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Fadzayi Maposah Correspondent
These days, people are spoilt for choice. People actually get to choose what they will have and what they will not have.
There are so many brands for the many products on the market.
When I was growing up, which is a long time ago, I remember that there were very few bakeries and their customers were confined to the town or city where the bakery was located.
It was such that a bakery based in Harare would be basically for Harare residents.
For one from Kadoma to enjoy the bread from Harare, it had to be because that individual had come to the capital city or some friend or relative bought the bread there then took it to them.
Nowadays children who have the luxury of seeing different brands of bread on the shelves do not understand that when we were small, we did not experience that.
So those of my generation who get into a supermarket and just pick any brand when they get to the bread aisle, should be forgiven. They are enjoying something they did not get the chance to experience when they were young. It is some kind of compensatory behaviour!
Before I stayed in Harare as a young girl, I always wished and hoped that one day I would get to stay in Harare and enjoy bread from one bakery that was located there.
I remember being in my father, WA Mambo’s car as we visited relatives in Harare and I would ask what a man was doing pedalling a little `house` on his bicycle?
I think about it now and I am amazed at how childhood innocence leads one to see things from their own perspective.
So some of you could be wondering what do I mean by a man was pedalling a little house? It was a man on a scooter that delivered bread. So the bread was in the little house.
The little house and the man were branded the same and the name of the bakery at some times was on the wall of the house or the roof.
It was always a man, before the gender activists are on my case, please hear me out, I do not remember seeing any women on the bread scooters.
Those of my generation who remember this scenario and saw women delivering bread, please help! When the man got to a shopping centre or any location that was ideal, he would disembark, park the scooter and then open the roof of the little house and like magic, the fresh aroma of bread would fill the air and he would start selling the bread.
It would be warm to the touch.
Usually the queue would be full of children sent to buy bread very early in the morning. It was possible to meet your school mates at the bread queue.
Once one was served there was no time for chit chat, each one would rush home with the bread.
I think one reason why we would rush home was because back in those days, the man with the little house sold unsliced bread.
So one needed time to actually slice bread! To say that slicing bread was one big task is an understatement, it was a huge assignment.
Slicing bread was also a possible cause of conflict in many households. Slicing bread was a skill, the slices had to be the same.
Mothers and other adults in the various homes had to mediate in cases of conflict involving bread as some children would accuse the one slicing the bread for being unfair.
The bread knife really worked in the kitchen then, now it simply watches from the terraces!
Besides the slice thickness, another bone of contention was who gets the back slices! Aaa!
There are some people of my generation who still talk about how they were deprived of enjoying the back slices when they were young!
I have heard of stories where the back slice was barter traded for chores! Some people have been doing business from a very young age! I do not understand what the fascination with the back slice is because I do not mind even if I miss out, now and even when I was young.
There are some people who could have fought as children over the back slice. It is just that I do not have any statistics. Be kind to the adults who openly say that they enjoy the back slices!
Early this week, I was at a commemoration. I took time to visit the exhibition stands to have an appreciation of what the organisations do and how they are contributing to reproductive health goals in Zimbabwe.
One stand was all just about menstrual health management. When I got there, I felt at home. There were pamphlets on menstruation. They also had reusable pads on display.
What drew my attention the most though were little blue and black floral pouch bags.
Like a child in a candy shop, I admired the pouch and then reached for it. The material was soft to the touch.
I felt that there was something inside. I asked what was inside. The young lady manning the stand responded that there was a menstrual cup inside and they were giving them away! I was elated!
Then a woman came from the back and said without greeting me: “We are giving them out to young girls only! None for your age!”
Instantly my balloon was deflated, that she did not greet me is something else.
It is something to be grey haired, it is something else to be grey haired and embarrassed! I walked away determined to go and buy my own cup.
Maybe if she knew that as a young girl, I did not have access to sliced bread or many bread brands she could have been kinder.
Online Reporter