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Digital Dialogue With Delta Milayo Ndou
Using the hashtag #ThisPorkPie, some social media users mainly on Facebook have launched a spirited brand-bashing campaign targeting a much loved Colcom product — the pork pie. Much of the criticism has centred on the size, quality and taste of the current pie which some of the users feel has seriously declined compared to what they recall. Much of the evaluation of the product appears to stem from nostalgia; deriving from fond memories of a more filling pie hence a great deal of sentimentality is attached to the product.

The narratives and experiences shared about the Colcom pork pie via Facebook posts and subsequent comments indicate a high degree of emotional investment on the part of consumers that should be reassuring for the Buy Zimbabwe campaign that pushes for the consumption of locally produced goods.

What I found striking about the online narratives around #ThisPorkPie was the fact that the dissatisfaction expressed by consumers did not include the issue of the pie’s pricing.

At 33 cents, the Colcom pork pie has done what many local products have failed to do (if at all any attempts have been made) — it appears to have crossed class lines by removing affordability as a barrier.

And with the lowering of the pricing, the product itself is markedly different from what some social media users, using their childhood experiences as reference points, may recall. To those who have no reference point other than the current product, the Colcom pork pie checks all the boxes because they have nothing to measure it against — therefore it suffices. By pricing their pork pie at 33 cents, Colcom has placed the product within the reach of many to whom purchasing the pies is not a matter of nostalgic ritual but a matter of survival by way of being able to resell the pies at 50 cents and realise some income.

For school kids, the Colcom pork pie is a treat that is within their pocket money while a few belt-tightening companies find the pork pie a decent substitute for pricier lunch options. It has been argued, with pictures accompanying said argument, that the current product is more air than pie and more pastry than meat.

That may well be the case, but how much meat should go into a product that is priced at 33 cents? The obvious consequence to adding more meat is to re-price the pie so as to absorb the cost and by so doing, taking the pie out of reach of those who cannot spare much beyond 33 cents.

What does 33 cents look like?

Asking someone whether they have any idea what a million dollars in cash looks like is a far less absurd question than asking what 33 cents looks like because 33 cents is money that so easily lends in most palms.

The questions raised by the social media commentators responding to and mobilising around the #ThisPorkPie are valid and should be looked into by Colcom as they constitute valuable input.

However, it seems to me that an interesting contrast in terms of customer needs, realities and expectations as far as the Colcom pie is concerned are distinctly class-based. For those of us who have a bit (or a lot) of privilege, purchasing a 33 cents product (which may go for as much as 50 cents) is an inadvertent demonstration of humility, or rather the performance of it, particularly if the purchase of this lowly priced product is paraded online.

There is something about online interactions that takes on the form of a performance, a showcasing of the fact that one is still “Jenny from the block”, still connected to their roots through the sharing of any number of experiences that denote their humble beginnings.

I recall attending a family gathering some years back where I volunteered to help with the cooking and as I laboured over the size 10 three-legged iron pot (ibhodo in Ndebele) over the blazing fire in the middle of Beitbridge’s scorching noonday sun, I decided a photoshoot was in order so that I could later post on social media and wax nostalgically about my strong rural background.

It struck me later that none of my cousin’s wives had pictures of themselves taken while carrying out chores that they do on a daily basis because village life was not a performance to them — it was not a prop. I realised that taking part in village life is now akin to playing dress up for me because I know I will leave and go back to my ‘real’ life, as I am sure might be the case for many others.

My privilege or advantage blinded and insulated me from appreciating that there is no glamour in labouring over a size 10 three-legged iron pot over a blazing fire in the middle of scorching Beitbridge noon.

I turned it into a photo opportunity because I knew it was a chore I was doing as a performance rather than an obligation. I could have easily refused and sat in the shade soaking in the VIP treatment, but I didn’t because I wanted to “relive an experience”.

There is nothing wrong with people wanting to buy the Colcom pork pie to “relive an experience” and indeed nothing wrong with expecting that the Colcom pork pie retains the exact taste and size they recall. But things change and sometimes what we recall does not faithfully match what we have in the present.

A conversation that factors in the affordability of Colcom’s pork pie and weighs it against recommendations that the quantities be increased, thus driving the price up, would be revealing. Such a conversation would be revealing in the sense that it would illustrate the varied needs, expectations and lived realities of the social classes that presently afford to purchase and consume a 33-cent pie. Our perception of the product, I believe, is very much coloured by our varying social stations.

If the conversation were moved beyond social media to those individuals that don’t have the means to access such platforms — would they raise the same concerns about the product? In case you are not sure what social class you might happen to fall in, just ask yourself whether you are someone who can afford a Colcom pork pie?

The ‘pie’ of contention

As the contentious matter of #ThisPorkPie raged on social media, the initial response from Colcom was to reach out and engage the creator of the hashtag, Kudzai Mubaiwa and then diligently make calls to as many customers who used the hashtag to voice their concerns.

Leveraging on their Facebook page, Colcom reached out to the customers to collect mobile numbers and engage them directly as a means of gathering feedback and turning what was potentially a social media-driven PR disaster into an opportunity to engage customers.

The escalation of the hashtag was in itself remarkable given the number of social media influencers who weighed in such that it moved from Facebook, to mentions on Twitter and then encroached into the blogsphere.

Suggestions on how to improve the product were shared by consumers and although the pie-making process is an automated one (meaning all the pies are standardised); the possibility of coming up with a “premium” product range of pork pie might help Colcom balance the expectations of its cross-sectional market. Like products such as Cerevita and Mazoe Orange, the Colcom pork pie occupies a hallowed space in the hearts and minds of many Zimbabweans and given its current pricing structure — in the pockets of many.

If anything can be gleaned from this interaction between Colcom and its consumers, it is the fact that local companies stand to gain from conversing with their market and crowdsourcing for views or feedback regarding their products.

Taking the cautious approach though, Colcom chose to not use their Facebook page to respond to the hashtag — a prudent move as #ThisPorkPie is a rather emotive topic and the “pie” of contention could have easily degenerated beyond the point of useful engagement.

Delta is Head of Digital at Zimpapers and a PhD scholar researching on digital media, disruptive technologies and journalistic practice. Follow her on Twitter: @deltandou