Online Reporter
MANJE SO with Mai Juju
THERE is an old, cynical saying that goes: The same crowd that cheers you during your coronation is the same crowd that will jeer you at your execution.
And nowhere is this truth more starkly displayed than in the wild, unforgiving jungle that is Zimbabwean social media, particularly when it touches on our fallen heroes.
We are a nation of armchair critics and professional mourners that have a peculiar talent for caricaturing our legends the moment their heart stops beating.
I have seen it happen time and time again.
The very people who will dance themselves into a frenzy at a music star’s performance are the same people who, years later, will be sharing memes of that same star selling vegetables at Mbare Musika, calling it a “humbling” experience while simultaneously typing a thousand laughing emojis.
It is this bizarre, macabre humour that makes one think that Thomas “Mukanya” Mapfumo has finally found his senses.
Deciding to take that million-dollar offer from the maverick and showboating business Wicknell Chivayo could be one of the best decisions he has made in his life.
Let us be honest: Zimbabweans have a habit of laughing at celebrities who die in poverty.
We will never know the silent battles that Mukanya fights by himself in those quiet moments, far away from the stage lights.
Those ghosts of unpaid royalties, the gnawing worry about the future and the cold realisation that music, for all its glory, does not fill the granary in old age.
Mukanya is a legend.
That is beyond doubt.
The man gave us a soundtrack to a revolution.
He was the voice of the voiceless.
However, let us also concede that the man has a penchant for being abrasive, straight-talking and talking out of turn.
He has deranged generations, not just with his hypnotic mbira, but with his sharp tongue.
He is a complicated man, a grumpy old genius who would rather speak his mind than be popular.
But even the grumpiest genius deserves to retire in peace.
This man has given his entire life to the altar of Chimurenga music.
He has sweated, bled and probably lost a few brain cells dealing with promoters and politicians alike.
Does he not deserve to sit out this life while vacationing and sipping mocktails (as a teetotaller) in places like Ibiza and the Bahamas?
This is why Mai Juju believes Mukanya did the right thing.
He took the money.
He took the one-in-a-lifetime golden offer and ran with it.
This is not about pride; it is about practicality.
Some may scoff and say: “Ah, he sold out.”
Sold out what? Sold out who?
Please, get real and get a life.
The alternative is being a proud pauper, lying in a hospital bed while relatives argue over who will pay the bill, only for the nation to laugh at your empty bank account after you are gone.
Whatever his political views, and whatever he thinks about the carefree Wicknell Chivayo — the man who splashes cash and spends like it is going out of fashion — is quite immaterial.
For this moment, Chivayo is not the controversial figure he appears to be; he is the fairy godfather with a chequebook.
Chivayo, for his part, is bragging about making Mukanya the “highest paid singer ever” in Zimbabwe.
Good for him.
Good for Mukanya.
Let the man take the proverbial bag and run.
At his age, he should be focusing on his retirement plans, not on the gossip columns.
We must stop this romanticised nonsense that artists should suffer for their art.
That is a tragedy, not a badge of honour.
Mukanya has given us the songs; now it is time for him to take the cash.
Let him play at Jah Prayzah’s wedding, then at Chivayo’s house warming, and then maybe squeeze in that farewell gig.
And then, he should hop on a plane to some tropical island where no one knows him, and he can sip his pineapple juice in peace.
Because in this life, the applause fades, the crowd disperses and eventually one has to face the cold realities of life alone.
However, when you have a million dollars in the bank, you can rewrite the script.
Ndikoko!
