Went to mitumba with the actors to buy costumes this morning. I have written about mitumba before but I think it deserves another tribute. Ah, mitumba! Imagine an area the size of a rugby field (that old line) dotted, strewn – what’s the right word? – piled? - with heaps upon heaps upon heaps of second hand clothes. Anything and everything you can think of. Sequined ball gowns to cruddy shoes to 50cent t-shirts. Can you imagine anything more satisfying? More exhilarating? More fun? Probably. But it’s GREAT! I LOVE it! I was about to say I’m not one for retail therapy, for shopping for shopping’s sake, but that’s actually not true at all. Heh heh. But I think that’s only because I’ve never lived in a city and it’s still all a bit novel. But mitumba? Mitumba is different. Extra special.
Then we all piled into a series of daladalas (minibus taxis) back to work. You know the scene. About 35 people crammed into a bus made for 14. Armpits in your face, babies on your lap, chatter, laughter, general good cheer.
Except at one changeover station, busy busy, loads of pushing and shoving, where a man pushed into me and stuck his fingers in my pocket. Ha. I was not to be fooled. I shouted, pulled his fingers out and bent them back. He then put his hands up and pretended to be all innocent. Yeah right. We were standing right next to a big storm drain and the actors said I should have pushed him in. Heh heh. Maybe next time, Mr mwizi man.