Lessons from the street
Saved under Reflections
Tags: Armani, Hugo boss, Social, Vendors
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It is a usual Monday morning in the “grand” capital…Harare. I disembark from my “kombi” just as swiftly as I had been made to get into it, I almost trip over a scantly dressed lady, and I pat her shoulder to reassure her it wasn’t her fault, seizing the opportunity to stare at her from head to toe. I cast one last furtive glance at her and as I turn I meet the eyes of a suit clad gentleman selling newspapers, he has a lascivious glint in eyes as he schemes and maps right through that tiny excuse of a skirt. I pat him on the shoulder, a sign that I caught a compadre staring.
As I wiggle my way through the sea of vendors selling their wares, neatly arranged on the side walk. the putrid scent I have become accustomed to fills my nostrils just as the sound of whistles and jeers from the background; most probably these are in ‘respect’ of the lady’s apparel. Harare, this concrete jungle of ours, an ugly beauty. I suddenly slacken my pace as I scheme through the tiny newspaper billboards. a headline of someone fingering the other catches my eye and a smile cracks on my lips. Fingering another in parliament to me has a completely different story. 
I saunter on, stare at my Armani watch for a moment, I have time on my hands, why hurry? I walk on, lackadaisically. Two light skinned ladies walk towards me the lighter one, yellow like, apparently it is clear her mother didn’t give birth to her this light, she whispers to the other and both stare at me, admiration and longing in their eyes. well i do look good, I look down at my blue pinstripe Hugo boss suit and the Fletcher shoes. Well of course they are not the originals, but who knows? who cares? I don’t, I feel good I look good. I mutter “God bless China.”
I finish my stretch of straight pavement and turn left into Samora Machel. Suddenly a Toyota Raum wheezes past me two men dangling behind the car. I shake my head, disgusted by the kamikaze behavior of the men. I think to myself, “the driver most probably does not even have a license”. I spit on the sidewalk shaking my head in disgust….did I just spit in town? Oh, I did. Well for a moment I forgot I was in the CBD.
Ohh speaking about licenses I have to buy my own soon, because I ordered my car from Japan. a crisp white BMW 3 series. “The ladies haven’t seen enough of me yet” I think to myself. I remember my philosophical workmate tell me I have so much to learn from these streets, “a whole lot of things” he said. “what do I learn from these streets? how to pretend selling sweets when you are actually selling codeine? Nigga come on!” I remember I scoffed at him. I have a bigger picture, the high life. The kind some fat bragging rich man called Wicknell does. This guy posts his lavish lifestyle on Facebook for everyone to see. that is what I want. All that money, the fame, the women, everything.
I am suddenly awakened from the momentary reverie, aptly by a car driving by playing the song “kuponda nhamo”. I smile at the coincidence and at that moment I reach the high court staff gate. these streets what can they teach you? Philosophy has no room in this concrete jungle. I go up the stairs whistling kuponda nhamo.
