the Ngodzo brothers, Johannes or Josta, artists who painted matches with touches and vision. Do not force him into the shadows of Mtshumayeli Moyo, another gifted craftsman of a different era. No. Mongameli is none of them. He is his own blueprint, his own signature, his own shape of genius.
Watch him closely — really watch him — and this becomes undeniable.
He dribbles with the deceptive ease of a street honed baller, the kind you find on dusty grounds where skill is survival and artistry is currency. His dribbling is not showmanship; it is purpose. Every feint, every body swerve, every drop of the shoulder has intention behind it. He glides past markers as though they have temporarily forgotten how to move.
Then there is the killer pass. The moment he receives the ball, he sees spaces before they exist.
The defenders don’t see them, the fans don’t see them, and even his teammates don’t see them — not yet — the crafty lobbied ball deep in the second half for the Warriors against Highlanders is a case in point. But Mongameli does.
He sees possibilities, patterns and cracks in the defensive wall that he can puncture with one swift, clever ball. It is a gift, a rare one, and Highlanders must treat it like the treasure it is.
And yes, he scores. Not as often as the predators up front, but enough to remind everyone that he can sting when he chooses to. His goals are often the kind that matter — composed finishes, clever placements, moments when calm is needed more than power. He is a thinker in the box, not a gambler.
Physically, he is tiny — deceptively tiny — that’s why they call him “Smaller”. Opponents see a small frame and assume vulnerability. But that is where they are wrong. His quickness is not merely speed; it is sharpness of mind, quickness of decision; the ability to slip through spaces before defenders can adjust.
His centre of gravity is low, although he is not that short, giving him stability when challenged and agility when under pressure. In modern football, that combination is gold.
This is why insisting that Mongameli should hug the touchline is a misreading of both the player and the game.
Wingers are often asked to stretch play, to run channels, to whip crosses — tasks he can do, yes, but not with the same natural ease as those born to the flank.
Smaller belongs at the heart of the orchestra, not at the fringes of the stage. He must be central, literally and figuratively, receiving the ball often, dictating tempo, deciding when to accelerate, when to slow down, when to tear open a defence with one glorious pass.
Highlanders, for all their storied history and tactical evolution, have not always embraced the classic 10 in recent years. But every generation has its player who demands a system be adjusted to accommodate their brilliance.
Mongameli is one such player. Not because he is bigger than the club – no one is — but because he has the rare ability to elevate those around him.
The greatest teams — in Zimbabwe, in Africa, around the world — have always found room for their brightest creators. Highlanders must do the same. If Mongameli flourishes, Bosso flourish. If he is trusted, encouraged, and freed from the confines of the flank, he will become not just a useful squad member, but a centrepiece, a difference maker, a club-defining presence.
And the fans know it. Those who have watched him, really watched him, understand the gem Bosso have acquired from Hwange FC. They appreciate his bravery on the ball, his willingness to receive in tight spaces, his refusal to hide and his hunger to create beauty.
At Highlanders, legends are not manufactured; they are discovered, polished, and unleashed. Mongameli has the talent, the instincts; the football intelligence to etch his name among the memorable playmakers of the black-and-white family. He is Mongameli Tshuma — a 10 in every sense that matters. And it is time he was allowed to be exactly that.
Londile Moyo