I grew up in a dusty suburb called Luveve 4 in the City of Kings. Yes! KwaBulawayo, koMfazi utshayi ndoda! I actually feel like retracting that last line. How we praise Domestic Violence! But that’s not the story today. The story is about a short chubby boy who constantly had dusty feet and two streams of dry flaky tears going down his cheeks. And he usually cried a lot around these times. He wasn’t abused by his parents but he always had unhappy nights. Let me explain why!
Mangoes are a delicacy that Zimbabweans wait for all year round and when the season hits us everyone is sent into a frenzy. The CBD comes alive with these yellow and green fruits filled with a sweet flesh. I love Mangoes by the way. Though you have figured that out. If only I could get an all year supply. Get that cold room the Japanese created which can store fresh produce for a long time. Sigh. It wasn’t a favourable time for me to grow in. We did not have a goddamn Mango tree at my house!
Now you know that every problem demands innovation for it to be solved. My problem was the mango craving. My father did not buy the mangoes most often and me being the introvert in the hood, I did not have many friends, therefore, I couldn’t ask for them from my neighbours. Therefore me and my wingman Kudzai (I was weak but also a smooth talker so naturally led this duo) devised a plan to make sure that we get these ‘fruits of life’. He was my only friend.
The high-density area of Gwabalanda has relatively small stands. Therefore the space left for gardening is small, so most of the homeowners put their trees in the front just behind the durawall or hedge, whichever barrier they choose to close off their humble abode. As these trees grow bigger they hang some of their branches over the barrier and as the fruit grows, its right in front view of anyone on the road.
That was the prize. The main mission during the long December holiday. But all went well in the planning. The execution \however was a different story. Kudzai was lanky and I was short and chubby. I could not run for more than 2 minutes without almost collapsing. But these missions always had a running part. We would creep along the wall and then gently pick the ripe fruit, but gently wasn’t always followed. There was always a noise that would happen. The crackling of the dry leaves falling or green mangoes falling would always alert the homeowners to our activities. That’s when all hell broke loose.
Kudzai would always be the one with the swift takeoff. I would be caught before going anywhere. That’s when the thrashings that cannot be explained back home happened. I would arrive home way after Kudzai had stashed our spoils trying to avoid his taunting on my way to ask the maid to tend to my newly earned tiger stripes. This never stopped us from continuing. This memory came to me whilst I was thinking of the current state of the Harare CBD. No matter how much you may assault and harass that old lady vendor, you will always find her in the same spot tomorrow!
ININI
