Tendai Biti returns to law practice with new firm

It hit me the other day that life is about keys and locks. More appropriately changing keys.

The story of life is measured in keys, those that are changed or not changed. Those that are lost and never recovered.

So when the Englishman talks of the closure of one door leading to the opening of another he is talking of exchanging one set of keys for another.

The simple key is the ultimate meaning of life. How you change it, for what, when and why.

Utilitarianism means that the human is striving for a better standard of self actualisation.Others before me might prefer to call call it the pursuit of happiness.

The pursuit of happiness in normal functional economies is predicated on a continuous changing of the keys. From the keys of a hut where one shared a room with siblings somewhere in Gwelutshena.

To the keys of a tiny dormitory in Gwanda to the keys of a tiny cubicle at New Complex one at the University of Zimbabwe.

To the keys of a tiny apartment in the Avenues post University. To the keys of a tiny office at the Ministry of Transport or a Bank on one's first Job. To the keys of an old jalopy bought on a Hire purchase loan from the now defunct UDC.

It is about keys. When society is inclusive, tolerant and democratic a lot of keys are changed.The story of life becomes one of changing keys.

On the other hand in predatory poverty ladden societies, the Wananchi hardly changes keys. Poverty traps you in the same spot. Whether in a little hut in Dotito or a door less flat in Gordon Moyo's Makokoba.

But there are others who will hold on to their keys for life. In Africa the keys to the State Palace or State House are not for exchange. The dictator holds on to them, clings to them with dear life.

Wars are fought and billions spend in patronage to protect those keys.When everything is said and done all of Africa's fights are just about keys, little keys to some colonial residence.

So this is the irony.Africa's powerful rulers and its most poor and down trodden citizen share one thing in common.They all never change keys but for completely different reasons.

The personal journey of this Wananchi has been about changing keys. From a door less flat somewhere in Mbare, a dust caked school in a township then called Gillingham.

Some untidy prefect room at a Hostel called Mhunhumutapa up in the east in Goromonzi,to years spend grinding the law at Honey and Blanckenberg.

Then to those heavy and many keys spend in Government .There were keys that opened State vaults with all kinds of delicate national secrets.

There were even keys for a little black brief case ,used only on Budget day.There were keys to unlock other keys.

There were keys to let out some things and keys to keep some things inside.

Indeed a whole bunch of different keys. Now is the time for other keys.

This Wananchi opens new old doors. Doors back to the law and a brand new law firm.

Doors to the pursuit of excellence in the process of finding justice. In times of hopelessness, anarchy and predation, one set of keys that must never be given up are the keys to the temple of justice.

All other keys are just that. ordinary keys.

Zikomo.