Online Reporter
Daimon Phiri
You walk into a bar in Bulawayo to meet a client. You want to close a deal over a beer. But before you sit down, the bass hits you in the chest. The radio is on full blast. The DJ is shouting over it.
The guy next to you is shouting too, just to be heard.
You give up. You drink, you jive, you go home. The deal dies. This is the reality in too many places that call themselves “business-friendly”. They invite professionals, entrepreneurs, and drivers to come and network over drinks. But the moment you enter, your eardrums are blocked by volume. There is no conversation. There is only noise.
And it’s not just bars. Hop into a kombi on the Bulawayo-Kezi route and the story repeats itself. Speakers cranked to the maximum, windows rattling, music you didn’t choose. The driver wants to entertain himself, but he chases away the passenger who wanted peace and quiet to think, or to take a call about a tender.
Outlets fall into two categories. First, the places meant for real discussion. People come to talk business, to negotiate, and connect. They expect a moderate volume where you can hear yourself think. In these spaces, music should be background, not the main event.
Second, the places for escape. People come to switch off, drink, dance, and forget. For them, high volume is the point. They don’t want to talk. They want to jive and go home, and come back tomorrow to do the same thing.
The problem starts when the second type pretends to be the first. They advertise “business meetings welcome”, but the sound system says otherwise. Professionals walk in, sit for five minutes, and walk out. You can’t strike a deal when you can’t hear the other person.
The vicious circle. Here’s how it works. High volume brings in the crowd that wants noise. That crowd doesn’t discuss business. They drink, they dance, they leave. The owner sees the floor full and thinks it’s working. But the professionals who could bring repeat business, corporate bookings, and daytime revenue never return.
So the owner turns the volume up even more to keep the party crowd. The cycle continues. No deals, no contracts, no daytime traffic. Just noise, drink, sleep, repeat. I’ve seen it kill potential in Bulawayo. A young man with a supply contract loses it because he couldn’t hold a 10-minute discussion in a noisy shebeen.
A kombi driver loses regular passengers because his music is too loud for schoolteachers and nurses. Everyone loses.
I spoke to three businessmen who meet clients weekly in Bulawayo. All three said the same thing: “We stopped using place X because we couldn’t talk.” One said, “If I wanted a nightclub, I’d go to a nightclub. If you call it a lounge, give me a lounge.”
Another said, “Some kombis are worse. You can’t even hear your phone ringing for a business call. So you miss the deal.”
These are not people against music. They are against music that makes business impossible. The fix is simple. Business-friendly spaces don’t need silence. They need control. Keep high-volume music for evenings and weekends. During business hours, keep it low enough for conversation. Use carpets, curtains, and ceiling tiles to absorb sound. You don’t need expensive equipment. You need intention.
If your target is professionals, ask them. Most will tell you straight: “Turn it down.” Kombi operators can do the same. Offer two buses on a route – one for music, one for quiet. Passengers will choose. You’ll keep both markets.
Why it matters for Bulawayo. Bulawayo is trying to rebuild its reputation as a business city. Entrepreneurs, drivers, and young professionals are looking for spaces to meet, plan, and grow. If every bar and every kombi is a nightclub at 10am, we push those people out.
Noise is cheap. But losing a deal because your client couldn’t hear you is expensive. So to bar owners and kombi drivers: ask yourself who you want to serve. If it’s the man who wants to jive and go home, keep the volume high. If it’s the man who wants to sign a contract over a beer, turn it down.
Because in business, sometimes the most powerful sound is a quiet conversation.
l Daimon Phiri is the founder of Tepp Driving School and a retired police driving instructor. He writes on road safety, business, and social issues in Bulawayo.
