Ginger, mayonnaise and spunk at the shebeen

Ike Vavi
Correspondent | Monday April 26, 2010 00:00

It is windy and the black plastic bags that have been used in the construction of this structure are already complaining of the immense pressure of the blowing winds.

From the other room of this rather special house, a dark smoke bellows through every available opening of this convincingly weather battered structure. Like God's protective hand amidst imminent danger posed by this structure, a tall green mosu tree is hovering over it.

At the other end of the compound is what is supposed to be a pit latrine. One man is standing in this very small structure. Its height is just above knee level and it is not roofed. The smell from this pit latrine is unbearable. Next to this toilet, there is a chicken house. A few chickens are resting in it.

Though the place, from face value appears unattractive, the irony is that it is one of the homes in this area that continues to attract multitudes. The demographic outlook of those who frequent this famous convergence spot includes both the young and the old, male and female.

On arrival, I can count about 10 heads of which six are males and four are females. They have already reported at this place despite the unfavourable weather condition of the day.

From the high level of noise as they engage in conversation, one is obliged to conclude that they are happy to be here.

A quick examination of their physical appearance points to a shocking discovery. Their faces seem to bear the same features. They are all black as the word dark in this case would be an understatement.

Their eyes, at least for those who are able to open their eyes, are red hot. Their mouths look red-ish as if they have applied the same lipstick. Like sweet reeds in a field during a windy day, they all move in a zigzag fashion.

The slowness and mumbling that characterises their speech makes it painful to attach meaning to most of their utterances.

Indiscriminate spitting of that dark saliva and frequent urinating is another bodily chore that seems common here.

The seating arrangement forms a circle. I join the circle because there was an unoccupied seat. In the centre of this circle is a big brown bucket containing a traditional concoction and there are a few bottles of mayonnaise that are used to serve this beer. Dark clouds of smoke erupt from two of these men who have sandwiched me. The smoke is so strong that I have to gasp for air temporarily.

I try to suggest to one of my neighbours to channel the smoke to a different direction but to no avail. That kind of advice is not welcomed in this place, it seems. The man looks at me with a 'Never say that again' kind of look.I decide to keep quiet keeping the peace and stability that seems to prevail here.

Suddenly the shebeen queen appears. As her eyes scan our faces, one thing becomes clear. She seems to command a lot of respect amongst her loyal customers.  She greets most of them by name. 'Morning Madam!' This group shout in unison, producing a deafening chorus.

One of the men seated next to me is even on his knees and clapping his hands to demonstrate the ultimate respect and loyalty to this very important lady.

A young man quickly follows the woman into the house before emerging with another bucket full of more traditional beer and mayonnaise bottles. He continues to serve other customers.

He seems to be one of the trusted customers of the shebeen queen. I get the opportunity to enquire about the price and the ingredients of this concoction.

'A bottle is P3.00. This is just ginger with sugar and yeast'. He keeps his answers short and to the point to close the conversation and concentrate on the task at hand, serving the loyal customers.

The number of people has now swelled.  The ear piercing music is also blaring into the air.  A few couples can be seen dancing with a bottle of mayonnaise in one hand and a cigarette in the other. One thing is however certain here.

It is a survival of the fittest kind of environment. One man is busy, dancing with a woman. Another staggers towards them and pushes the one with the woman aside. The effect of such a move is a replica of the boxing technical knockout.

As he lies sprawled on the ground, legs wide open and a bottle of mayonnaise draining its contents on the ground beside his head, the victorious man from this encounter leaves with the woman safely and happily.

Surprisingly, nobody seems to be concerned about this development. Everybody is minding his or her business.It is becoming nasty and rough now. In another corner of the yard, an argument, pitting two young men against each other has ensued. The unpalatable and swearing are convincingly traded.

Vulgar language is surely flying thick and fast through the air. The two boys have manhandled each other and the others nearby are busy enjoying their drink as if nothing is happening.

One of the men unfortunately bumps into me before urinating before my eyes. Others drag him away. At this juncture, I quickly find my way out and disappear.