Zimbabwe: A Night With Streetkids
Zimbabwe: A Night With Streetkids
The Herald (Harare)
April 21, 2007
Brenna Chigonga
Harare
Born into a world that had already turned its back on him 23 years ago, Taurai has had to do without his parents’ love in the dusty streets of Harare.
In a country where life expectancy is now around 37 years, for Taurai the 23 years that he spent on the streets are worth a lifetime.
Africa 2007
Some youths of his age have graduated from university, some have married while others have made names for themselves in soccer, music or other disciplines but for Taurai, the 23 years have been nothing but long, strife-torn days.
He has spent every night of his 23 years sleeping under a stench-filled trench located between Braeside and the National Railways of Zimbabwe depot.
And his immediate family members are fellow street kids, motorists whose cars he guards and washes as well as touts who sometimes hire him at the Fourth Street terminus.
To them, his name is "Mhondoro", a name derived from the Shona people’s ancestral spirit mediums known for their bravery and prowess in war.
But just how do these streetkids manage a jungle life in a place like Harare, a place where the slogan is "one man for himself"?
With the goal of finding out what really transpires in their lives, I decided to spend a night with some street kids this week and discovered there was more to street life than meets the eye.
I paid a visit to one nightspot where most of the streetkids frequent — Amai George Bottle Store — located along Mbuya Nehanda Street.
It is one of their major meeting places and since I was disguised in some torn black pair of trousers, black old T-shirt and slippers, it did not take long before I had befriended Taurai aka Mhondoro who was quick to ask for a cigarette.
We talked for a while before he asked me this difficult question: "Ko muri gunduru rekupi sekuru, handisati ndambokuwona muma pozisheni (how come I don’t know you, where do you sleep, I know almost every streetkid around here)."
I took a huge sigh before I said a word but I was quick to admit that I was new in the capital.
"Mabigy, ndanga ndichigunduruka pakonet kuChitungwiza (I was based at Makoni Shopping Centre in Chitungwiza), I said in a rough voice, disguised to suggest drunkenness.
Like the streets, streetkids are always on the streets everyday, marshalling cars into parking bays and at night, they splash their cash — buying glue, mbanje and other toxic drugs as well as spoiling their street girls.
Amai George’s place was packed that night and few streetkids could be seen buying their beer from the counter, most of them had sneaked in with their opaque beer.
We then visited Fourth-Street terminus where Taurai said he wanted us to get "something" from some fellow streetkids.
"Tiri kuda kunotenga kahide, topper two thaza (Let’s go and buy kachasu, can you provide $2 000 to buy two bottles)," he said as we were approaching the terminus. By that time it was around 10pm and the streets of Harare were slowly turning quiet. You could only hear the noise of vehicles and a few groups of people whom I suppose were coming from their workplaces.
Along the way, Taurai had narrated how rough life is on the streets.
The street, Taurai says, is a jungle where only the tough characters survive. At times, the bins and other food dumping outlets, which Taurai prefers calling mapoto (pots), are dry and one has to be content with what is there.
But then, why do some streetkids engage in criminal activities? I asked Mhondoro.
"Hupenyu hwegunduru ndehwe kuhustler sekuru. Kana zvichiita kuti ubate ngunzu kuti udye musi iwowo ndoyacho, but wongochenjerawo ngonjo chete (The life of a streetkid is all about hustling my friend, if it means you have to steal that day to survive, that’s it. Just make sure you don’t get caught)," he said.
Taurai bought his bottle of kachasu and I thought he had befriended me enough to share his bottle with me but that was not the case. He never bothered to offer me — not even a sip.
"Tapinda mumahigher levels manje sekuru, ngatichinotsvaga mari, tinogona kuwana shura. Hande kumasalad (I am feeling high now, let’s go and look for money at Club Synergy, you never know, we might strike gold)," Taurai said, speaking at the top of his voice. You could tell he was now on top of the world and this time, he was getting more talkative than when we first met.
As we went past a beer outlet pub along Samora Machel, scores of streetkids were roaming around the bottle store.
Patrons are not allowed to have their beer in the bar and have to drink from their cars.
According to Taurai, streetkids cash in on the patrons. They buy the beer on commission and in some instances guard their cars.
He added that they are in some cases watchdogs for illegal foreign currency dealers in some of Harare’s malls and nightclubs which are being frequented by foreign currency dealers.
Whenever there is a police raid, they alert the dealers who have to make a quick escape — but not before they have paid them handsomely.
At Club Synergy, I thought Taurai would pay for our entry, only to see him greeting his fellow streetkids before seating down right at the entrance: "Gen’a gen’a, ari sei marunnings, pane basa here nhasi? Makamanga here mukati? (How has been your day? Is there any business tonight?) He asked one pale-looking guy before sitting down.
I then opted to pay for our entry into the bar but the bouncer at the door almost denied us entry accusing us of being criminals: "Mauya kuzosechaka, kungoshaya chikwama chete nhasi ndinokuitai rough, makajaidzwa magunduru. (You have come to steal, If we happen to lose any wallets tonight, you are in for it)," the bouncer said.
Taurai was surprised when I produced a bundle of new $10 000 notes. I bought him beer but to my surprise, he never thanked me. Instead, he made a mockery of me.
"Hoo makutidyisa dzeakenika, madziya sekuru (You are a homosexual, I can see by the way you are spending your money)," he said.
Although I tried to deny the allegations, I could not convince Taurai who was already asking me why I was doing that.
He later told me that some streetkids, both young and the old, were being sexually abused by some rich guys in return of cash and food.
When I checked the time I realised that it was well after midnight.
I discreetly excused myself and rushed out of the bar. Along the way, I realised streetkids had invaded each and every blind spot — street corners, doorsteps, roadsides with the majority sleeping along the footbridge that cuts across through Julius Nyerere.
