National Hero or National Punchline? The Curious Case of Dr. Sydney Gata
By Reason Wafawarova
It is laughable—nay, comedic—that Dr. Sydney Gata has been declared a national hero. It’s the kind of tragicomic plot twist one might expect in a badly written political sitcom, but alas, this is Zimbabwe: where absurdity is policy and satire writes itself.
Gata’s legacy? Less of a heroic arc, more of a masterclass in how to fail upward in Zimbabwe’s corruption-industrial complex. He was the grand conductor of Zimbabwe’s blackout symphony, presiding over ZESA with all the grace of a blindfolded electrician. Yet somehow, the man who quite literally left the nation in the dark now gets buried in glory. We must assume the lights at Heroes Acre will flicker in tribute—if they’re on at all.
His reappointments to the helm of ZESA were never about competence. No, Gata was a made man. First, he married into the Mugabe clan—tying the knot with Regina, the late President’s sister, because what better way to insulate oneself from accountability than to sleep in the same compound as it?
Then, in a twist that would make even Nollywood scriptwriters blush, Gata traded in Regina for Angeline Mayahle—ZANUPF MP, deputy minister, and, more importantly, the sister of President Mnangagwa’s customary wife, Molline Mayahle. If this sounds confusing, just imagine the family WhatsApp group.
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But wait—there’s more.
Sources close to the saga (and aren’t they always) say that just a week before his rather timely death, Gata allegedly discovered that his wife, the Hon. Angeline Mayahle, had been engaging in a scandalous affair with none other than President Mnangagwa—her own sister’s husband. Yes, you read that right. Zimbabwe’s president, in a polygamous arrangement with the Mayahle sisters, was allegedly moonlighting in his brother-in-law's bedroom. The nation may not have electricity, but our leaders certainly keep things charged. This is what the Who is Who of Mnangagwa's Second Republic are whispering to each other in black suits while playing the script like they know nothing.
If true, just imagine the betrayal: Gata, already weary from battling accusations of corruption and mismanagement, now confronting the possibility that his marital bed had become a State House annex. And just days later—coincidence, we’re told—he dies. Of natural causes, of course. Very natural. Absolutely.
Let’s be clear: this isn’t just political theatre—it’s a full-blown Greek tragedy, sponsored by ZESA and brought to you by the letters C, R, and E for Cronyism, Rot, and Entitlement.
Gata’s tenure was defined by corporate governance failures, accusations of personal enrichment, and an uncanny ability to survive scandal after scandal. He was once fired during the GNU for mismanagement—a decision met with applause from energy experts and civil society groups who hoped, naively, that daylight had finally broken over ZESA.
Instead, like an immortal blackout, he returned.
Declaring Gata a national hero is less about honouring service and more about rewarding loyalty to a very exclusive club. It’s the Zimbabwean elite’s version of a frequent flyer program: rack up enough patronage points, and you get fast-tracked to Heroes Acre—no merit necessary.
So yes, the who’s who of Zimbabwean high society will show up to his funeral in designer suits and chauffeured cars, shedding crocodile tears between murmurs about Swiss accounts and Dubai shopping trips. They’ll call him a patriot. A servant. A visionary.
But history should remember him as the man who kept the lights on for the powerful while the rest of us stumbled in darkness. A man whose personal connections—by blood, bed, or both—were his only qualifications.
And as for President Mnangagwa, who presides over this moral wasteland with the charm of a cat guarding a fish market, his silence on the scandal is as telling as the power outages that defined Gata’s career.
In his Zimbabwe, truth is irrelevant, loyalty is transactional, and power is both the prize and the weapon.
We record these truths not because they’ll change the system, but so that, when the curtain finally falls on this long-running farce, history won’t confuse our silence for consent .
