Sadza Days in Harare
Our office was on Kaguvi Street, opposite a hotel whose name I can't remember now. We were volunteers, so we only came to the office to work for three or four hours, or until we were hungry, which was the case most of the time. Remember too then that I was a student at the UZ, so by the time I got to the office, I would have already been up since 6 am, would have attended two or three lectures, and would have subsequently escaped to downtown Harare (like a lot of students did), would have walked from the Emergency Taxi Station, the one which was the final downtown stop for ETs from UZ, which was on (was that) Bank street, over by Queen Elizabeth Hotel, opposite the Mercedes Benze dealership, next to the City Council Building, right?
We would arrive at the Book House (oh, that's where the office was), greet the receptionist, a guy who had many jokes, grin at the director of the Book Publishers Association (she was a promoter of writers, so it was always good to spend a minute or two with her, finding out how things were, etc), walk up to the second floor where the office was located. We would work for two or three hours, often talking to clients (members) who were bringing their works (writings) to the office for editorial assistance, but if there was not much to do in the office, I, in particular, would catch up on my homework or go to the neighboring office to talk with the ZWW staff, if they were not too busy.
Around 12:30 we (or just I) would walk down the street that ran from the City Library to Fourth Street (was it Bank Street? I remember that, once, a woman was hit by a car, flew for a few feet into the air, landed on the road, then got up before the car found her again and walked away like nothing had happened) and when I, or we, passed the place where Beverley or Founders Bank was, we walked through an alleyway, then climbed a narrow, squicky metal stairway that led to a sitting area which offered one of the best views of nothing in the city. But that'w where we had our lunch, a place we wouldn't have traded for anything on this earth.
If you remember well, in 1994 University of Zimbabwe sadza was the best in town which explains why our civilian friends(there was a time when the students fought so much with riot police that people didn't think they were part of the civilian population anymore)always visited us on campus solely for the sadza and chicken. But the sadza at the secret place in town beat UZ one by far. There was something about the stew too, something that just kept calling you back to this place. Even mashefu came to eat sadza here too, real mashefu in dense black suits, saying, don't give me knives and folks, just give me sadza nenyama and Coca-cola. You know, managers of companies, CEO's even, coming to this little place to eat undisturbed.
We started holding some meetings there too: if I wanted to meet a fellow writer, it was easy to say, can we meet at such-such a place, and if they didn't know the place I told them it was an amazing venue and once we met there, they wanted to set up another meeting in, say, a week, if not sooner. Then you would ask them where they wanted to meet, and they would look at you as if to say, pardon me? So you knew that they wanted to meet her, huh? The of course was just too evident even before it was uttered. Soe you set up another meeting. But if a meeting wasn't that serious, there was always Wimpy in Ximex Mall (that is if it even had to be a lunch meeting, otherwise why not meet outside Bata Shoes?.
The little sadza place upstairs, that's where we met to discuss serious matters, even when the meeting was just between you and your plate of sadza and nyama.
We would arrive at the Book House (oh, that's where the office was), greet the receptionist, a guy who had many jokes, grin at the director of the Book Publishers Association (she was a promoter of writers, so it was always good to spend a minute or two with her, finding out how things were, etc), walk up to the second floor where the office was located. We would work for two or three hours, often talking to clients (members) who were bringing their works (writings) to the office for editorial assistance, but if there was not much to do in the office, I, in particular, would catch up on my homework or go to the neighboring office to talk with the ZWW staff, if they were not too busy.
Around 12:30 we (or just I) would walk down the street that ran from the City Library to Fourth Street (was it Bank Street? I remember that, once, a woman was hit by a car, flew for a few feet into the air, landed on the road, then got up before the car found her again and walked away like nothing had happened) and when I, or we, passed the place where Beverley or Founders Bank was, we walked through an alleyway, then climbed a narrow, squicky metal stairway that led to a sitting area which offered one of the best views of nothing in the city. But that'w where we had our lunch, a place we wouldn't have traded for anything on this earth.
If you remember well, in 1994 University of Zimbabwe sadza was the best in town which explains why our civilian friends(there was a time when the students fought so much with riot police that people didn't think they were part of the civilian population anymore)always visited us on campus solely for the sadza and chicken. But the sadza at the secret place in town beat UZ one by far. There was something about the stew too, something that just kept calling you back to this place. Even mashefu came to eat sadza here too, real mashefu in dense black suits, saying, don't give me knives and folks, just give me sadza nenyama and Coca-cola. You know, managers of companies, CEO's even, coming to this little place to eat undisturbed.
We started holding some meetings there too: if I wanted to meet a fellow writer, it was easy to say, can we meet at such-such a place, and if they didn't know the place I told them it was an amazing venue and once we met there, they wanted to set up another meeting in, say, a week, if not sooner. Then you would ask them where they wanted to meet, and they would look at you as if to say, pardon me? So you knew that they wanted to meet her, huh? The of course was just too evident even before it was uttered. Soe you set up another meeting. But if a meeting wasn't that serious, there was always Wimpy in Ximex Mall (that is if it even had to be a lunch meeting, otherwise why not meet outside Bata Shoes?.
The little sadza place upstairs, that's where we met to discuss serious matters, even when the meeting was just between you and your plate of sadza and nyama.
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