The world was supposed to go out with a holy bang on September 23 or 24. Angels were meant to descend, trumpets were supposed to blast, and the faithful were expected to rise up to the streets of gold. Instead, Bulawayo kombis are still hooting like madmen, Zesa is still pulling surprise power cuts, and the only thing floating in the sky this morning was a lonely plastic bag stuck in a tree.
So much for the dramatic rapture we were promised.South African pastor Joshua Mhlakela had boldly declared that God’s heavenly taxi service would arrive on September 23 or 24, 2025, to collect all Christians and whisk them away to paradise, leaving the rest of us behind to wrestle with sin, borehole queues, and skyrocketing prices. His prophecy went viral under the hashtag #RaptureTok, sparking fiery debates and a flood of TikTok videos. As the big day drew closer, panic spread faster than a WhatsApp chain message about free Econet airtime.
Some believers didn’t just pray — they acted. One worker at a Belmont factory reportedly quit mid-shift, shouting: “My boss can keep this miserable salary. I’m going to heaven to sit at the right hand of the Lord!” (We sincerely hope he was just being dramatic…) In Cowdray Park, a man sold his Honda Fit for peanuts, bragging on Facebook: “I don’t need a car in Heaven, my chariot is coming!” Some content creators came up with skits depicting “end of the world” clearance sales.
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“Everything must go before we go!” they screamed, as frenzied shoppers scooped up bargain TVs and fridges. But when midnight came, the skies stayed quiet. No angels.
No clouds parting. Just mosquitoes buzzing and dogs barking. Another posted, “Is Heaven using Zupco buses?
Because mine didn’t arrive.” By mid-morning, reality slapped everyone harder than a pothole on a rainy day. Bills still needed paying, borehole queues were longer than ever, and those who had splurged on “last supper” feasts were now left with empty pockets and growling stomachs. A fed-up HR manager told B-Metro, “Three of my employees threatened to quit on Monday saying they were answering God’s final call.
They are still here. I’m tempted to tell them, ‘Heaven may forgive you, but our payroll doesn’t.’” Failed doomsday prophecies are nothing new. We survived the Mayan calendar apocalypse of 2012 and Harold Camping’s flop in 2011.
Back in the 1840s, the Millerites sold everything and waited for Christ’s return, only to be left standing in the cold. History now calls that fiasco The Great Disappointment.Zimbabwe, it seems, has just had its own. One Nkulumane resident summed it up perfectly: “I stayed up all night waiting for fire and brimstone. The only thing that rained was my neighbour’s borehole water splashing onto my veranda.”
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