I can't scientifically explain how God sent me to Britain from Zimbabwe

Science works on proof. But, I have no explanation how, as a rural raised Zimbabwean boy, I ended up living  in Britain. I know, however that, scientifically, when human beings evolved from Homo Habilis, they developed the ability to design tools and codes of ethics to advance life style and conquer the harsh environment. History tells us that education started in Egypt and spread all over the World. Europe became the happiest recipient of education which started in Africa.

By year 1750, Britain had developed a lot from the way they had received African Educational system and developed it for their good. Britain had become a World Super Power in 1750. They used their power to play God and drew countries and borders of all countries we know in the World including Zimbabwe which was drawn in 1870.

Deliberately skipping how the British subdued and ruled Zimbabwe with a heavy hand between 1894 and 1980, the result of Colonialism left me a hopeless fatherless boy at Zimbabwean Independence. In 1980, my country was ruled by people who had suffered trauma during the liberation struggle. Their language and answer to any complain or question or suggestion was murder. To survive in newly Independent Zimbabwe, one had to learn to stop complaining of blaming the war demented leaders. As a thirteen year old, I paid more than what some World War Two Veterans saw in Europe. I endured torture which has made me angry and insane till this day. I can quickly blame the leaders who tortured me in Zhombe 1983 to 86, but, as someone who has lived in Britain now for fifteen years, I have learnt to question deeper than the easy and visible surface. –Had it not been for the cruelty of Colonialism, would Teacher Robert Mugabe have gone to Communist China to seek tactics of brutality against fellow citizens?-    

After being brutalised by Gukurahundi, I migrated to South Africa in 1989. For eleven years, I lived happily working in South Africa. I felt proudly South African and enjoyed life in a country where one's ability to work hard paid. Problems arose after South Africa's own Independence in  1994 that more Zimbabweans under the york of their War Demented leaders flocked into South Africa in millions.

In year 2000, South Africa begun to brutally deport Zimbabweans. I imagined being deported back to a country where I had to explain why I am a Shona who speaks Ndebele. I remembered sitting in front of an AK 47 held by Gukurahundi answering questions of why I had given Richard Gwesela a bowl of mageu. I remembered how I had to explain that my family speaks Ndebele because since the days of Lobengula, all my grandmothers were Ndebele. I remember pleading with Gukurahundi to explain that I did not choose that my father's father married a Ndebele, my father married Ndebele women twice. My brothers married Ndebeles and my Shona family begun speaking since 1870.

When South Africa threatened to deport me back to Zimbabwe, I imagined having to start again to live in a country of always angry and violent Policemen. I imagined myself being forced to go back to a country where eating maputi and magwadla and wild fruits was a luxury. I imagined going back to a country where hospitals had become dying places. -A country where civil servants chew bubble gum at work while queues wind hopelessly-.

I asked God if he had changed his mind about his promise to protect me.

I did not choose, but I was born by a Church Pastor father who died when I was eight. After his death, I endured the brutal Zimbabwean Liberation war where I saw people being tortured to death by  Liberation Fighters. I saw bodies of people who were killed by the British Colonial Regime. That phase of life removed from me the character of a normal Christian eight year old boy. The Liberation Fighters inspired me with their vision of what they were fighting for. I was used as and trusted as a young war collaborator. The Zanla forces knew how much they had corrupted me while the Rhodesian Forces did not suspect that I, as son of a Pastor, could be brainwashed by Zanla. I became a dangerous messenger of a system my father would not have approved. Before his death, my father taught me to make a silent prayer. He said a loud prayer full of rich and wise words did not please God. – It's a useless prayer-

My father said a true prayer is one done in solitude and not in front of people. My father taught me at tender age to mix with different people and at a special time, seclude myself for a word with God. I now live in Britain where it is antisocial to talk about God. It offends some people to talk about God. Furthermore, the civilised people of Britain do not entertain beliefs which cannot be proven scientifically.  They may have taught Zimbabweans about Jesus Christ during Colonial days, but now, they want Zimbabweans to know that Science has not found God in any galaxy.

I believe in the British. They are civilised and their science, methods of governance, and holistic lifestyle, bears testimony that they know better than Zimbabweans. My father was proud in his life as a Church pastor because of British Colonial education.   

What surprises me is how God proves to me beyond any doubt that he is more powerful than the civilised British.

In year 2000, I was working as a cashier at a petrol station in Orange Groove Johannesburg. Police vans carrying arrested Zimbabwean illegal immigrants frightened me to the bone. I simply did not want, and I do not want now, to be deported to Zimbabwe which is ruled by Zanu leaders. Although I had stopped going to church, I always kept a silent prayer between me and God. I controlled the direction of the wind through a small prayer. Sometimes at a blink of the eye, I would silently say "God", and a volatile situation changed to my favour. -My father taught me not to pray for God to help me buy a helicopter, but ask for a good life. At a point of fear of deportation, a Jewish student came into my shop and asked why I was not considering going to London.

My job as a cashier needed me to be chatty and smiley. I had done that for many years so a smile came naturally. This Jewish student told me that with my attitude towards work, I would do better in England. He did not know anything about my history, my fears, my plans to avoid deportation. He had known me for more than three years, and as a privileged Jew, he thought I was a Zulu from Durban. The student gave me a newspaper called the Junk Mail where thousands of British Jobs were advertised.

On fool's day of year 2000, I took my plane from Johannesburg landing in Heathrow on the second of April. I had spent eleven years in South Africa living as a South African and I had developed a belief that I was South African.

I settled in Leicester in the UK where I met more Zimbabweans who had run away from our Colonially demented leaders. They were fuming with anger and talking loud and sometimes insanely. I continued to insist that I was South African since all these Zimbabweans in UK were also facing deportation. Carrying a South African passport in UK at that time came with some level of respect and acceptance since Britain was politically trying to be the moderate country which destroyed apartheid.

I worked in the United Kingdom and earned eight times the amount of money I was earning in South Africa. After three years, the Home Office wrote me a letter to say I must go back to South Africa to acquire a work permit. I complied thinking that everything  would be simple.

On arrival in Pretoria, I was told that I had overstayed in the UK and would never be allowed to go back again. My World collapsed, but, I still remembered who the architect of the World was.

I then travelled to Zimbabwe using my South African passport with a British stamp. Zimbabwe had sunk into levels where only the work of a professional exaggerator could describe. Inflation was emptying people's bank accounts and people were selling houses to try and go to London. I prayed to God to help me go back to Britain.

I went back to South Africa penniless. I spent a year working as a security guard earning one tenth of what I would have earned in the UK. Every day of that year was spent on prayer. I went back to church and became a regular member. God did not seem to have a clue of how he would solve the issue of my overstayed South African passport.

One Thursday morning, I woke up from my warm blanket and looked at the neat ceiling, my half asleep mind thought I was in the United Kingdom which I had spent the whole year nostalgically dreaming about. On realising that I was still stuck in South Africa, I knelt down and prayed to God to take a recognisable step to help me. I reminded God how, sixteen years earlier he had helped me flee Zimbabwe. When I finished my prayer, I pushed my finger into my bible randomly and read the verse that was on my index finger. –I accept that this was insanity-. Insanity led me to a verse which was written like this," 21But this kind does not go out except by prayer and fasting."

 

I was shocked to learn that hard things need fasting for. I had heard many times about people emphasising about fasting, but in Christianity, some people interpret verses in a way that bears no justification. I set my three days of fasting staring on a Saturday. When I went to church that Saturday, I could not believe the coincidence that there was to be a night of prayer. Such coincidence cannot be explained by means of science and thus where God defines himself beyond any doubt. I had fallen into an unexplainable setting of autopilot which makes me shy to tell people fearing to be called liar.

The girl I was paired to pray with during the night with God laughed while it was my turn to pray. I have never learnt to pray while other people are listening. I pray alone. I hate to hear anyone listen to my private conversation with God. I do not pray the conventional way. I talk to God just as I would talk to my mother. The third person is an unwanted intruder whose presence disturbs my spiritual connection. The girl laughed and I can't blame her. I continued to talk to my God the way we have spoken ever since I was a little boy. I am his child and he is my God and I have no methodology to talk to him but just talk like a child.

I asked God why they were sixty million people in Britain and he would not allow me to go back? That is why the girl laughed. In a prayer, one is supposed to be composed, choose words, and tone down. I also pray like that, but, there are times that I do not even use words. I know and I was taught that God knows what I want to talk about. God knows when I am pressed, when I am busy, when I am lazy and when I am crying. On that Saturday, I had spent a full day without food. I was talking to the only man who has the keys to unlock anything anywhere in his universe. I was talking to someone I knew was fixing me to remember him even when I swim in his blessings.

On Sunday, I spent the whole day in bed. I was weak and hungry but prayerful. On Monday I went to my work as a Security Guard. On Tuesday, my fasting was to finish at 12:00 midday. At 11:20, my mobile phone rang. It was a number with a British dialling code. I received the phone and it was my sister's son in Bristol. He asked why I was not coming back to Britain and I told him I had no Air-Ticket.

He was drunk and was travelling with noisy friend at the background. After six minutes, a text message came into my phone giving me a reference number to go and collect £1200 from Money Gram. I knew prayer works and prayer had protected me many times in some unexplainable ways. This instance of my life was highly phenomenal. My hungry eyes saw things in doubles and I quickly made a second check to make sure that I was not in a dream. I put my work baton stick on the table and told my supervisor that I had an agent call and I would explain later. I went straight to Money Gram, collected the money and went to a restaurant to eat after fasting.

I am writing all this after ten years. Ten years means I am still shocked by the power of what Scientists call coincidence and to me, there is no coincidence there. There is a clear undisputable God. I may be called a Low IQ marron who confuses coincidence for God, but, it is me who prayed for a paradigm shift and it is me who saw it happening.  Insane, moron, low IQ, Suffering African, superstitious or any description, I will take. All those things describe me.

Now, remember I am a Zimbabwean who had gone to Britain using a South African passport and had overstayed. My sister's son had sent me air ticket money, but the original issue of me failing to go back to UK was the Visa. I asked myself, "If God could physically deliver £1200 while I only had £4, could he fail to deal with the issue of an overstayed passport?"

Only an unfaithful fool would doubt God after being handed £1200 through a prayer. I went to my travel agent and paid £500 air fare. While God had shown me clearly that he controls everything. I knew that I, also, had a duty to make sure that things do not go wrong.

The British Immigration deployed people at Johannesburg International Airport to catch people with wrong passports before they board the plane. I was tipped by someone to not to board the plane at Johannesburg International but take my flight from Durban and only get to Johannesburg as in transit. I took a bus from Johannesburg to start my journey from Durban. It was nice to immerse myself on the Indian Ocean before boarding my plane in Durban at 13:00.

On arriving in Johannesburg, all people carrying South African Passports had to go to the normal boarding bay. The issue of safe transit was all a waste of money. I saw myself on the queue. Singing God, God, God in my heart while also trying to look sophisticated. I handed my passport to the officer and he asked me for further identification. I handed him my British Driver's Licence card. On seeing the British licence, he did not open my overstayed passport. I was cleared for boarding.

I imagined the look of God. I felt like someone walking in front of a camera where every eye is on you. I took my flight to Zurich on the 23rd of March 2005. I got to Zurich in the morning and my connection flight to London City Airport was to be at 18:00.

I spent the whole day at the airport and took my flight to London. Twenty minutes after take-off, the left wing of the plane was struck by lightning. Of every miracle that had happened to me in an unbelievable way, being hit by lightning was the end. Air hostesses shut curtains so that we could not see the panic. The plane lost altitude and vibrated in turbulence. Every sophisticated person was crying, human beings were reduced to human as we hugged each other. Our plane gained altitude again and engines performed well with a fading uncomfortable noise on the affected wing. The captain announced that everything had gone well but we were going back to Zurich to take another plane.

Because of a series of coincidences that had happened to me, I was left unable to do or think for myself but let God do everything for me.

Taking a second plane meant that we would get to London City airport late and it would be closed. Just before landing, the captain told us that someone had been left to clear us since the news of our lightning-struck plane had been reported.

My mouth was only repeating God, God, God as we alighted. Those with European Passports did not need to stop at the immigration desk. I queued and the officer looked at my first entry visa. She asked me if I knew where I was going and I replied yes. She demanded to see the British Pounds I had and I showed her. My passport was stamped and I went to collect my back. I prayed many times while still trying to maintain sophistication. A problem occurred with my bag as I could not find it. I was called to a scan machine where the attendant asked if I had a dictionary on my bag. I said no and he showed me the picture on the scan. My tongue turned hot fearing that Nigerians may have stuffed drugs on my bag.

A closer look at the stressed colours of the questioned item showed me that it was a picture of my Holly Bible. I told the attendant, thus my bible. He replied, "God bless you".

I went to Leicester and re-started my life with a closer degree of God. In November of 2005 when I was making my asylum claim in Liverpool, the officer asked me three times if I had paid bribery to an officer at the immigration to get my passport stamped. I told him God had promised me a safe journey from Johannesburg. Many British people feel offended if you say God. I chose to tell him the truth because God does not bless a liar. I told him that when God does something, science gets confused. I still say so today.

At my workplace, I work hard with fellow British men. They ask me if I really left Zimbabwe planning to come and work so hard. I always say "you need to know my life in Zhombe 1983, in order to learn that there is a God in Heaven who brought me to Luxury in Swansea"

If you are Zimbabwean and you are suffering from yet another deadly economic challenge caused by war demented leaders whose brains were destroyed by Colonial British, try God! Try fasting and acting.

Remember the British Colonialists came to Zimbabwe in 1888 carrying God on their bibles. Carry God on your bibles and go anywhere in the World. Do what the British did. You are a child of this single World, not less than the worms that crawl or the birds that fly. Go ye unto the World and subdue and dominate this wealthy World which your father in heaven has established upon the seas.  There is no reason why you should be beaten by ZRP for demanding better governance. Blame the oppressor and blame his teacher. Blame Zanu and blame British Colonialism which destroyed our country and continues to sanction and oppress us.