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On Club Maky
By
Hassan Hassan - 24-06-2002 |
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We contemplate these days on how societies would be organised in the near future to come—a uniform culture in language and dress codes, or otherwise; business organisation influenced by computers in the average home and thus employees working on flexible schedules from homes, etc. A very popular label emanating out of this contemplation that has evolved in recent years is naturally: “globalisation” .... a label that at once conjures so much impression in meaning and sounds good but yet is almost absurd in almost every sense except to be conclusively meaningless. Strange world this contemporary one.
“Club Maky” is an experience in social order or form that emerged from an encounter here in Blantyre. Chez Maky is a coffee shop and restaurant located behind the impressive building of the Reserve Bank in Blantyre. Its merely a house, a balcony, simple wooden furniture, a parking lot, and a menu of coffee and food, etc. and naturally named after Mr Maky, the proprietor. Several weeks ago, Chez Maky’s four-year-old son, Yanick, passed away in an accident. Little Yanick used to pop into the coffee shop once a week or so and simply walk to the backyard away from the lounge.
It was an interaction that was hardly noticed by clients but when he passed away, we came to realise that the subtle and quite interaction was noticed by several others over the years. And further, that the community of clients of this coffee shop had noticed each other as they come to enjoy a meal and walk their way. For on the days following the eve of Yanick’s death there was the assembly of these familiar faces in what resembled... a club! In this was the partner from the accounting firm and the legal firm, the business entrepreneur, the newspaper editor, the NGO officer, the priest, etc. And in this “association” was also the indigenous Malawian, the Irish, the South African, the French, the Indian couple.
In conversation during the evenings we gathered to keep wake at the coffee shop, there was equally impressive scope in conversation, in substance, dwelling on the legal, political, and then humour in anecdotes of encounters narrated in original form, then adapted by some new author to refresh in humour, and then possibly analysed further—to express more impressive wit. We depart home only to recognise a dialogue and association with several ethnic forms and backgrounds meshed in comfort to an occasion. Maybe that’s the club of today—a social form that is not binding in interaction and association except for the simple occasion of enjoying a meal and an ambiance for our individual good and then sharing the occasions that require human consolation as a neighbourly responsibility. Impressively enough though, this phenomenon occurs in Blantyre, a small city by world standards, and in a country known for little but poverty.
It’s the same simple and laid-back atmosphere that breeds innovative and outstanding culture and enterprise in New York’s Greenwich Village, London’s Camden Town and the crowded streets of the China Towns around the world. In big countries there is a reward for that healthy culture that breeds proximity, enterprise, and the individual spirit in a small-looking town.
In a small country we notice nothing, clouded by the impressions of hopeless poverty spelt in the awe inspiring verdicts of world prominent financiers as well as the crop of talent that let alone would lead the human race to some painful demise—the contingent collectively and loosely referred to as “economist”. For in this association of financiers and related commentators, there has never been the spirit of enterprise in their individual selves nor an ability to perceive the complexity of human society in any way but in the obvious axis: skyscraper rich town, to, bush hut. And they speak on behalf of every one too, sometimes in polished and impressive discourse though life has never been known to be so simple or uniform.
In our Club Maky occurred this one anecdote that deserves narration: a female street vendor that sells cassava nearby the coffee shop walked in to see Mr Maky and through a translator expressed consolation for the mishap. Then she reached out and offered him a twenty kwacha note saying “this is how we do it here”. For the vendor it was more than a token in a sum, for Maky and for every one else it was an expression of amazing dignity that surpassed the worth of money to make the note in itself a treasure of some expression. For human association would evolve in time beyond the artificial structures and labels that we have inherited in pretentious high society clubs and organisations and probably come across, unintentionally, the more healthy ambiance and model in a simple town and in a simple coffee shop. Why rule out this future in people. |
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