Zimbabwe’s coffeeshop culture is thriving despite the economic pinch most people are feeling.

It must have been passed on from the Colonial days, as we have 3 coffeeshops within 500m of

each other in Alex Park. As a child my parents would take me to town every Saturday to Barbours (departmental store) for tea. It was the highlight of my Mother’s week and we’d dress in our ‘Sunday best’ (tho we

didn’t go to church), park in the parkade and walk to the end of 1^st St where the large building

loomed. The lobby of Barbours would be filled with Easter Eggs at Easter and decorated

Christmas Trees at Christmas. We’d wait patiently for the lift operator to arrive on our floor

for a grand trip up to The Terrace. Saturday mornings the place was packed and often we’d

stand in another queue waiting for a table and hoping our favorite scones or cake would still

be available. As tea was 10am, a large population would descend on Barbours, including me,

disgruntled by another tea ceremony forced upon me. No matter what had took place before

the trip into town, we’d all arrive shiney and smiley, the perfect portrayal of the ‘ideal’ family.

Ok so none of us were delinquents, yet, but it wasn’t so glossy and I hated pretending as we

stood in the queue whilst our parents small-talked with other adults and we’d eye out their

children’s dress. Finally we’d be lead to our table, all of us secretly hoping it was our favorite

table, mine was outside, some days I’d be lucky as my parents preferred inside under the lights ,

seated round the startched white table cloth and specially folded napkins. The waiter presented

the menu to us as if it could possibly have changed in the past 20 years and we had no idea what

we were ordering. My Mum all blushing and thrilled to be asked what she would like, would say

‘Tanganda Tea please, with a little milk, no sugar’ (how this irritated me as we all knew the teapot

would arrive separately from the sugar and milk which she would pour ever so slowly) ‘ and

scones with jam and cream’. Many years there was no cream, sometimes no butter or jam, but

she would say each word delicately, hopeful that by some miracle she would be favoured

above all in the country. Then there would be a painful silence whilst we waited for our tea

and cake. As soon as it was presented to us my brother and I would devour our sweet leaving

a few crumbs on our chin and around our plate..

Today I sat in the modern day equivalent, probably the most upmarket that brings serviettes

wrapped so tight in some organic thread I cant identify and was unable to slide off. Tea and

scones are now elaborate, cold butter in a silver dish that has been scraped by a fork as

decoration, thick cream and home-made jam, the scones pert and swollen. I couldn’t help

listening to the conversations around me, especially two ladies after they met, kept saying

‘so how are you?, ‘are things ok’ and about 4 more versions of the nothing they spoke. And

I snuggled up to my hot chocolate, melting the cream with my extra long spoon and reminisced

on those Golden Barbour’s Days.