/ 4 June 2009

Shopping and dropping

Not everything at the African Mall in Gaborone is a steal, writes Wame Molefhe.

It’s 11am on a Friday morning in the African Mall in Botswana’s capital, Gaborone.

Like an army of ants, elderly men and women swarm towards the mall to receive weekly offerings from benevolent shop owners. They form queues at entrances as they wait patiently to receive their weekly ration. At this shop, they are given bread — half a loaf per head.

The shop assistant digs into the food box and calls out, ”Next”.

A woman steps forward, expresses gratitude by clapping her hands together lightly. She waits patiently with palms upturned. She slips the ”haflofo” into her plastic bag, she makes her way to the next shop.

”Next.”

”Ke a leboga,” says the old man as he takes his bread with both hands.

”Next.”

A woman steps forward, receives her portion and says: ”Give me another one. I’m taking for my sister.”

”Next,” says the man, ignoring the demand.

The woman stands her ground. ”I said give me two.”

”You’re wasting our time, lady.” He looks back at the line. ”Next!” Someone mutters the word that will create chaos.

”Legodu!”

The woman, who wants double her share, demands to know who called her a thief. The shoving and shouting begins. The giver of bread glances at his watch and shrugs. He waits for the people to resolve the issue themselves, after all, it’s already 11am — not long to go before he closes shop and goes to prayers. And soon enough the woman is shouldered aside and the line inches forward again, a giant centipede.

”Next.”

The woman shakes her head as she walks away, cursing under her breath. ”Stingy old man. He can afford to give more,” she says.

A few doors away, a woman emerges from a hair salon. Her just-coiffed hair bounces as she minces across the road to her car. She pauses to admire her reflection in a shop window. With a smile, she unlocks her car and opens the door. She tosses her handbag on to the passenger seat and sinks into the driver’s seat. As she starts the car, she hears a knock on her window. She presses the button to lock the doors, but she is not quick enough. The passenger door is flung open and Nimblefingers grabs her bag off the seat. He bolts away. For a moment the woman is confused and then she shouts, ”Legodu!” Again. ”Legoooodu!” Louder the second time. It’s like a siren screaming. Men, women and children race on to the street — from their houses, makeshift shops, offices and doctors’ surgeries. The able-bodied among them give chase.

”Legodu!”

Dogs join in, barking the word too.

Nimblefingers is flying now as he heads for the finish line. If he can only get to White City, he will melt into the maze of streets and be gone forever. But to find refuge, he must traverse Kaunda Road — the street that never sleeps. Cars and trucks race up and down the road. He cannot get across, so he off-loads his loot. A little boy picks up the bag and runs to return it to its owner who thanks him with a few coins.

But it is too late for Nimblefingers. A man with biceps double the size of his calves grabs Nimblefingers. This is the cue for the crowd to attack. A slap, a kick, a pinch. A woman who is waiting for a Kombi can’t resist. She tugs off her sandals and raps Nimblefingers on the head a few times. ”That’s for the thief who stole my cellphone last week,” she tells him. Satisfied, she stands back and gives way for a man to land his punch.

Only the strong-hearted watch. As I look away, I see the police patrol arrive from the direction of the Dutch Reformed Church where they’ve been clearing the area of loiterers. Nimblefingers is plucked from the ground and finds refuge in the arms of the police.

It’s 11.30am. Calm returns to African Mall, Gaborone.

Wame Molefhe is a full-time mom and is studying for a BA languages and literature through Unisa

 

M&G Newspaper