Online Reporter
SOME people dream of wearing the badge.
They train for months. They run until their lungs burn.
They memorise laws, endure push-ups in the mud and earn the right to call themselves police officers. And then there is 43-year-old Nhamo Karuru of Bulawayo, who apparently looked at all that hard work and said, “Nah, I will just buy the costume.”
Because why sweat when you can shop?
Karuru, clearly a man who believes in shortcuts, decided to skip the recruitment, skip the training, skip the fitness tests — and go straight to the part where he dresses up like a cop and bosses people around. He christened himself “Sergeant Nyoni”, which we assume he chose because it sounded official and vaguely intimidating.
And off he went, strutting through Bulawayo like he owned the place, serving court summonses in protection order cases to unsuspecting citizens. For a brief, glorious moment, he was the star of his own one-man police drama. The performance? Oscar-worthy. The audience? Terrified and confused.
But here is the thing about dodgy schemes: They have a terrible script.
It all started falling apart when the good people he was “serving” began asking the kind of awkward questions that fake sergeants really do not want to hear — like, “Who exactly are you?” and “Where is your proper ID card?” and “Are you even a real cop, bro?”
The suspicious victims did what any sensible person would do: They called the actual police.
You know, the ones who actually went through training. And when the real officers arrived, Karuru’s award-winning performance met its final curtain call.
A search of his person revealed a police identity card, a notebook bearing the name “Sergeant Nyoni” and a Zimbabwe Republic Police (ZRP) reflective jacket.
It was at this point that Karuru probably realised his career as a fake officer was, shall we say, not going according to plan.
But wait — it gets better.
The police, now thoroughly entertained, decided to take a peek at his girlfriend’s home in Magwegwe West.
And what did they find?
A treasure trove. A police supply warehouse masquerading as a bedroom. We are talking drab caps, STU caps, a riot jacket, handcuffs, sergeant rank insignia, combat boots, riot trousers, grey shirts and name tags. Basically, if you needed to kit out a small police squad, Karuru’s girlfriend’s house was the place to shop.
Clearly, the man was building an empire.
Unfortunately for Karuru, the only uniform he will be wearing for the next six months has a prison number on the back and zero fashion appeal. The Tredgold Magistrates’ Court took a dim view of his little costume party and sentenced him to an effective six months behind bars. So, congratulations, Mr Karuru.
You are a fraud, a fashion enthusiast, a man with absolutely zero self-awareness and the Mampara of the Week.
