A simple wealth

Dr Fahim Chand | Monday December 15, 2025 06:00

We learnt to measure everything except enough. Convenience promised simplicity and delivered prospects with infinite possibilities. Roads multiplied, and so did choices; both became ways to get lost.

We traded the ache of hunger for discovery for the subtle anxieties of abundance. Even our silences grew crowded with notifications. What once arrived as weather now arrives as data. Yet beneath the wiring and worry, the old machinery still hums: thirst, wonder, fear, love. Complexity, it turns out, is just simplicity that kept wearing new costumes, and forgot how easily it once breathed. Somewhere between the cave wall and the cyber cloud, we lost our simple guide and began confidently calling our guesswork “progress.”

In the tangled architecture of the world we’ve built since, even the smallest retreat toward slowness would feel like a minor rebellion, and a quiet recovery of forgotten pleasures. There, beneath a welcoming tree, intangibles return to their proper weight: the calm of unhurried breathing, the soft warmth of sunlight sifted through leaves, the faithful patience of passing time. What we abandoned in our rush forward waits, undamaged, for our return.

Nothing here can be measured or owned, yet everything feels complete. The quiet of the wind, the comfort of shade, the simple wealth of an unhurried moment. Trust is the ground beneath you, peace the quiet gift of the afternoon. You arrive empty-handed, yet leave improbably rich, pockets stuffed with nothing you can show. Africa is unique in that progress and the past stroll side by side, mostly in polite agreement.

We who call it home enjoy the daily privilege of leaping from the clenched fist of stress straight into the open palms of nature. Some escape in their Hilux bakkies toward masimo; others locate serenity much closer to town.

And universally, Friday afternoon is adored, as the weekend lifts an eyebrow, stretches, and prepares to live. Saturday arrives like a blessing. Shabana and I make our weekly trek to an oasis of calm, good food (heroic coffee included), and people-watching with Gaborone’s finest fashions included of course.

The destination can only be the Olive Grove Market at the Serbian church in Phakalane, where even your pulse slows before you do.

The great leafy tree throws out its generous shadow and seems to welcome you personally as you enter the church grounds. The church itself rises with quiet majesty, its spire confidently pointing heavenward. The fine architectural detail, dressed in soothing cream and burgundy, gives your eyes an instant holiday. Serbian artisans painted the frescoes inside, and they do more than decorate, they quietly steal your breath.

Lush grass and sheltering trees wrap the building, offering beauty and shade for the waiting tables. Being a house of God, peace arrives before you do. My first ritual is, naturally, coffee. Warm greetings and bright smiles accompany the “usual” for Shabana and me. At Koffi’d Up, College, the gifted barista, remains flawlessly reliable. While my brew is underway, I restock my all-natural essentials.

Ted’s Table supplies my coriander salsa, so good I’d legally put it on cereal if permitted. Try it. You’ll understand.

The market brims with edible temptation. My samosas emerge crisp and perfectly spiced, ready for coffee companionship. For heartier hunger, the burgers are gloriously large and unapologetically juicy.

A short stroll reveals fresh baked sweetness in abundance. Though I lack a sweet tooth, seek out the cream pastry and you’ll be richly rewarded; Pure spectacle. Others tackle the Belgian waffles; judging by their heroic size, lunch is clearly optional. Since we are all, at least theoretically, on a health kick, a few more steps lead you to Blue Water Seafood, where virtue is served with lemon and restraint is quickly tested.

I have enthusiastically sampled the fresh-catch, sushi-grade salmon and tuna, along with tiger prawns; utterly, unapologetically awesome. Coffee in hand, I retreat to a table beneath the tree and sip at perfection with monk-like serenity. Inevitably, the table expands as friends arrive and life is earnestly, loudly, joyfully caught up on.

I won’t repeat, though I often do in other columns, the science behind warm relationships and long life. Then there’s Srdan, my endlessly patient friend who keeps the market humming, even while he and Shabana take turns teasing me into humility.

We all need sanctioned pauses for the finer things. The Olive Grove Market is mine. Consider this your official invitation.