Editorial Team
Publication Date
August 24, 2017
Nozipho Sibanda, GPJ Zimbabwe
Siphathisiwe Ncube sets up her soil stand in Bulawayo’s central business. She and her son, Prince Ndlovu, take turns operating the stand.
BULAWAYO, ZIMBABWE — Prince Ndlovu’s stand in the central market district does brisk business, with women crowding around in groups to make purchases.
The stand is stocked with small packets, not of food, but of dirt. The women eat it.
Ndlovu, 23, often staffs the stand, a family business that his mother opened when he was young. He’s worked with her since he was a schoolboy. These days, he handles product procurement, digging up dirt of all colors and flavors in and around Bulawayo, Zimbabwe’s second-largest city.
For as little as a few cents per packet, Ndlovu saves the women the trouble of collecting the soil themselves. And his stand boasts an enviable assortment. Some options are brown, some are reddish. There is rough and smooth, sour-tasting or rich. The white, creamy soil comes from anthills in Harare, the capital city and the namesake for that variety. Cheaper options are the colored soils that include the Bellevue flavor, which is named after one of the Bulawayo neighborhoods where it’s found. Just 10 cents buys a packet.
“By the end of the week, I can make as much as $200, which is more than someone seated jobless at home would make,” Ndlovu says. “It’s definitely better than stealing.”
The demand for dirt is on the rise in the Bulawayo area, as more vendors open stands selling packets in all varieties. Informal vending stands have exploded in Zimbabwe in general, and the number of dirt stands is notably increasing. Markets are filling up with dirt sellers, and huge depressions are now visible in the ground in areas where the most sought-after varieties are available.
While there’s no hard evidence to prove it, the rise of dirt consumption might be tied to Zimbabwe’s poor economy. The costs of basic commodities are on the rise. These days, pork, beef or chicken costs between $4 and $5 per kilogram (2.2 pounds), while liver can hit $6.90 per kilogram. Those products cost between $2 and $4 last year.
Dirt consumption is associated with a condition known as pica, doctors say, which causes people, to crave nonfood items. Often, the condition is associated with a nutritional deficiency.
Iron can sometimes be found in soil, and especially anthill soil, says Dr. Emmanuel Mucheni, a general practitioner in Bulawayo. There’s no statistical evidence to support the theory that eating soil can ease an iron deficiency, he says, but anecdotal evidence and medical literature suggest there is a connection.
Many women who eat dirt say they don’t know why they do it, but note that they have an irrepressible craving for it. They eat it raw or heat it up on a stovetop.
Brenda Lunga, 36, buys soil but only eats it when she’s at work. Her husband doesn’t approve of the practice, she says.
“It’s not my wish to eat it, but I just find myself wanting to eat it,” she says.
Ndlovu, the soil seller, says he used to grow and sell tomatoes. As silly as it seems to dig up and sell dirt, Ndlovu says, it’s a moneymaker. The dirt business requires cash up front, but only enough to buy the plastic bags in which the portions are sold. Weather concerns that dominate the agricultural industry are nonexistent for soil sellers.
When he switched from tomatoes to join his mother’s dirt business, he realized it didn’t matter what other people thought.
“I didn’t care who would laugh at me for selling soil at my young age or who would call it useless,” he says. “My assurance was in knowing I was doing something great that brought cash in my pocket.”
Nozipho Sibanda, GPJ, translated some interviews from Ndebele and Shona.
