THE Zimbo has a knack for spotting business opportunities. We are well-known as business
creatures wherever we go: In the Diaspora – be it Mzansi or even yonder. We see shekels
where ordinary souls see blank. We have well documented legends in this regard.
In the hospitality field, for instance, we have the likes of Mai Faffie-the shebeen queen of
Avondale; Mai George of kwaMereki (May her dear soul rest in eternal peace). There are the
omagumaguma (makoronyera in shona) of Mbare Musika- who buy off all produce from the
rural farmers and then sell it to vendors at exorbitant prices. I guess my young brothers (and
sisters) – the mahwindi (touts) have taken after the omagumaguma: Literally squeezing
money from thin air.
I had just dropped off at the rank on Fourth Street and had barely settled down when some
curious activity nearby, caught my gaze. A rowdy group of young men were pushing and
shoving and shouting over each other. They were scrambling for space to buy a sizzling
breakfast. Piping hot tea with milk or lemon; stewed potato or fried egg-on-rice or spaghetti;
margarine or peanut butter or jam spread on white or brown bread. The menu is so boundless
every taste is catered for. On some days there is mbambaira (sweet potato) and madhumbe
(yam).
Mai T- in her early forties, is briskly serving her famished customers: A motley crowd of
mahwindi, long-distance bus crews, other vendors who would have come for work at first
light. There would also be one or two from outside who occasionally come by for a cheap
breakfast. Like this smartly dressed lady with a hand bag slung across her shoulder. She is a
distance from the rowdy boys and sipping her tea with an egg sandwich in the other hand.
She is probably on her way to work in the city centre or she wants to board a bus.
Business was being transacted across a make-shift counter which doubles as a table. It was a
large piece of chip-board which was tightly secured to the rails of the bus shed. This is where
she keeps the sugar, lemons, kaylite tumblers and containers and plastic cups. Take-away tea
was served in the disposable tumblers and cups were for those taking the meal on the spot.
Mai T seems to know most of her patrons -if not all -by name. There is Tawanda and Todd.
Tawanda is a crew member of one of the buses and has been sent by his colleagues to buy
breakfast. He calls out “Same order as usual” and Mai T seems to read it. When Mbuya va T
(that is Mai T’s mother) is around, she goes the extra mile and delivers the orders to the
drivers and conductors in the comfort of their buses. (Apparently the concept of the
‘transitory restaurant’ is Mbuya va T’s brainchild)
There is also this boisterous short girl-Fungai. The boys were teasingly saying she was
pregnant. In return she was threatening to squirt milk from her breast into their tea. Another
girl, in tight fitting jeans and long weaves which hung low and gracefully splayed around her
big bum, had also come and was standing on the same side with Mai T.
This one did not talk much. She was stealing glances at me and felt rather uneasy. I thought
she wanted to check if I approved her buying from here. I must have given her the nod-maybe
by way of an unconscious smile- because not long after, she was buying her breakfast.
There was also this youngster-probably a street kid – who Mai T was constantly sending to
fetch water from somewhere close by. Most likely he would get paid in kind for his effort-
with a hot filling meal.
I get more and more interested so I move closer to get an up-close view of the operations.
Two small one-plate gas stoves with roaring blue flames were placed in card-board boxes, for
protection against the breeze. A pot of boiling water was on one of the stoves and a frying
pan was on the other. Two large tea flasks stood close by. A little further away, on the
tarmac, there is a large pot hole. This structural disfigurement paradoxically serves a critical
role. This is where Mai T throws the tea left overs and dirty dish water. It was quite
fascinating how Mai T would, with great dexterity, slice onions and tomatoes for the pan and
chat with her customers at the same time.
After about an hour, the activity had waned a little, a gentleman, likely in his late fifties had
also come to buy breakfast. He is the driver of a Chipinge-bound Inter Africa coach. I reckon
he had waited for the bustle to subside a little. He handed over a dollar note to Mai T and in
exchange got a cup of tea and four thick slices of brown bread and a generous serving of fried
eggs.
What a bargain. In a restaurant in the CBD one would have to part with no less than twice as
much for the same purchase. Now, for the duration of about one hour I had been there, Mai T
was serving at an average rate of one customer per minute- and most were buying the more
expensive spaghetti or rice -based breakfast.
I guess Mai T starts her day around 4 am and closes shop around 8 am. (Visit the spot
adjacent to the Marondera bus rank after 8am and the only traces are the contrived
counter/table and the pot hole-and these two barely add up to a vibrant restaurant!). After a
little arithmetic, it is quite probable that Mai T walks off with no less than 200 dollars in sales
on a busy day. And she has all the reason to wax lyrical about her transitory restaurant.
More likely than not, an officer from the Ministry of SMES or the Municipality must have
happened along one of the days and witnessed the proceedings here – and most probably
failed to make any sense of it all. There is definitely need for the authorities to intervene-
positively, I mean -by providing Mai T with proper and hygienic facilities at an affordable
cost. However, Mai T is likely to spurn any intervention by the local authority. And she has
good reasons for it too! Invariably the authorities will charge an exorbitant levy. The
authorities should move away from the culture of milking small businesses. Instead, they
should be nurturing these businesses – not only for the good of the operators but for everyone
else.
