Harare, Zimbabwe (News of the South)-“Bond notes are coming and life may not be so easy and rosy”, a Mbare economist covered in a wooly layer of jerseys and jackets shout to everyone and no one, as he recovers his throat-power before continuing calling out prices for the large pile of bras before him.
They are going for US$50c. Only the flowery ones, found in an assortment of colours are going for a US$1.
Soon he has forgotten about his economic pronouncement. That’s how he cares about the situation. With a resigned nonchalance.
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Care too much about anything in Zimbabwe and soon you may be sick, dead or insane. What you have to do is wear a resigned anger that grips you at specific moments before discarding you to daily chores a while later.
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The Warriors can make you sick. Dynamos can make you sick. The economy can kill you. Politics can kill you and Zim-dancehall can make you insane.
Here in Mbare they do just that.
They take no prisoners in their cynicism. Last week they were at the Million Man March shoveling and growling along in the hard winter in solidarity with President Mugabe.
At the end of the day they shoveled each other around scrapping for food given to them. Today they laugh about it. Only the media is making meat of it.
The previous month some of them closed stalls and ran in the streets with Morgan Tsvangirai and his MDC, shouting and singing themselves hoarse calling for more jobs and a better economy.
Today they are back to their chores and schemes, we meet since we are eating out today.
In Mbare they dish out large pieces of chicken meat immersed in a thick gravy stew. These large pieces are accompanied by an equally plateful of Sadza. (thick porridge if you are lost)
After you buy a plateful you take a seat just near the open fire where the meal was prepared and enjoy it whilst talking with the woman who served you.
You don’t talk to her about Kim Kardashian or Obama. She may have heard about those aliens but she has no care about them. Talk to her about a bizarre incident you heard in Mutoko. (even if its false)
That will get her blood racing and her etiquette antenna spike up.
“Do you want chilli for you meat?’
“No that is not good for my foot”, tell her whilst biting a huge chunk off the chicken thigh, stiff as a curse. For all you know this is stolen meat sold to her in the middle of the night by some innovative but unemployed youth.
You don’t ask where they buy their chickens unless you want to sell them chickens or just need to be told a lie.
Mind you, when you finish the meal you don’t give tips here. Just thank her verbally and go your way.
Giving tips is an affront making her a prostitute who wants money too much for things natural.
There is no tap water here so wash your hands in the dish available there, shake off the water and you can now face the day and Mbare as a breathing phenomenon.
Now that you have gotten down into your belly the heavy meal, you can find a drink. Watch out since you can buy colored water and rue your folly two sips later.
The safest bet is to buy from the Dairiboard guy pushing his cart down the street oblivious to the cars coming behind him. The drivers evade him since his obstinance is scary and the cart may well be car.
What’s the defination of a car after all?
After finishing the drink just throw the empty bottle anywhere. Never mind the World Class City status 2025 thing.
Harare needs US$1billion to achieve that. That means forget it and carry on the act of throwing banana skins in the road.
No you have had your meal and drink it’s time to go back.
Back into the CBD its US$50c same as the cost of a bra, so you choose.
Walk and buy a bra for you wife or sister, or hop into a craze-driven kombi that may kill you.
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