The citrus chronicles of Phikwe

Thulaganyo Jankey | Wednesday September 16, 2026 06:00

‘We’ll reopen the mine!’ they declared, with the confidence of magicians pulling rabbits out of hats. Only problem? The hat was empty. The rabbits had emigrated. And the promises turned out to be nothing more than political window dressing — the kind you hang up for show but never dust. I was in Phikwe this past week, and let me tell you — this town is nothing if not resilient. I arrived expecting to find a town in mourning — after all, the copper mine has closed, the economy is supposedly in gloom, and we have been told that the sky is practically falling.

Yet, strangely enough, nobody seemed to have received the memo. The streets were full of cheers. Shops were open. People were going about their business, laughing and living as usual — completely failing to behave like residents of an economy that has been declared doomed.

I used to suffer from a terrible condition, Zanaphobia whenever I came here. It is the fear of the smoke billowing from the belly of the mine complete with its sulphur seasoning.

Symptoms included watery eyes, coughing fits, and a general fear of being dissolved by acid rain. Now, instead of choking on sulphur, you choke on orange pulp if you bite too fast. Progress! Forget GDP. Forget stock markets. The true indicator of survival here is how many crates of oranges you can stack before gravity intervenes. The real backbone of Phikwe today is...oranges. The vendors, those trusty barometers of commerce, are lined up like citrus soldiers, their stalls glowing with shades of tangerine and sunset.

If you want bread, they’ll point you to an orange. If you want airtime, they’ll suggest an orange. If you want directions, they’ll peel one for you and say, ‘Follow the juice.’

If you want Orange airtime they will direct you to someone selling the fruity version. The vendors preach the gospel of citrus with missionary zeal.

‘Oranges are life,’ one tells me, handing over a bag that could double as gym weights. Another insists, ‘This is resilience in fruit form.’ And indeed, Phikwe’s economy seems to hang by a single thread — a thread woven from orange peel.

You almost feel sorry for the gloomy economic forecasts. They came armed with graphs, statistics and dire predictions, only to meet people who simply shrugged and said:’ The copper is gone.

We are not.’ Perhaps that is the real economic lesson here: mines can close, commodities can disappear and spreadsheets can turn red — but apparently you cannot put resilience on care and maintenance.

It’s almost poetic. Once, the skies rained acid. Now, they rain citrus. The farm navigated the sulphur storms like Noah’s Ark, except instead of animals, it carried oranges. And so, every corner of Phikwe is now a shrine to Vitamin C. Zanaphobia has been replaced by Citrusmania.

But here’s the lingering question: will Phikwe ever get the groove of Zana as we used to know it? The Zana of smoke, sweat and sulphur — the industrial heartbeat that once defined this town. Some say yes, pointing to resilience. Others say no, pointing to oranges. Personally, I think Phikwe has already found a new groove.

It’s less industrial, more fruity. Less sulphur, more zest. Imagine the tourism brochures: ‘Come to Phikwe — where acid rain meets citrus gain.’ Or the slogans: ‘Selebi Phikwe: Powered by Oranges.’

If the groove of Zana doesn’t return, perhaps Phikwe will reinvent itself as the Citrus Capital of Botswana. Not mining. Not factories. Picture an annual Orange Festival, complete with parades, orange costumes and a Miss Citrus pageant.

In Botswana when there's a problem we fight it through beauty pageants first before crafting policies. If men refuse to circumcise we have a Miss Safe Male Circumcision. If there's a wave of crime we have a Miss Twantsho Borukutlhi which is Miss Crime Prevention.

When irresponsible fathers fail to pay child maintenance we have a Miss Pay Child Maintenance Pageant. When government refuses to increase salaries, Miss Salary Increase. The same goes for when we are in a celebratory mood.

We top that up with a beauty pageant - which is what normal people should and must do. So don't be surprised by Miss Citrus Pageant that is suggested here.

In the end, Phikwe’s story is one of survival. From sulphur clouds to citrus stalls, the town has clung to life with stubborn determination.

Whether or not Zana’s groove returns, Phikwe has already carved out a new rhythm — one that smells faintly of oranges and tastes like resilience. But here’s the twist: you have to hand it to the residents. They have the greatest resilience. Where others see ruins, they see potential. If copper was once the lifeblood, resilience is now the oxygen.

Selebi Phikwe may no longer glitter with copper, but it shines with stubborn determination. And if resilience were a mineral, the town would be the richest mine in Africa.

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 admin@ultimaxtraining.co.bw