The Mandazi Bandits

Who says movies do not have an influence on young minds?

When we were growing up in Zanzibar, the movies were one of the main

pre-occupations of the young. We particularly relished the movies that were saturated with all kinds of gruesome violence. We did not hesitate to mimic some

of this violence by going through the motions with our group of friends after the movies. Of course, most of it was make belief, so nobody got hurt.

My brother Eustace and I were nine and seven respectively. We would play a whole lot of those movie games at home much to the dismay of our mother who was almost convinced that she was raising delinquents. We knew this because she always said the Rosary every day for her secret intentions. I guess that we must have been those secrets.

Some Cowboy movie slogans became a part of our every day working vocabulary,

so it was not uncommon to hear someone say,

‘Keep Me Covered’, as the cowboys would say when trying to seek protection from the bad guys.

One fine day, my brother and I were strolling up Sokomogo Street at a particularly bad time of the day. We were very hungry, (we always were, five minutes after we had eaten a great big meal)) but we had no money to buy anything that would prevent our stomachs from objecting to such deprivation. As soon as we passed the Shihiri Shop just opposite Poonja’s store, we got the aromatic scent of ‘mandazis, being deep friend in the Shirhiri restaurant.

(Mandazis are the Arab version of doughnuts, well nearly... and a Shihiri, we were told, was part African and part Arab.) If you are a purist you might want to take me up on this description. There were no sociologists in Zanzibar at the time to clear up any racial descriptions from our lexicon.) We inched our way into the restaurant. Right there in a little container which was placed on a table for sale, was a heap of the most finger-licking and attractive flaming-red mandazis. Just behind the mandazis was a Shihiri salesman. The mandazis were in two sizes. The round mandazis were ten cents each. The smaller ones shaped like triangles were five cents each. My brother was not to be deprived. He pulled me aside and explained to me in short, out-of-breath, epigrammatic sentences that the only way to be in possession of those mandazis was if I could Keep him Covered. (I knew that those cowboy movies would come in handy some day.) This simply meant that I would have to distract the unsuspecting Shihiri by starting up a conversation with him. While this was in progress, my brother would abscond with as many mandazis that his shirt would accommodate without looking pregnant. I should have been very nervous about this strategy but hunger is an aphrodisiac that can drive some human beings to desperation. We were desperate. Here was I talking to

The  Shihiri as though he was a long lost buddy and each time he made any attempt to look past me, I moved in his direction. I must have resembled a contortionist after a little while.

After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was just a couple of minutes, my brother gave me a dig from behind and declared that we should go home immediately or we would get it from mother. Here were we just outside the Shihiri shop dividing the loot in full view of the Shihiri. You know... one for you...and one for me! We should have learned from the movies that such stupidity would invite an entire pose of Shihiris to chase after us. Before we knew it, the Shihiri salesman gave chase, but his age was no match to our athletic talent and so we got away by the skin of our teeth.

For a week after this incident we made a wide detour around this restaurant though it was a short cut to School, but our memory of this incident lingers on with the tantalizing taste of stolen mandazis that sixty years later still continues to titillate one’s appetite.

When I visited Zanzibar in 1986 I was saddened to find that the Shihiri restaurant was no more. It was my intention to pay the management for the three shillings of stolen Mandazis and I held a twenty dollar bill in my hand to cover its interest over the years. Since nobody knew what had become to the previous management ..... some thought that they were all on the other side, I thought that I would drop it in the Church collection during Sunday Mass as a form of restitution.

I still say that stolen Mandazis are the tastiest!!!!!

ADDENDUM: My brother Eustace passed away a few years ago. He was my constant companion as we grew up and is missed a whole lot.