Rosenthal Mutakati Ghetto Blast
DONNING borrowed denims and swanky T-shirts, every Friday – myself and two other financially embarrassed loafers of my age – would routinely board a kombi from the ghetto to be plied with beer by a friend who worked as an orderly for a leading petroleum firm in the capital.
Depending on instructions from our “financier”, we would at times take along with us a sweet-looking lass from the hood to intercept the happiness that came with my pal being paid every Friday.

Though initially hesitant, we would cox the targeted soul to accompany us because more to eat and drink were assured in the presence of a member of the fairer sex.
“Manje ukaramba nyaya iyi madhiri ose anobva awira musango machewe. Hatingoendai tese ugozviwanira yekugadzirwa musoro kana kutenga tunonhuhwirira.

Usaita kuti tionekwe senyuchi dzisina basa dzinouya dzisina maruva,” we would say though at times the girl would be literally dragged into a waiting kombi.
I do not know how much my friend earned, but the money could neither buy a house, nor a car. It was just enough to buy him clothes and unlock doors of happiness for him and his inner circle.

The money helped us hop from bar to bar and in the process earn us useless friends who made us become the life of parties to the point that any such gathering that was done in our absence was considered mediocre.

It was given that every Friday we would meet and get sloshed until my friend’s mother started complaining that he was feeding scavengers at the expense of his family and all hell broke loose.

I was still in journalism school then, and assigning me to carry out any task on Fridays was akin to pulling the rag from under my feet. It was a big no.
Friday was a happy day for us.

But we were not alone.
Big musical concerts were held on Fridays when people generally had more disposable incomes and time to dance the night away following a week of hard work.
Friday was a party day which however, witnessed countless fights in the ghetto as drunken youths often got entangled in brawls under Dutch courage.

“Wakatora musikana wemudhara wedu saka tirikuda kukusota next Friday. Uchachitaura chakatadzisa dhongi kuseka iko kunyenama richigona,” you would hear members of rival gangs taunting each other in public.

“Bloody Friday,” newspapers in the days of old would scream after people would have perished in an accident.
Back then it was easy to know who either your sister or daughter was dating. You would just wait for the big day and demand to know the source of the goodies she would be clutching.

Given that most people in post-independent Zimbabwe largely had two homes with men staying in town and women nursing their children and the elderly in the rural areas, those who got paid on Fridays would make their way to the rural areas to spend time with their families.

This is the time when men would arrive home in the dead of the night with copious amounts of groceries and booze.
Family disputes would erupt and get solved on Fridays.

During this time some women would travel to Harare unexpected only to walk in on their husbands having quality time with women of loose morals in their matrimonial beds. At household level, chicken, beef and sausages – which were largely viewed as meals for the affluent – were consumed on Friday, Saturday and Sunday when people who worked in the industrial sites and factories had been paid.

Film shows were sold out during weekends.
So popular was Friday in the days of old that it spawned countless songs.

“Murume wangu kusvika maoko chete, vanavotambire?/Hona vana vonokwata, zvavo kunext door/Nekuti kwauyiwa nekanyama nababa veko/Nhasi iFriday pay day yenyu/” sang the might Four Brothers fronted by the late silky voiced Marshall Munhumumwe in this yesteryear hit which reinforces that Friday was indeed a big day.

“Dhanyere chiroora, Dhanyere chiroora,/Aginesi chiroorwa, Aginesi chiroorwa/Samere chiroora, Samere chiroora/Tamba boogie nechembere, mhandara dzizere/,” sang celebrated troubadour Sinyoro Jackson Chinembiri who graced most community halls in the ghetto entertaining people on Friday night.
“Hoza, hoza, Friday my darling, hoza friday.”

Friday meant a lot to the people of yesteryear than those of today.
Ndipo paitsvetswa zvisikana zvinetsapfu dzinenge chubhu yebhasikoro yakapombwa mweya.

It was a day of meeting and socialising as people who would be proceeding to their rural homes would meet their colleagues who were staying behind and exchange letters and groceries. Gentle reader, Friday was a day of drama.

Food vendors would be made to offer some people free sadza for a whole week on the promise of having the debt settled on Friday, but some workmen disappeared immediately after being paid.

Women tired of being lied to by their husbands, made arrangements to receive their husbands’ wages to ensure children got enough at the table and cash for school fees.

Shebeen queens often preyed on people who were paid weekly and sometimes accused them of drinking on credit before hiring henchmen to induce payment.
Girlfriends of some not so wise factory workers also formed a beeline at their lovers’ workplaces on Fridays to ensure they got something before the real wives arrived.

Friday was also a very dangerous day for the ordinary worker as thieves often went on the prowl to glean something from the factory worker. This is the day when people were stabbed near their homes, outside bars and even on their way through an alleyway.

The rise in Pentecostalism and drastic changes in people’s spending patterns have connived to rob Fridays of their yesteryear glitter.
In the olden days one would borrow to enjoy a memorable Friday, but today it is no longer the same.

People are now mostly being paid by the month and the fun is all gone.

Inotambika mughetto.

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