The economies of Chibuku Shake-Shake! [Part 1]

| Monday November 12, 2012 00:00

 

The cost of habit is far outstripping social resources and rendering close to a quarter of Botswana's labour force functionally useless.  They say 'money does not smell,' in common parlance, stolen chicken tastes the same as bought chicken. So the morality of avoiding stolen goods may not be attested to by the number of shredded cars for parts, or television sets and cellphone 'repairs' that destroy more cellphones than repair them. So money does not smell only in places where money is really least known. Yet the reek of old currency notes continues to assault the unsuspecting nostril.The smell of well thumbed notes is by now legendary. Yet strangely, money is the only commodity that does not respect order or sense, any hierarchy it humbles down until it establishes itself as the referential commodity that is a noncommodity. A currency. Think of any other type commodity that is as fanciful.

But also think of its uselessness against starvation or thirst, when there is no seller of the more vital commodities. Money is a funny categorisation that makes perfect sense out of absolute nonsense and all the other way round, possible. In the bourgeois society we are creating there is little room for compassion. The saying is, 'wafa-wafa', 'wa sala, wa sala'. Everybody looks after their own interest, God is for us all. We are just now repairing a babalased economy after a long weekend that combined 'month end' smanzana and the period of anomy that is national independence celebrations. It is the occasion where very large amounts of Chibuku are consumed, and made readily available to halt all national interprise. It is a national rigor motis. The way the promotion, sale and consumption of Chibuku has been fetishised as Chama, 'the consoller' then very widely distributed seven days a week, in places as far afield and as varied as urban centers, rural villages in the country side and farmlands beyond.

Over time a whole hierarchy of distributors has evolved - Uncle Boyce in Gaborone, Pop Inn complex, Bontleng Depot, places in White City, Old Naledi and many many dispoto in SHAA areas in Maruapula area and Ginja and generally in all locations where the lower strata of the city workers dwell. The same being duplicated in every other town, city or hamlet. The depot is the wholesaler while a chain of small to smallest distributors form the great Chibuku network. None takes the responsibility for the by-product that is the Chibuku carton except for periodic burnings that cause so much air pollution, in places like Old Naledi and Tsolamosese. The production chain and its products (varieties of maize blended Mageu, Mooka and Banana) have been successfully popularised first by its producers (often people high up in the formal establishment) and then pushed up by populist politicians and  government officials alike, who have used, or let it be used, Chibuku's ambiguous identification as 'Bojalwa Ja Rona'. An easy catch or brand and identification that links a current commercial product with traditional leisure, as Chibuku is often passed on as traditional beer and product of antiquity.

The industry has remained true to its founding ideals in naming the different measures of liquid after traditional 'phafana'. As it is an industry that is perked on the exploitation of a people's culture. But doesnt it? In the meantime the industry has all but annihilated the source of its 'traditional' inspiration and impulse and forced brewing to survive in an underground contraband way of Khadi wild berry wine brewing and a proliferation of other such illicit brews. This as more and more producers of traditional red corn have given up beer brewing in fear of competition offered by the ever ready industrial Chibuku.

Traditional brewing was not only a commercial undertaking, it was also a celebration of skill, a Thanksgiving offering and a crowning glory to the crop tending skills. Skills which modern and industrial brewing has not encouraged. Brewing itself as a social pastime did establish its own aesthetics, social heirarchies of connoisares and systems of social signification, setting apart revered brewers against the mediocre. Yet most importantly traditional brews were not imbibed at just any time of day or night as is currently the case.People did not then drink out of desparation but to celebrate their very labour. Or even to lighten work itself as in Mbize work drinking parties. Traditional brews went along a calender of events, but all the time respected the cyclic rhythm of nature and production.

In Botswana Chibuku is brewed in several places, Gaborone, Palapye, Francistown are key producers. One wonders whether Lobatse, Gantsi, Maun, Mahalapye have their own breweries.  These import large amounts of corn from abroad from countries as far afield as Arabia, South Africa and Australia for the purpose.

A casual analysis will reveal a falsity that is as great as it is glaring as calling a Ford motor car a product of Thabazimbi iron ore bearing mountains. The appeal to both investors and politicians is understandable. With massive unemployment,  hardly any industry, productive industry that is, to boast about, making Chibuku, turning traditional brewing over to commercial and industrial commodification must have indeed seemed easy, welcome  and likely to be met with resounding success.  After all the difference in taste between traditional beer and Chibuku has over the years become academic. The government faced with rising discontentment of the unemployed youth would also have preferred something that assuaged their pain and kept them getting into political protest. In fact it is a known fact Chibuku has also come in handy as a weapon. Politicians are known to have used it to immobilise the foot soldiers of their opponents. For incumbent politicians it comes cheap, and few hundred gallons can secure a fortune that required people to be not so sober to continue bagging election victories.

It's all economic necessity. The mark up on the carton is small, and the profit when all costs are paid cannot be much greater than 25 thebe. So the trick is to push quantities and bag the 25 thebes. This is where the thebes grow into Pulas. But to move bulk requires ingenuinity. All hands are required on  the plough and logically every mouth that eats must contribute its own share. So it cannot be Shadi that denies herself sleep alone.

*Grace Mogwadi is  a standard five pupil  who also has to throw in her lot. She always has to collect empty cartons.Occasionally she has to clean up blood on concrete floors after fist fights between customers. After all weekly she has to take a contribution to school and her mopako. During the day, in the recess from her school, she has to push the wheelbarrow through the sandy pathways.

Three 25 litre containers are standard carriage.  The first part of what is callled profit is also family money. With a family of eight and the habitue that often drops in for a plate of phaleshe, the family easily sees through a 12.5 kg bag. There is going to be necessarily some form of relish, a soup in the 'marrie tomato' tradition, 'spaghetti' chicken guts, gizards, or those rubbery chicken legs. In other places it will the traditional dried bean leaves, phane worms and varieties of beans. Paraffin and wood fire are the family fuels. Long drop pit latrines are the common ablution. The Daily News is the famous signature. 

You wake up and go to the tree around which you had laid four 25 litre water containers to find them smashed by itinerant donkeys that take over the location at night to upturn pots and other systems of containment. The last of the water you wait 56 minutes for make a brown puddle around the roots of the Mokgomphate tree, and a heap of donkey droppings for you to clear.

Any time is good enough for a drink. The social space of the shebben. The monotonous drone of bubble gum music and splash trash and litter abound! Both noise and litter Pollution. (Continues next week) of Chibuku trading in the lower class neighbourhood.