Chapter 6

The Sponsorship Scandal, The Return of Natasha, and a Chicken in a Suit

Simba woke up that morning with the grace of a millionaire but the hygiene of someone who had fought a goat in his sleep. His dreams were wild and made no sense: one minute he was on stage receiving an award from the Minister of Laughter, the next he was arrested for impersonating someone with a plan. But in real life, Simba was now the village's unofficial comedy king, with Steve the chicken as his manager.

After his viral skits with Steve, Simba's WhatsApp inbox had exploded like a plate of sadza meeting hot soup. He had fans in Harare, fans in Bulawayo, and even one guy from South Africa who sent him data and called him Simba the Silly Slayer. Things were happening. But nothing could prepare him for what came next.

One afternoon, Simba received a voice note. The voice was deep, serious, and had the kind of confidence only possessed by people who wear sunglasses indoors.

Hello, this is Mr. Mandebvu from Seka Foods. We are impressed with your comedy. We would like to sponsor you. Think big. Think sausages. Think billboards.

Simba jumped up so fast he almost stepped on Steve, who was pecking at his last surviving pair of socks. Sponsorship? Sausages? Billboards? This was it. The dream. The one moment he had been preparing for his whole fake life.

He didn't reply immediately. No. That would be too desperate. Instead, he recorded 12 different versions of a reply, each one in a different accent. In one, he sounded South African. In another, he tried British but ended up sounding like a drunk teacher. He finally settled on the version where he just laughed for five seconds and said, I'm honored.

The next day, Mr. Mandebvu arrived in the village. In a real car. With tinted windows. And a cooler box in the backseat full of sausages.

He stepped out in a suit so shiny Simba could see his reflection and his poverty. He shook Simba's hand and handed him a contract.

We want to make you the face of Seka Foods, he said. You and that chicken of yours.

Simba looked at Steve, who blinked once and walked into a bush like he needed to process everything.

Two hours later, Simba was posing for photos with Steve wearing a tie made from an old curtain, standing next to a banner that read: Seka Foods - If You're Not Laughing, You're Starving.

The campaign was launched online.

The photo of Simba holding a sausage like a microphone while Steve looked emotionally confused went viral. People started calling Seka Foods to ask if Steve was available for interviews. Someone tweeted: This chicken is funnier than my uncle who talks to spiders.

But where there's light, there's drama.

Enter: Natasha.

The real one.

Not the fake Italian doctor Simba had invented for his ghost wedding. No. This was the actual Natasha, the girl he used to admire silently in Form 3. The one who had moved to South Africa and returned with an accent so thick you needed a translator just to ask her the time.

She showed up at Simba's house without warning, wearing shades, lipstick that looked like it was applied with a paintbrush, and confidence that could break bricks.

Simba, she said, with the energy of a plot twist. So you're famous now?

Simba didn't know whether to faint, smile, or offer her a sausage.

Natasha walked into the house like she owned the soil beneath it.

I watched your skits. You're funny. In a sad, hopeless kind of way.

Simba smiled nervously. Steve ran under the bed.

Before Simba could respond, Natasha dropped a bomb.

I want to manage you.

Simba choked on his own saliva. Manage me?

Yes, she said. You need a woman with vision. Someone to clean up your brand. You're out here posting with a chicken like it's normal. We can do better.

Steve poked his head out from under the bed and gave her the side-eye.

Natasha pulled out a small book titled Vision 2030: How to Turn Local Fools Into Global Brands. Simba didn't know if it was a real book or just a threat.

From that day, Natasha declared herself Simba's manager.

She printed business cards that read: Natasha M. – Talent Whisperer. She created an email account and started answering messages on Simba's behalf, using phrases like Kindly find attached and Let us proceed with a collaboration strategy.

Steve was confused. Simba was overwhelmed. But Natasha was determined.

She organized a press interview.

It was a disaster.

The reporter asked, How did you get started in comedy?

Simba said, I was born broke and stayed broke until I started laughing about it.

The reporter nodded.

And what's your creative process like?

Simba replied, I talk to my chicken until something funny happens.

The reporter blinked. Natasha coughed loudly and said, What Simba meant is, he draws inspiration from organic village experiences and his emotional support animal.

Steve stared at her like he wanted to sue.

But the real storm was yet to come.

Mr. Mandebvu called one night sounding nervous.

Simba, there's a problem. Someone said your chicken is not a real chicken. They say it's remote-controlled.

Simba stood up so fast he hit his head on the doorframe.

What?

Yes. There's a WhatsApp group called "Exposing Rural Magic" and they say you're using dark powers. That Steve is not a chicken, but a cursed spirit from the Zambezi.

Simba laughed until he choked, but Mr. Mandebvu wasn't joking.

We need to do damage control. You and Steve must do a live interview. To prove he's real.

So they did.

Simba went live on Facebook with Steve on his lap, holding a sausage in one hand and a Bible in the other.

Steve, are you a demon? Simba asked.

Steve pecked his finger.

See? said Simba. Real chickens don't do interviews. They cause pain.

The live video had over 20,000 views. People laughed, shared, and commented things like This is better than Netflix and My stomach is now my enemy.

But Natasha was not impressed.

You need to elevate, she said. No more chicken. We need something global.

Simba disagreed.

Steve is family.

That night, Natasha and Steve had a staring contest that ended with Steve laying an egg in her handbag.

The next day, Natasha left for Harare to negotiate what she called serious deals. Simba breathed for the first time in a week.

Things went back to normal. Or as normal as they could be in a life involving chicken publicists and ghost managers.

Then the unthinkable happened.

Steve went missing.

One morning, Simba woke up, and Steve was gone. No feathers. No clucking. Just silence and an open gate.

Simba panicked. He ran through the village shouting Steve's name like a man who had lost a wallet full of passwords.

Posters were printed. A reward was announced: 5 sausages and a shoutout in the next video.

Three days later, a child from the next village arrived holding Steve upside down.

I found this chicken chasing a cat, he said.

Steve looked exhausted, like he'd seen things.

Simba hugged him. Steve pooped on his shoe.

All was forgiven.

That night, Simba made a new video.

Steve is back. And to celebrate, we're launching our first T-shirt: "Fake Life. Real Chicken."

The orders poured in.

From then on, Simba stopped trying to be what he wasn't. No more Harvard lies. No more Italian wives. Just comedy, Steve, and the truth wrapped in madness.

Because in the end, people don't love you for being perfect.

They love you for surviving your stupidity with confidence.

And Simba was a survivor.

Chapter 7 loading. Featuring stolen t-shirts, a church comedy night, and Steve's mysterious cousin from the city.