ZOLA MDENI AT GOLDEN HOUR: Where the heart of home beats strong.
ZOLA MDENI AT GOLDEN HOUR
“There’s no place like home,” a sentiment etched not just in words, but in the very gleam in the eyes of the children of Zola Mdeni. As the sun dips low, painting the sky in hues of liquid gold, these streets come alive with a symphony of joy.
“There’s no place like home,” a sentiment etched not just in words, but in the very gleam in the eyes of the children of Zola Mdeni. As the sun dips low, painting the sky in hues of liquid gold, these streets come alive with a symphony of joy.
Little boys and girls, light as a feather, fill the air with their happy chants, their laughter echoing like music. They’re masters of simple pleasures, rolling old tires with gusto and leaping over makeshift jump ropes crafted from skirts, a testament to their boundless imagination. Here, a game of “loser” isn’t just about defeat; it’s a rite of passage, with mock tears and playful pouts, before they dust themselves off and jump back into the fray.
Nearby, a band of almost-teens, on the cusp of adulthood, huddle around a makeshift pool table. Rules? They’re more like suggestions. Their mission is clear: send that white ball on a wild goose chase to pocket all the others, finishing with a flourish by sinking the elusive black.
These aren’t just ways to kill time; in this small, ancient “Kasi” neighborhood, affectionately known as Zola or Zola Mdeni, the streets are a vibrant stage, a boundless source of entertainment for its youngest residents. While this corner of Gaborone might have once been known for its rough edges, it has, over the years, become a welcoming haven for many Batswana starting from scratch in the capital.
As the golden rays kiss the corrugated iron roofs lining the main roads, a different kind of hustle unfolds. Street vendors, their faces etched with the day’s toil, are beginning to pack up shop, their day’s work drawing to a close. Street painters are calling it a day, their brushes quiet, while the small tuck-shops, like beacons in the twilight, begin to hum with the soft glow of their newly lit bulbs, ready to serve into the evening.
Across the asphalt, an elderly woman, a fixture of the community, masterfully tends to her braai stand, a cleverly repurposed tin. Wisps of charcoal smoke curl into the air, carrying the irresistible aroma of “Dikgogakgogano,” long strips of spicy, well-cut meat. It’s a culinary gem, easy on the pocket but rich in flavour, designed to hook a meat lover hook, line, and sinker from the very first bite.
Further down, a pair of young women, their heads bent in concentration, are engaged in the timeless ritual of doing each other’s hair. It’s a silent ode to their desire to look good, a testament that beauty doesn’t have to break the bank. The hair products are modest, certainly not from the glitzy boutiques of Gaborone. A neighbour, with a heart of gold, lends a helping hand, offering a dollop of hair food from an old container, a small gesture that speaks volumes about community spirit.
An uneven mirror, held aloft with care, reflects a growing masterpiece. A soft giggle, a wide, satisfied smile on a perfectly polished face, yes, the hairstyle is exactly what she wanted. A few final touches, a swift grab of a bucket, and a quick dash indoors for a warm bath. It’s the universal signal: time to hit the town and mingle with friends at local spots, or simply batten down the hatches for a cozy night in.
As we ramble on through the neighborhood, soaking in its unique charm, we stumble upon a cluster of gentlemen, lost in conversation, the air thick with the occasional wisp of smoke. This isn’t just a casual gathering; it’s a moment of reckoning, a happy reflection on the weekend’s escapades, or perhaps a nostalgic journey back to their own childhoods when playing on the very same streets of Zola Mdeni was the be all and end all. Indeed, time flies when you’re having fun, and these streets, which once called them home as teenagers, will forever hold a special place in their hearts.
Zola Mdeni truly has a space for everyone. Venture deeper into the Kasi, and you’ll find men, women, and young hustlers converging at what could be affectionately called the “mall,” a vibrant marketplace where everyone rushes for daily essentials.
Here, “essentials” mean survival: food and other small necessities that keep the wolf from the door.
In this bustling market, a cornucopia of food items awaits: fresh meat, crisp vegetables, rice, pasta, and cooking oil. Vendors, their smiles as wide as the ocean, line their small tables, their eyes lighting up at the approach of a customer. Each table boasts a scale, ensuring customers get precisely the amount of meat they desire, fresh, clean, and ready for the pot, a refreshing change from the usual butcher shops.
Vegetables too are a dime a dozen, fresh and vibrant, each table neatly adorned with a price tag to ensure a smooth sailing transaction. Behind some vendors, an old man presides over a stack of firewood. With groceries sorted, one can kill two birds with one stone, picking up a load of wood to prepare a meal, a labor of love to be shared with family, filling bellies and hearts with pride and happiness.
At the edge of her yard, an old woman presides over her makeshift tuck-shop, a treasure trove of snacks, sweets, “Mala a Dikoko,” “Menoto,” toilet paper, sellotape, matchboxes, canned fish, washing powder, and milk. Some products dangle from a wire, others neatly arranged on a table, her loyal canine companion acting as a silent, watchful guard.
This humble venture is her bread and butter, a testament to her resilience, enabling her to feed her family and send her children to school, against all odds. She thrives in this setting, and even on rainy days, she simply rolls with the punches, covering her small business with a net, life continuing its beautiful rhythm. Her stall is a neighborhood fixture, a daily stop for locals, especially for a taste of “Mala a Dikoko,” a beloved Kasi delicacy.
Just around the corner, two young men have carved out a niche for themselves, making a living by washing shoes. Their shoe wash joint, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of footwear, is meticulously kept. Not a drop of dirty water in sight, not even in the street, as waste is disposed of correctly. Cleanliness is their calling card, a subtle magnet for more customers.
Zola Mdeni has been a safe harbor for generations, and as Gaborone’s oldest Kasi, life here flows with a simpler current. It’s a place that holds countless memories, has seen it all, and has been the humble launching pad for many who have gone on to achieve great things.
In Old Naledi, hunger is a distant memory. Affordable, fresh food is abundant, and the way of life here is simply a joy to behold. There’s a constant buzz of movement, and the love and happiness shared are truly beyond compare. As the sun begins its final descent, yielding to the golden hour, everyone moves with purpose, unbothered, ready to embrace what tomorrow brings.
It’s safe to say Zola Mdeni is a destination of choice, particularly for those just finding their feet in city life. Food, rent, and transport are all within reach. For those fortunate enough to make it big, it’s always a cherished story to tell, a vibrant recollection of simpler, fun-filled times. Indeed, there truly is no place like home.
