We may hate this man but he’s 4D chess player with just one meeting
- Neutralised Donald Trump
- Neutralised Gayton
- Nuetralised Holomisa
- Turned march leaders into enemies
Ankole is a smooth operator no noise 😭
@DuchessTalitha Rakadashurwa. You can't be breaking glasses off people cars in the name of policing. I had a bad experience with them where they threatened to breack my wind screen for no apparent reason
This could be us but 90% yakapfeka magemenzi nedhuku iri kutsva iri pa airport yakamirira ndege yembavha.... Nhai Nehanda nyakasikana, rugare rwuchatiwanawo riniko?
OFF AIR UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
Following complaints and behind-the-scenes lobbying by a disgruntled presenter, someone I worked alongside at Radio 3 back in the day, @classic263 Radio management has decided to suspend my show The #PyjamaParty and other diaspora-based programmes for now.
Firstly, I want to sincerely thank the Station Manager, Terry Mapurisana for the opportunity, the belief and the foresight to bring former Radio 3 broadcasters back onto the airwaves, even if only for 55 minutes once a week.
He understood something others clearly did not, that listeners still value authenticity, experience and the familiar voices they grew up with.
Sadly, that vision appears to have been undermined.
What began as a passion project to reconnect with audiences and breathe fresh energy into radio somehow became a source of jealousy and discomfort for certain individuals behind the scenes.
Ironically, the very programmes now being suspended contributed immensely to listener growth, online engagement and the station’s visibility, playing a significant role in Classic 263 Radio winning the Diaspora Online Radio Station of the Year 2025 award.
Yet instead of celebrating the revival of listener interest and the return of appointment radio, some chose bitterness over unity.
For the record, none of us were paid for these shows. We gave our time, our experience and our passion freely, purely for the love of broadcasting and the listeners who welcomed us back into their homes, cars and headphones every week.
It is heartbreaking when opposition comes not from outsiders, but from within.
To every listener who supported The #PyjamaParty and the other suspended programmes, thank you.
Your support reminded us why we fell in love with radio in the first place.
They may remove voices from the schedule.
But they cannot erase what those voices meant to people.
As always, my Friday, Saturday and Sunday shows will continue to be available on the Soul Shack Radio. YouTube and SoundCloud for those who miss the live broadcasts.
Godo rine ka blaz kacho kane munhu pasi.
Our case against #CAB3 has been given a solid, clear and thunderous base in the National Assembly through outstanding and heroic performances by MPs @agencygumbo; @gladyshlatywayo; @HMakumire; @chigumbu_ and @MushoriwaEdwin. They have set the stage for our victory. Well done!
😂 #KingsMemoirs
The early 80s in Zimbabwe hit differently. Independence had just come, the country was buzzing, and suddenly there was a whole new breed of black entrepreneurs, hustlers and dealers making serious moves in Harare. Sharp dressers, fast talkers, big spenders, always somewhere important to be.
I somehow found myself moving amongst them even though I was just a young apprentice earning peanuts at the time. Funny thing is, they liked my company, and before long I was part of the furniture in some of those circles.
Most evenings would start at the Terreskane Hotel on Fife Avenue/Second Street Extension. That place was alive back then. Deals being made over drinks, loud laughter, stories flying across tables, everybody trying to outdo the next man.
You could feel the ambition in the room. Harare was changing right in front of us and we were all caught up in the excitement of it.
The regular crew included characters like Stewart “Boots” Matimba, Webster Machingura, Charles “Jacha” Bvumbe, Chikichi, Douglas Chimutanda and a few other well-known faces from that era.
Proper larger-than-life personalities. And Boots… ah that man loved his huge American cars. The kind of long, heavy machines that looked like they needed their own postcode. Big body Chevvys . When Boots arrived, people noticed. Those cars announced themselves long before the man even stepped out.
At a time when Datsun Bluebirds, Mazda 323s and Toyota Cressidas ,VW Golfs were already status symbols, Boots was operating on another level altogether. Everything about that era felt big.
Cool rides , big music, big spending and even bigger dreams.
And after Terreskane, the night usually rolled into the Pint and Bite next door where DJ Washie kept the place jumping with the hottest tunes in town. The music, the fashion, the confidence, the freedom, everything about those nights screamed new Zimbabwe energy. The 80s were lakker man, things were firing properly.
I also crossed paths with some real Harare hard cases in those years. Names like Mhozi “Mabhaibiri”, notorious jailbird Charles Malgas, Zindi Abdul and cool cats like Chris Abdul, my neighbour Washington Chikonzo , Army Captain Marco Vheremu and the legendary Mr Iron Man himself, Bible Mhiza.
Now Bible Mhiza once literally saved my life, because one night I nearly got myself killed after mixing courage with BOLS Brandy and Coke. That stuff finished me completely. Somewhere along the line I convinced myself I was The Incredible Hulk and started challenging the doorman at SCAMPS International Night Club on Park Street to a fight.
Not just any doorman mind you.
The man standing there was none other than former Rhodesian heavyweight boxing champion Muhammad “Tar Baby”.
Yes… THAT Tar Baby.
Completely out of my senses, there I was squaring up like I was about to become heavyweight champion of Africa. Looking back now, that man could probably have folded me into a suitcase with one punch.
Luckily for me, Bible Mhiza happened to be nearby when this madness started unfolding. Before Tar Baby could turn me into tomorrow’s headline, Bible calmly walked over, lifted me over his shoulder like a sack of mealie meal, carried me down the stairs, threw me into a Rixi Taxi and told the driver, “Take this idiot friend of mine home.”
The next morning when people told me what had happened, I nearly died from embarrassment. From that day onwards I vowed never to touch BOLS Brandy again for as long as I lived.
But honestly, those were unforgettable times. Harare was electric, the nightlife was unmatched, the streets were full of characters, and every weekend felt like another movie waiting to happen.
We still had Coloured police officers called Patrol Officers, everybody knew everybody, and the city still had that rough but exciting edge about it.
The early 80s… ayiwa, those days were something else 😎
Transiting through South Africa from the UK to Zimbabwe might be better connection wise , but never again! The baggage handlers a @ortambo_int are thieves, had mobile phones stolen, shoes t shirts , even my second hand boxer shorts stolen there. And there are no consequences for the thieves disguised baggage handlers. Check-in staff are rude AF!