Giggles on the Go: Sgadishu edition

Thulaganyo Jankey | Wednesday May 20, 2026 06:00

While he perfected his Olympic-level overcharging skills, I wandered off into the lively streets of this charming Kweneng village, where the rhythm of daily life was far more entertaining than my van’s squeaks. Honestly, Mogoditshane felt like the kind of place where even a dodgy repair bill couldn’t ruin the vibe. The streets of Sgadishu as Mogoditshane is affectionately called are actually a commercial, industrial and residential areas all fused into one mass of confusion and hilarity. The streets of Sgadishu are less ‘organised city planning’ and more ‘urban jumble.’

Everything’s thrown together, and somehow it works—like a stew where nobody asked what the ingredients were. The first thing that hits you isn’t the smell of fresh bread or flowers—it’s the unmistakable aroma of grilled mystery meat from a street vendor who swears it’s ‘beef-ish.’

He’s got a booming voice, calling out deals like an auctioneer. I kept walking, clutching my stomach, half tempted, half terrified. Meanwhile, my conscience is whispering, ‘Remember the wife’s decree... thou shalt not buy street meat.’

But honestly, with that aroma, even the Ten Commandments would need a revision!’ Next corner, I stumbled upon a second-hand car dealer who’s clearly auditioning for a role in Botswana’s Funniest. He waves at me like we’re old friends, shouting, ‘This baby’s only been in two accidents—both minor, both heroic!’

I nodded politely, wondering how a car accident can be heroic. I kept going fascinated that the salesman actually thought a pedestrian walking the streets could just walk in and buy a car. Further down, there was a group of kids huddled outside the clinic, phones raised like they’re performing a ritual. Turns out they were siphoning free Wi Fi from the clinic’s router.

One kid yelled, ‘Don’t move, the signal’s strongest if you stand exactly on this crack in the pavement!’ Another replies, ‘Nah, tilt your phone at a 37 degree angle, that’s the sweet spot.’

Across the street, a vendor was selling knock-off sneakers with names that sounded suspiciously like rejected superhero aliases: ‘Air Jumps,’ ‘Adidos,’ and my personal favorite, ‘Nikee Just Do Something.’ He insisted they were genuine, pointing to the logo that looks more like a checkmark drawn by a standard 1 kid whose motor skills are still in the preschool zone.

I smiled, because honestly, I admired the creativity. The guy subtly accused me of trying to kill his business as I gawked at the asking price. I asked for a discount but he told me straight up to go try such tricks at Choppies Supermarket.

And that was the end of the discussion. I hurriedly left. People in this village are generally suspicious of city folk and their shenanigans and so are quick to put you in your place.

I stopped at a clothing shop squeezed between a mansion and an industrial firm. By a clothing shop I mean a metal frame with clothes fished out of a bale hanging off it, a few mannequins ( which look like they’ve survived three wars and the recent flood) and a lady who spews floral language like a snacks vendor in a northbound NKK coach.

I stopped, mainly out of curiosity and pressure from her incessant calls to come and check out what she had. I also realized that with a depressed economy this might well be the future of retail therapy. So I checked out the Chinos which looked reasonably-priced.

I wasn’t too sure about my size. With no fitting room I had to rely on the eye-test and the ‘expertise’ of the saleslady. She yanked the waistband like she was testing a slingshot, nodding approvingly. ‘See? Elastic! It will adjust to your lifestyle.’

I was not sure if she meant my waistline or my questionable life choices. Finally, I caved in and bought the pants. Will they fit? Will they expose me to ridicule? Only time will tell. Later at home, I tried them on—and miraculously, they fit... sort of.

They were snug in places I didn’t know pants could be snug and loose in others that made me look like I was smuggling groceries. I then passed a multiresidential property with fifty tenants.

Half of them are apparently on rent arrears, and the other half are pretending they don’t know the landlord exists. Obviously this fact could not be established by walking past a building but according to urban legend this is what obtains in most multiresidential properties.

The building itself looks like it’s held together by sheer optimism and duct tape. From one unit, someone’s blasting music; from another, someone’s hanging laundry that doubles as neighborhood décor. It’s chaos, but it’s home to a whole population. A cobbler sits just outside next to the multires gate, hammering away at shoes that look like they’ve walked across continents.

He’s got a cigarette dangling from his lips, puffing smoke like a steam engine while muttering, ‘These shoes will outlive you, my friend.’ Across the street, the barbershop is equally theatrical. The barber, cigarette-totting trims hair with one hand and waves the smoke away with the other. Customers don’t even flinch—they’re too busy debating football scores.

By the time I left the neighbourhood, I felt like I’d survived a carnival, a car auction and a Wi Fi scavenger hunt all rolled into one. My pockets were lighter, my stomach confused and my phone had mysteriously connected to ‘ClinicGuest123.’

Honestly, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything—it’s chaotic, hilarious and somehow, weirdly inspiring. (For comments, feedback and insults email inkspills1969@gmail.com) *Thulaganyo Jankey is a training consultant who runs his own training consultancy that provides training in BQA- accredited courses. His other services include registering consultancies with BQA and developing training courses. Contact him on 74447920 or email ultimaxtraining@gmail.com.