admintoast and baked beans.
The farmers had hot tea and fizzy drinks while children who were strapped to their backs had juice in abundance.
Those who wanted sadza had it served with generous portions of meat.
Beer was the only problem.
No canteen serves alcoholic beverages unless it is licensed to do so. Some only serve beer on special occasions like parties and weddings.
Unfortunately for imbibers who were part of this group, it was a Wednesday morning and neither a party nor a wedding.
The charming young fellow had sworn the unsuspecting farmers to secrecy: “Don’t talk to anyone. Just eat while I process the papers.”
To remove suspicion, the seemingly well-groomed man of the people left his folder in the hands of one of the farmers and urged him not to give it to anyone under whatever circumstances.
Members of this group counted themselves very lucky.
Unlike their colleagues who had spent the night under hell from mosquito bites and sleeping in inhuman conditions, they had enjoyed far better facilities.
They had been afforded an opportunity to watch television, bath and sleep in a well-ventilated house where their security was guaranteed.
“Ndivo vanonzi vanhuka ava. Hamuoni here kuti uyu mwana akabva kuvanhu, anemoyo wakanaka wakatsva muchoto?” one of the farmers said, while his peers nodded in agreement.
Everyone spoke glowingly of the young fellow and his “business associates” who had offered them free transport in a kombi with a booming stereo.
Unbeknown to the group, the “Good Samaritan” and his peers vanished into thin air while they were tucking into their meal, which had not been paid for.
It only dawned on the farmers that they had been duped when the canteen staff started demanding payment for the food.
“Eh . . . eh . . . ngatibhadharei vabereki. Tiri pabasa isu. Business is business. Pay up now or else we call the police,” the canteen supervisor said much to the surprise of the farmers who started crying and even asking for fares for the trip back home.
Mbuya dzakatambwa yakajolovela. Chikwama hutu negororo wanikwe misodzi pamatama!
Elsewhere in the capital, John from Macheke was threatening to beat up lodge attendants who were asking him to leave their premises.
He had been lured into the lodge by a prostitute who made him believe it was her parents’ house.
She made him believe she had prepared a hot meal for him and made good her escape with his cash and valuables while he was taking a bath.
Welcome to the tobacco selling season where some unsuspecting farmers are losing the fruits of their sweat to confidence tricksters.
Yangu nhamo ndeyefodya yemudzanga,
Uku yakarumwa, uku inotsva,
Kuti ndiudzewo baba vemwana,
Zvasara zvichiitika kwandanga ndaenda,
Murume neni bhee, otoda divorce,
Hanzi sei wega pakati peruzhinji . . .
Sang the late wordsmith “Dr Love” Paul Matavire.
And the words ring true of the situation some tobacco farmers find themselves in.
Everyone seems bent on taking something away from them as if they have committed a crime.
The opening of the tobacco selling season has brought joy and tears for farmers, some of whom are new to the city.
Others are even kicking themselves over why they made the decision to grow tobacco which is both labour and cash intensive.
Kurikutsva mbiti. Kunotofa matemo, mipinyi ichisara.
As I commit pen to paper gentle reader, the tobacco auction floors are a hive of activity with all attention on the farmers who have brought the golden leaf for sale.
Some workers at the auction floors are reportedly deliberately degrading the farmers crop and demanding bribes to offer better grades.
The workers are also allegedly offering to re-grade the tobacco and in the process steal a sizable amount of the crop for resale elsewhere.
To add salt to injury, some of the prices being offered are too low to recoup production costs. Sellers of all sorts of goods from farming implements to inputs, herbicides, disused furniture and vehicles have set up camp at the floors.
Carpenters have also set up bases there where they sell all sorts of goods which are distinguished by their poor quality of workmanship.
Thieves are also roaming the area where they play their tricks to earn a living at the expense of farmers who have come to be known as “Brazilians,” “Varimi,” “Mabharanzi” or “Shiri.”
Food vendors are also on site where they sell half-cooked dishes.
Owing to their quest to maximise profits, the food vendors can prepare meat and heat it from Monday to Friday until it is bought by the unsuspecting farmers.
Mobile bottle stores are now at almost every tobacco auction floor where people are selling beer from the boots for their vehicles.
Warm and flat beer is being sold with reckless abandon at these places. Ngoma unototamba iri kurira.
Even members of the police force who are supposed to protect the farmers, are unashamedly also in the business of selling food and alcohol to ensure they at least wring cash from the farmers.
A plate of sadza which usually sells for US$1 is being sold to the farmers for anything to US$3 owing to a surge in demand.
Unroadworthy and mechanically unsound excuses for motor vehicles are being resprayed in places like Gazaland at night for sale to the farmers.
Word has it that people living near the tobacco auction floors are driving away their tenants to offer accommodation to farmers who have capacity to pay more.
“My son this is Harare. This tobacco selling season comes once a year. I have to ensure I make as much money as possible before the season comes to an end.
“I am now old and cannot look for a job, so I have to use my house to make ends meet,” a Glen Norah landlady told this writer straight in the face.
She said she also prepared meals for sale to the farmers. Ladies of loose morals are also not to be outdone.
They have set bases near the auction floors where they offer their services to the farmers who are awash with cash.
Our farmers deserve better.
Inotambika mughetto.
Online Reporter