Mbare Musika Poem by Wensislaus Mbirimi

Mbare Musika



Hate it you might
Dirty you call it and you will be right
Being the link of anywhere in Zimbabwe
See you there soon, intending to go somewhere in Zimbabwe

Buses, buses and more buses
Brand new buses, reconditioned buses, buses long overdue for the scrape yard
All belching smoke, at a snail's pace, in and out of Mbare Musika
Daf, AVM, Volvo, ERF, articulated, long chassis, space liner
Call them what you will, one of a kind at Mbare you will find
Chicken bus, luxury coach. Take your pick

Bus drivers or is it pilots
Guess so coz the machines really fly
Drivers: old, middle aged, some barely out of short trousers
Dread locked, bald headed, Afro hair styled
Driving to your destination all the same

Sound systems blaring all kind of music
Disco, reggae, rumba, sungura, country music
All is played; pity it's the driver's choice
Dirty conductors mostly, swearing in every language

Mbare Musika, haven of every vice
I say so not from malice
I have seen the touts, at an old lady as they shout
Pushing her into one bus while she prefers the other
Petty thief & criminal, Mbare Musika the playground
Apprentices to the trade are to be found

Snatch a pocket here and a wallet there
Straight to Vito Bar nearby
Drink senseless the ill gotten loot

Ladies peddlers of flesh too are common
All after the driver's allowance and the thief's loot
Some target the stranded stranger traveller
Here they clash for the thief targets him too
Prostitutes young and old
The young firm breasted, chocolate thighs bared
The old heavily made up, targeting the old madhala
One night of bliss in a shack kumaJubheki
And the rural bound madhala cancels his journey

Mbare Musika the workplace for many
Drug pushers too not to be left out
Policemen turning a blind eye
A twist of mbanje as I buy
Brightly clad Mozambican boys
All day selling sweets and cigarettes
Scanias - pushcarts jostle with buses for space
Taxies nearby feeding off buses' droppings

Heavily built cleaning women
Sweep, sweep she goes still all is dirt around her
Drop litter and discover to your discomfort
Broom she can use better as a weapon than a cleaning tool
Heavy insultor and vulgar to the boot
Sweep, sweep she goes still Mbare is dirty as ever

At Mbare Musika everything is gold as everything is sold
Vhuka-vhuka, bananas, rat killer & sweets
Clothes, some still wet, from a line in National, must have been snatched
Doilies, pants, socks, caps even cell phones & vehicle parts
Sadza ne nyama you can't go hungry at Musika or you crazy

Twilight and all innocents asleep
Into a bedroom Mbare Musika turns
Cardboard is pulled over there
Becomes someone's blanket of course sir
The destitute, the stranded all become one sir
Huddling and snuggling together
Hot, cold or wet all at the mercy of the weather
Somewhere Kumatapi a cry is heard
All shiver with dread
As someone is waylaid, hope not left for dead

4am and Mbare awakens
Another day is dawning, oh me oh my
That's Mbare Musika for you son
Hate it or like it
We will find you there soon
Nothing is new so mind your business
Anywhere see you there soon
Bound for Muzarabani
Bon Voyage son

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Mbare Musika Zimbabwe's largest market is the place to visit. All is found and all is sold. Memories are made of places like Mbare Musika
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