Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Radio Scandals, Village Fame, and the Great Interview Confusion

The moment Simba received that message from the radio station, his heart began playing traditional drums inside his chest. National radio. Real airwaves. Real listeners. This was no longer small-time fake-it-till-you-make-it village drama. This was public, mainstream, scandal-level exposure.

He read the message five times, each time louder than the last, as if volume would make it less terrifying.

Greetings. We are inviting Mr Simba, the young entrepreneur and motivational speaker whose story has touched lives, to appear live on Radio Nhetembo this Friday morning. We will discuss your Harvard graduation, business ventures, and community projects.

Simba blinked hard.

Harvard graduation. Business ventures. Community projects.

The holy trinity of lies he had manufactured with Wi-Fi, borrowed blazers, and apps like CapCut.

He wanted to faint again, but unfortunately, he was standing in the middle of the borehole queue and people would just assume he was dehydrated. He stood still for a moment, looking at the ground like answers would appear in the dust.

But something inside Simba refused to panic.

Instead, a strange thing happened.

He smiled.

Because if he had faked a wedding, a Harvard certificate, and almost survived a Zoom meeting using pictures downloaded from Pinterest, surely a live radio interview was just another small mountain in his Everest of deception.

Simba replied to the message with a thank you, added a signature that said CEO of Simba Global, and began preparing like a war general.

He had four days to rehearse.

He went into isolation under the mango tree with a notebook titled Public Speech for Successful People and began scripting answers to questions he hoped they would ask. He wrote sentences like I just followed my passion and The key to success is remaining humble even when you're rich. He practiced fake laughter, fake modesty, and even a few fake tears in case the moment got emotional.

On Thursday, the eve of the interview, Simba visited his trusted barber named Old Skool. Old Skool operated from a broken-down caravan next to a vegetable stall, and his clippers made more noise than the ZUPCO buses. Still, Simba sat proudly and asked for the Signature Fade for TV Celebrities.

Old Skool, who had no clue what that was, nodded wisely and cut Simba's hair into something between a fade, a reverse mohawk, and a motivational haircut from a struggling church bishop. When Simba saw his reflection in the broken mirror, he winced, but told himself it was giving billionaire with a bad childhood.

Then came the big day.

Simba wore his one and only formal shirt, the same one he wore for the fake Harvard graduation photo and the fake wedding. It was tired now. The buttons were begging for mercy. But Simba believed if you iron a lie well enough, it becomes the truth.

He caught a lift to the small town where the radio station was located, seated between a sack of cabbages and a man who kept snoring while chewing gum. When he arrived, he found the studio inside a rundown building painted with faded murals of singers from the 1980s.

Inside, the radio host was waiting.

A short man with a booming voice and large sunglasses indoors, he introduced himself as DJ Fire Blesser, known for turning any guest into a viral headline. He wore three wristwatches and drank energy drinks like water.

Welcome, Simba, said DJ Fire Blesser. The airwaves are yours.

Simba adjusted his shirt collar and sat straight. He took a deep breath and activated his motivational voice, the same one he used when faking phone calls at the township.

The interview began smoothly.

Tell us about your early life, asked DJ Fire Blesser.

Simba smiled confidently and said, I was born in a small village, raised by a single mother who taught me to dream big. I used to sell sweets at school to fund my future.

Listeners across the country were nodding.

And how did you end up at Harvard?

Simba cleared his throat. I applied with the help of a community NGO and a few mentors. It was tough, but passion pushed me.

Impressive, said the DJ. And your company Simba Global, what exactly does it do?

Simba blinked. He had never thought that far.

We are into… digital transformation. We help brands grow online and offline. We also deal with… agricultural software and rural innovation.

The DJ looked impressed. Simba looked proud. Somewhere in a village, his uncle was dancing thinking his nephew was now a Silicon Valley leader.

Then, the DJ dropped the bomb.

We actually have someone calling in now. A surprise. He says he's your university classmate from Harvard. Goes by the name Tawanda Nyandoro.

Simba's face froze like bad buffering.

Tawanda. The real Harvard graduate. The one who had been wrongly associated with Simba's fake life during the social media saga.

He couldn't speak. He couldn't run. He couldn't even blink without making it obvious.

The caller came on the line.

Hello, this is Tawanda. Just wanted to say, I've never met this guy in my life. I went to Harvard, yes, but I've never heard of Simba. And we don't do agricultural software there. We study law.

Dead silence.

Simba's soul left his body, circled the building, and tried to re-enter through the window.

DJ Fire Blesser was confused. The sound technician dropped his headphones. Someone sneezed. Simba tried to save the moment.

I studied remotely. Different class. Evening sessions. Very private.

But it was too late. The damage was done. Calls started pouring in.

One caller said Simba once borrowed money claiming he was applying for a visa.

Another said she gave him her phone to fix and he posted graduation pictures on her Facebook.

A third caller just laughed hysterically for thirty seconds straight and hung up.

Simba sat in the studio sweating, his shirt soaked like a marathon runner. DJ Fire Blesser tried to wrap up politely.

Thank you for joining us, Simba. This was… informative.

The show ended. But the disaster did not.

By the time Simba left the studio, clips from the show were already circulating. People in WhatsApp groups were laughing. Memes were flying like locusts in maize fields.

One meme had Simba's face with the caption: Agricultural Software Director of Nowhere.

Another had a picture of a goat next to a microphone with the words: Simba's Harvard Classmate.

Simba took a kombi back to the village in silence. Even the conductor didn't ask him for change. They all knew. Everyone knew.

When he arrived home, he found his mother outside, sweeping furiously and muttering to herself. She didn't even look at him. She just shook her head and said, You should have just sold tomatoes like your cousin Takudzwa.

For two days, Simba didn't leave the house.

He ignored messages. He avoided mirrors. He even deactivated his social media. But on the third day, something strange happened.

He received a message from a man named Mr Zondo. The message read:

Simba, I saw the radio show. You're not good at lying. But you're excellent at entertaining. Let's talk comedy. You're sitting on a goldmine.

Simba stared at the message.

Comedy?

Had he accidentally launched a career while failing to maintain a lie?

He looked around the room. The cracked graduation picture. The dusty motivational books. The Wi-Fi router that had never actually worked.

He stood up.

And for the first time in a long time, he laughed. Not the fake laugh he used for status updates or interviews, but a real, honest, helpless laugh.

Because maybe, just maybe, the fake life had one more plot twist left.

And this time, it might just be real.

---

Chapter 5 loading... and it smells like fame, microphones, and one man learning how to tell the truth... by joking about it.