The Sunday Mail
Mai Chipo has never heard about Statutory Instrument 64 of 2016 – and might not probably hear of it – not that she doesn’t give a hoot but because she is too busy to notice. Busy with her life, her two kids back in Rusape, her husband in South Africa, also trying to eke a living.
Mai Chipo – that’s the name she gives us, she is rather comfortable with that and adds, rather nonchalantly, that we are a bit lucky to be talking to her, for she never gives a conversation to Zimbabweans, especially in Shona.
Her reasoning, which has been used many-a-time by sellers and marketers, is purely and simply psychological – buyers always have a better opinion of products from a foreign land. The long and short of the story is that Mai Chipo left Rusape – and Zimbabwe – about two years ago to run a vending stall at Comesa Market, probably the most popular vending spot in Lusaka, Zambia.
Being a self-trained tailor, and with little capital to start running, she opted to buy fleece material in Harare and make her own range of baby clothing range, which is quite a mix of colour and style. Arriving in Lusaka, and typical and characteristic of how other Zimbabweans have gelled into the world economy, she quickly learnt the local language.
“Nyanja is easier on the tongue and memory,” she says confidently, “and besides they have so many similar words to Shona. Though I am learning Bemba, I find it a bit difficult.”
With the newly acquired weaponry of language, Mai Chipo rented a stall, cubicle or space – whichever takes your fancy – at Comesa Market, space which she proudly shares with three other Zambian women, and to good effect.
“The reason why I address my customers, especially those from Zimbabwe, in Nyanja is because once they know I am from home, they will, most likely, not buy from me. There is a feeling, a perception, that products from another country are better – and cheaper – hence I try to create an impression that I am Zambian, as are my products,” she explained.
She couldn’t go into figures, but she reckons life is much better, that she is now trading at Comesa. “I used to do the same, tailoring and selling, back home but I could not live off it. But here I am surviving, in fact our two kids are comfortable back home with their grannies.” She adds that one is with the maternal and the other with the fraternal – grannies.
Any further probing on how she and husband has managed to run a married life, in spite of one being in Zambia and the other in South Africa, but both being Zimbabweans, would have blown our cover. We were speaking to her as genuine shoppers, first-time shoppers at Comesa who had been lucky to run into a Shona-speaking seller, making our sojourn blessed and easier.
She assures us about safety at Comesa and that if we need any help, she would be very happy to assist. True to her word – and despite that Comesa is always teeming with human life – one’s safety and security should be the least of concerns. For all their lack of healthy habits, Zambians are a happy people, always wanting to assist – but the assistance should be taken with a pinch of salt. When he – or she – promises to take you to the stall with “the best jeans” at Comesa, chances are he, or she, will be taking you to one of their several other stalls dotted around the market.
Some of the more enterprising ones run more than one stall, each stocked with different material. To call Comesa a bedlam would be over the top, for as much as the market is always full and busy, there is some resemblance of order, when it comes to what to find where. Comesa is probably one of the reasons why there is a thriving mass transport system between Harare and Lusaka.
At approximately 450 kilometres – with the added advantage of a not-so-tedious border – Lusaka offers an alternative to the cross-border trader who has seen, tried and became tired of South Africa – Messina and Jo’burg combined.
For Chenai, who has been surviving off cross-border trading for about three years now, she made the switch to Lusaka almost two years ago. And she has her “valid” reasons.
“Because of the one-border concept at Chirundu, you don’t spend as much time there as at Beitbridge. Then depending on what kind of orders that I have, I come to Lusaka mainly for clothes, especially men’s clothing. The clothes here are cheaper.”
And has she heard of Statutory Instrument 64? “It is a common trick amongst all cross-border traders. Once we are done with shopping, which one must do in good time and leave enough time for the bus rank, we meet at Inter-city (your Mbare equivalent) and exchange items. The idea is not to have more than four similar items, so we exchange our items and then pray for the best. After we are done with the border, we give each other’s items back.”
Naturally, this arrangement works if the traders exchanging items are dropping off at the same destination, better still if they have travelled as a group and know each other.
Of course, being a frequent trader who is always up and about she has heard about the restrictions and she asks, rather mischievously, “why bother oneself with items that will get you into trouble? Who doesn’t know that blankets are not allowed at the border, so why have an order for blankets? Even if you buy a blanket, and the duty that you will pay at the border takes it beyond affordability and common sense. So blankets are a no-go area.”
Comesa is home to anything and everything, whether original or fake (the Chinese call it copy). There is a two-tier pricing system, the “order” price and the “normal” price. The order price is when one is buying many items for re-sale, and this special price is usually given when one picks, depending on which stall, at least three of each item. In other stalls it has to be at least four of each item. The normal price would be when one is picking just a single item.
“But,” admits Jacqueline Nalombo, a bubbly 22-year-old who “mans” a men’s clothing stall, “business has not been as usual so everyday is almost a special day, prices are rock-bottom.”
She is a sales person, one wouldn’t expect any better, or worse, language from her. In our casual discussion with Mai Chipo earlier on, she had informed us that most of the material at Comesa comes from Tanzania. With a decent shirt retailing for an average $10, which includes costs and profit for the seller, one can only imagine what the price is like in Tanzania.
The same Van Heusen shirt trades upwards of $30 in Harare, the topmost question on any discerning buyer’s mind being whether the label is genuine or copy. And it is not only the Van Heusen range that is found in abundance, one can rock any label from Lacoste, Polo by Ralph Lauren, H, Tommy Hilfiger to Diesel, Boss and Lee. If it is sport attire, all the names are in stock: Nike, Adidas, Hitec, Puma, etc.
To give some perspective, a long-sleeved Dynamos, yes our local beloved Dynamos, replica jersey sells for K50, which is roughly $5. The shorter-sleeved version goes for K4,50. In Harare, the average cost of the same replica jersey ranges from $10 to $15, or even $20, depending on location.
Oddly enough though, just like any seller anywhere else in the world, the ones at Comesa also have the knack of looking a customer up and down – the assumption being that dressing, or presentability, should have a stake in the price you are going to pay.
Though the Zimbabwean stall owner is rather an oddity, what is not odd is to hear Zimbabweans speaking, mainly in Shona, either haggling over a price, laughing amongst themselves or looking for some help. Or even selling some other stuff, not as a stationary vendor.
Explained Mai Chipo, almost anything from Zimbabwe has a market. “People from the southern regions of Zimbabwe usually bring with them feather brushes, as you can see this place is very dusty and such dusters are quite popular. Once they are done with their rounds of selling the dusters, they then look for what to buy and take home, something they know will bring them a return.”
Though Chirundu border post can boast of its one-border concept, which makes it relatively easier and faster to manoeuvre than Beitbridge, its volumes has gone down in recent days. Customs and immigration officials, always not-so-keen to divulge information (citing lack of clearance from the “top”) could not and did not say much about the figures being enjoyed at Chirundu.
But a casual look at Chirundu, even if one is a first-timer, confirms that the economic and social well-being at the border post need no telling or asking, the border is “lifeless”. On our way back, we had budgeted an hour to do our customs, immigration and vehicle clearance.
We were done in about 20 minutes, and half that time was lost because we were not any familiar with which office to go after which. Our calculations were that if we were familiar, we could have done it about 10 minutes. Our budget of an hour was also premised on the two hours we had spent the previous Sunday, entering Zambia. The paperwork, moving back and forth between offices, was relentless.
To those who have been to Chirundu before, especially at the height of car importations from Japan, most of which came through Dar es Salaam, they would be forgiven for seeing Chirundu in a different perspective today. That hustle and bustle is gone.
Tellingly, when we parked our car in the parking lot on our way back, so that we could do customs and immigration, two “agents” came running to our car. “May we help you clear your car, sir?” one of them politely asked. “How do you clear a Zimbabwean-registered vehicle?” we asked back. “Just the papers, sir, so that they move faster and you go home faster.” It was a sign, indeed, just like a drowning man who clutches at any straws, thick or thin, that the former agents who used to clear the Zimbabwe-bound vehicles imported from Japan, have nothing to do now, and would look for any possible manner of earning the elusive dollar.
The change of life at Chirundu could be as a result of Statutory Instrument 64 of 2016, or it could not be. There is no way of telling. For Mai Chipo, who openly confessed to not having heard anything of those four words – Statutory Instrument of 2016 – the downward trend could be because things are just tight everywhere.
“Whereas we could be mourning the absence of Zimbabwean shoppers, but even then, Zambian shoppers are not shopping as much as they would or could.
Times are just not good.”
