South Samora Semantics. The poverty smelling streets tried as much as they could to cover up for the local council’s failure to maintain the roads by occasionally throwing smiles of sewage filled potholes.
A sound of Killer T’s takangodaro distinctly stood out from the “Dhora ari two ” anthem by the vendors who were selling their wares, the song sarcastically descaralized the ordeal of a jobless South Samoran who hustled for a day’s meal. Takangodaro, that’s how it was. From corn snacks, bhero, phones, locally made aluminium pots, it accessories these stall were laden with a variety of goods and those not available would be supplied in a convenient period.
A set of dilapidated flats with a merry set of graffiti perfectly portrayed the contrast of the hustle and the joy.The situation in which these flats were in was a sore to the eyes. They had for long been conversant with the economical plight, they couldn’t take it anymore, lies upon lies and a group of individuals abusing office and throw the blame in the government’s face. Mbare, a high density suburb on the southern side of the highway Samora Machel. A set of buildings which the “educated” occasionally called the CBD and the rest of us south somarns called “kutown” distinctly drew a line of a social standing, well with the aid of a road network.
The north housed the elite, barons and business owners. The type of people who would be laugh when you tell them how difficult it was to make a day’s meal in Zimbabwe.The disparity that Samora painted was so illustrative, vivid and picturesque, ….yes in that sense, black and white. Well we had flats too in South Samora, with graffiti and window panes replaced by black plastic. “Tafara , mhanya nemaprastic mhani!” An elderly lady shouted her lungs out on the ground floor of these flats. She had a horsy voice that was edged with traces of the effects of either chibuku or super, or some cheap beer of the sort. Tafara , a young ,slim and relatively tall boy ran towards Ambuya Chegu .
He handed her some plastic bags and suddenly made a turn to go back to wherever he was playing. Mbuya Chegu poured a small bottle of cooking oil into one of the plastics, put two more plastics on top of the one she had poured the oil into. A failsafe measure to make sure her customer would arrive home with her ‘grocery’ safely. On the northern side the atmosphere was different, a teen is mad at her mum who has bought her yellow Nike sneakers. She wanted pink.