Chapter 10

Harare, Hysteria, and the Chicken Who Forgot His Roots

It began with a phone call that arrived during breakfast, while Simba was brushing Steve's feathers and Natasha was making another batch of muffins that smelled like ambition and tasted like failure.

The ringtone was Steve's voice saying, "Pick up before I peck you."

Simba answered.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mr. Simba Gumbo?" said a smooth voice. "You have been selected to perform at the Harare Hustlers Festival—a weekend event showcasing Zimbabwe's rising stars in comedy, motivation, and madness. You come highly recommended... by a chicken."

Simba blinked. "A chicken?"

"Yes," said the voice. "He calls himself Pastor Wings. Also, we want him to open the show with a five-minute motivational squawk."

Simba didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or start training Pastor Wings with TED Talk videos.

But the invitation was real. They were going to Harare.

Natasha screamed. "This is our breakthrough! Real stage! Real audience! Real Wi-Fi!"

Steve, now recovered from his dramatic exit, nodded like an elder. "It's time the capital saw the foolishness we've built with purpose."

They prepared like soldiers before war.

Steve packed three bowties, a comb, and a miniature mirror.

Pastor Wings insisted on a travel cage with wheels, air holes, and a tiny disco light.

Natasha wrote her speech, updated her CV to say "Creative Director of Divine Poultry Media," and carried 12 muffins, just in case.

Simba practiced his jokes, ironed his second-best shirt, and wrote the words "DO NOT FAINT" on his hand.

The journey was wild.

The kombi they boarded had no brakes, the conductor was preaching during stops, and a goat refused to leave Pastor Wings alone. Steve sat with his legs crossed like a celebrity, while Natasha argued with the driver about exposure and brand representation.

When they arrived in Harare, everything changed.

The city was loud, fast, and full of people with places to go and lies to tell.

They checked into a guest lodge that had one bed, no towels, and a chicken curfew.

Natasha turned to Simba. "You're performing tomorrow. Don't mess this up. Remember, fame doesn't come twice unless you fake your own downfall."

Simba stared at the ceiling. "I feel like I'm not ready."

Steve answered. "You weren't ready when we started. But here we are. Now go rehearse before Pastor Wings steals your thunder."

The next day was chaos.

The venue was packed. The posters outside read:

LIVE TONIGHT: Simba Gumbo – The Legendary Fake Life Featuring Pastor Wings and DJ Eggcellent

Simba sat backstage with Natasha breathing motivational quotes in his ear and Steve checking his feathers for stage presence. Pastor Wings was in a small chair getting powdered with chicken-friendly makeup.

Then the host walked in.

"Simba, you're on in 5."

Simba stood up. His heart was knocking. His fake life was now walking into real light.

The host continued. "Just a heads up. There's a producer from ZimTV in the audience. Don't embarrass the village."

Steve nearly fainted.

Simba walked out.

Lights.

Crowd.

Silence.

He grabbed the mic.

"Good evening, Harare. I come from a village where even the goats have dreams. One told me he wants to be an Uber driver."

Laughter.

"My life used to be simple. Then I hired a chicken as a pastor, another as a manager, and a woman who bakes weaponized muffins as my director. Now I'm famous, confused, and broke in three currencies."

Roars.

He continued.

"I told my father I'm a digital creator. He said, 'That's a nice way to say unemployed with followers.'"

People screamed.

"I used to fake success to impress girls. Now I fake normal life to escape success."

A standing ovation. He bowed. Natasha threw muffins into the crowd. Steve cried quietly.

Then came Pastor Wings.

He strutted on stage to dramatic music, flapped once, looked at the audience, and gave a loud, echoing squawk.

Silence.

Then applause. Thunderous applause.

The city had never seen anything like this.

After the show, they were surrounded.

Producers. Bloggers. Fans. One lady tried to take a selfie with Steve, who pecked her camera.

But the biggest moment came when a man in a shiny suit approached.

"I'm from ZimTV Daily Talent. We want to offer Simba a show deal. But we have one condition… you leave the chickens out."

Simba froze.

"What do you mean?"

The man smiled. "You're the talent. The rest? Gimmicks. Lose the feathers, gain the fame."

Steve stared. Pastor Wings squawked in confusion. Natasha's face darkened.

"Think about it," said the man. "You want to be a legend? Start walking alone."

He walked away.

Simba sat down. Natasha followed.

"Don't do it," she whispered. "This madness only worked because we were mad together."

Steve just said, "If you go solo, I'm joining a real farm. One with benefits."

Pastor Wings said nothing. He just walked to the edge of the stage, looked out, and dropped a single feather.

That night, Simba couldn't sleep.

His dream had come true. But it was demanding a sacrifice.

In the morning, they returned to the lodge. Simba packed in silence. Natasha stared at him like he was a criminal.

"You're not going to take the deal, are you?" she asked.

Simba didn't answer.

But as they boarded the kombi back home, he stood up, looked around at his team—Steve, Natasha, and a chicken prophet—and made a decision.

He texted the producer.

"Thanks. I'll pass. My feathers are part of my legacy."

Steve read it over his shoulder. "That's my boy."

Pastor Wings flapped once.

And Harare? It wasn't ready for them. But they left a story behind.

The Legendary Fake Life wasn't just a performance anymore. It was a family, a village rebellion, a gospel in comedy form.

As they drove back to the village, Simba smiled.

He hadn't sold out.

He'd bought into something bigger.

They arrived to a welcome party made of six kids, two dogs, and one confused goat. But the love was real.

Steve stood on a stool. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are not just chickens and jokers. We are pioneers of rural madness!"

Pastor Wings flapped as fireworks (actually plastic bags stuffed with mealie meal) exploded behind them. Natasha took a dramatic photo and captioned it: Legends don't beg. They build.

And just when Simba thought things couldn't get crazier, his phone rang again.

It was a woman's voice. Sweet. Familiar.

"Simba? It's Tariro. I heard about your show. I have a story too… and it's faker than yours."

Simba's eyes widened.

Tariro. His old village crush. The one who once left him for a DJ with fake braces and a pirate radio station.

He looked at the team.

"Buckle up," he said. "The next chapter is personal."

Next chapter: Tariro returns with drama, Steve opens a poultry podcast, and Pastor Wings finds himself in a love triangle with two celebrity hens