
Zimbabwean farmer, Gamba Ndlovu writes:
Dear Good People of Mayberry,
This night, I again made the pilgrimage to Harare in order to have my yak impregnated. Sadly, the tribesman whom I had bartered with for the use of his bull had butchered his yak to feed his children and the mother of his wife, whom he says is swollen like the Kariba under Nyaminyami’s vengeful anger.
As I walked through the marketplace, returning to my village, a shop keeper allowed me to stop and view his colored television. On the screen, I saw many men and women dressed in fine clothing, eating rich food, and smiling with their many white teeth. The merchant told me this was the Sag Awards, yet much of the people’s skin seemed unusually tight.
I was very enjoying the televised celebration when one of the happy people began talking about, and showing pictures of, other happy people who had passed from existence since the last time the happy people gathered. There were very many of them, some having lived beyond the great age of forty.
To my astonishment, a picture of your petroleum dispensing attendant was shown, indicating that he had returned to Tsui’goab’s loving embrace. I felt great sorrow for your village, as well as for his kinsman who serves within your country’s military. I had barely offered up my prayers to Cagn the Supreme, when the image of your village’s constable was placed on the screen, indicating the loss of his existence as well. I rent my garments and wailed, so great was my anguish. Who will care for the child, Opey, and the one known as Aunt Bea?!? And will the one called Fife now care for the safety of your community? I fear he is not qualified.
So, it is with great sorrow that I address you now, but also with great hope, for upon returning to my home, my tribesmen and I will travel to your village and defeat the tribe of Fife, as the Xhosas did the Khoi Khoi. I shall then govern your village in return for a yearly offering of 122 Botsowanun Pulas, two yaks, and a video cassette recorder.
Sincerely,
Gamba

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