My view is, if you can’t find it in this cradle of bustling roadside micro-entrepreneurship, whatever it is that you might be looking for, you would probably not find it in any other village. With little social welfare in this country, and a few charitable organisations willing to hand out alms, unemployed Mogoditshanians have no choice but to roll their sleeves and eke a living amid a hostile atmosphere that is not normally disposed to supporting micro-entrepreneurs slaving in the informal sector. And I must say they have mastered and perfected this art. I am yet to hear a Mogoditshanian growling and mewling about his lot in life.
From this year’s population census, it has come to light that Mogoditshane has wrestled the baton of the largest village from my home village, Molepolole. With all the gruesome murders that have become part of Molepolole’s cultural philosophy, it came as no surprise to me, that Mogoditshane has aggressively grabbed the number one spot. Why would anyone want to endanger their lives by moving to a slaughterhouse! Mogoditshane’s population grew by four percent relative to Molepolole’s paltry one percent. Of course, in attributing Molepolole’s low growth to the social challenges that have hit the village, I am deliberately being cynical. More important socio-economic dynamics, including Mogoditshane’s proximity to the country’s hub of formal and informal employment, must have played a crucial role. In any case, how would one explain the less than one percent growth for Serowe without schussing the slithery slope of accusing our compatriots of infertility?
I have always found Mogoditshane to be quite intriguing. Unlike other villages that are close to the capital city, which can guardedly be described as wellsprings of community living, where the spirit of togetherness seems to thrive, Mogoditshane does not give me that beautiful and real sense of community living. It gives me the sense of a community that is inspired by the overarching spirit of, ‘everyone for himself and God for us all.’ In essence, a spirit that can only shatter strong bonds of unity. Do people living in Mogoditshane care about nurturing the spirit of belonging to a community? I lived in Mogoditshane for a decade, and I must say, during all that time I figured that Mogoditshanians are comfortable with the status quo. Largely because the status quo endorses the idea of a peri-urban non-tribal cosmopolitan society that must be administered like towns. If you ask me, the people of Mogoditshane would love to have a mayor at the helm of the village’s administration, not a genetically tied position reporting to a senior tribal authority in Molepolole. This village is too important to be administered by someone whose only qualification happens to be the ‘accident’ of birth.
For all the time that I lived in Mogoditshane, I must say, contrary to the way the village is stereotyped, I never formed a view that this village is inhabited by a bunch of foulmouthed perennial underachievers, uncultured thieves, hopheads and plonk-addicted floundering winos and minnows who are a threat to its development. Most of the inhabitants are even-keeled hardworking individuals of impeccable integrity and every bit as human as the overrated suburbanites of Gaborone.
What undermines the community spirit in Mogoditshane? Whereas it started off as a village occupied by Bakwena, its propinquity to Gaborone attracted people from all nooks and crannies of Botswana. Not only that, political and economic instability in Zimbabwe led to an influx of migrants, mostly economic refugees, lured by low accommodation costs and the potential for generating income. Ironically, original Mogoditshanians and their descendants feel more like strangers in their own backyard. Can cohesiveness, collectivism and the endearing spirit of community thrive amidst the multiculturism of Mogoditshane? This is the least of concerns for the inhabitants of this great village. With a lifestyle unmarred by hedonistic inclinations, what they only crave is another day of life, a salubrious mind and a healthy body.
In no time, the sprawling residential landscape was tarnished by the unrestrained proliferation of hostel-like accommodation, which exploited the needs of people of lower means, by offering them quasi-decent quarters with unsanitary communal ablutions. In some yards, you would find upwards of 40 units charging anything between a tax-free monthly rental of P700 and P1,500 per unit. This trend continues despite the fact that Mogoditshane has now been upgraded to a planning area. Are the people accountable for the increased population of Mogoditshane concerned? Not one bit! They are focused on the more important stuff, putting a roof over their head and buttered bread on the table.
Owing to the fact that they are not assured of a consistent month-to-month salary, theirs is a hand-to-mouth existence, and unless they are blessed with a miraculous sharp northward turn in their fortunes, some things will always remain a luxury. Even in cases where a whiff of hope might blow across their cerebrum, a profligate lifestyle never features in their wildest dreams.
Unlike their well-heeled compatriots, they never navigate through delusions of well-greased current or savings accounts, dependable medical insurance, investing in real estate investment trusts and stocks, jetting off with their families on exotic holidays, frequenting five-star restaurants and enjoying sumptuous cordon-bleu chef-prepared meals preceded by flavoursome entrees, and imbibing favourite spirits and cocktails aboard a cruise ship.
Eking out a living in Mogoditshane is not the easiest of things. Almost daily, for many people, it means the unenviable double-dose hardship of rising early and retiring late. Going back to their spirit of micro-entrepreneurship, this is the one thing that you can’t help but notice when you drive around the village. Streets hum with hope and activity each day.
Dotted along the roads are an assortment of iconographic features. Eateries that serve meals that would lure even the most depressed of appetites. Meals prepared with culinary passion by ‘chefs’ expecting to earn loyal patronage of enthusiastic habitués. You can walk away with a fresh takeaway, or if it tickles your fancy, dine alfresco style as you watch people of all hues and sizes sauntering by and vehicles cruising by. Never mind what appears to be the vicious competition among the ladies preparing the meals, they are friends and would frequently step in to help one another when there is a need.
I am almost sure that the sanitary conditions of their unsheltered business areas contravene all the relevant byelaws. There are no taps for providing clean water. No bathrooms for answering the urgent and unplanned calls of nature. The ‘chefs’ normally hide in a roadside drainage trench or behind a plant to relieve themselves. Do they wash their hands with a proper detergent after that? We can only hope. But no one seems to be bothered. People queue up to buy food, not to cadge handouts. The people who are supposed to crack the whip for non-compliance with strict byelaws are always happy to take a desultory interest in these ventures. Some would even queue up to buy food in these joints. What accounts for this? The unspoken fact, that everyone deserves to be given a chance to earn a living!
Pretty close to such eateries would be street vendors of all sorts, selling plants, vegetables, fruits, drums, trailers, gates, pavers, aluminium window and door frames. You will also find ‘car-centres’ fully equipped with new tyres, not so new but decent tyres, alloy rims and a carwash equipped with a foam gun, a high-pressure pump and a generator-operated vacuum cleaner. A whistlestop by a roadside ‘car-centre’ could easily see you driving off with a set of polished ‘new’ tyres, flashy rims and a gleaming car. And by the way, on offer is service with a genuine smile, a service decidedly meant to tempt you to call again. Call them scofflaws if you like, but unlike many sybaritic get-rich-quick driven folks who are swimming to the scalps of their heads in debt, to their credit, Mogoditshane micro-entrepreneurs might not make truckloads of money, but they earn a decent living.
If you live in Mogoditshane and happen to be loaded, probably this is the only village in Botswana where you can call a cab to take you shopping only to come back rolling on German-made wheels. Yes, the home of the first and largest barracks in Botswana has a high street space where you can buy anything from a lowly Japanese hatchback to a German top of the range automobile. You gotta love Mogoditshane.
