Harare

Level: Beginner Audience: Family / all ages Geo: Zimbabwe → Harare

Counting is the easiest way for a child to start speaking Shona at Mbare Musika: tomatoes, bananas, and the small change that comes back. The forms below are the plain counting forms as taught on open phrase lists. Shona, like other Bantu languages, changes the start of a number to agree with the noun it counts (so "two" may appear as piri, mbiri or viri); do not be surprised to hear a slightly different beginning in a sentence.

Number	Shona	Also heard	Notes
1	motsi	poshi, potsi	motsi is on most lists; poshi/potsi are common in counting games
2	piri	mbiri, viri	agreement forms
3	tatu	nhatu	agreement form
4	ina	china	both widely listed
5	shanu
6	tanhatu	nhanhatu
7	nomwe
8	sere
9	pfumbamwe		the pf is one sound; a relative can model it
10	gumi		plural makumi, used for 20, 30 and so on

[Audio: a relative counting 1 to 10 slowly, then quickly — never a fake audio URL] [Image: a tomato stall at Mbare Musika with ten tomatoes in a pile — placeholder only]

Counting game for the market

1. Count out ten tomatoes aloud: motsi, piri, tatu, ina, shanu, tanhatu, nomwe, sere, pfumbamwe, gumi.
2. Take two away. How many? (sere)
3. Count the kombi passengers in a row, or the jacaranda trees between two gates.

Tip for parents

Agree on one form per number for your own household and stick to it; consistency matters more to a beginner than knowing every variant. Then let Harare relatives correct you, which they will enjoy.

Forms checked against Omniglot (Numbers in Shona), Wiktionary (Shona cardinal numbers; "gumi") and Must See Spots. The variants in "Also heard" are reported on other learner lists and should be confirmed with a speaker before being taught as the main form.

Level: Beginner Audience: Family / all ages Geo: Zimbabwe → Harare, where Shona (chiShona) is the home language of about nine in ten residents

Shona is spoken by most Zimbabweans and by about 90% of Harare. The city's variety is Zezuru, which standard written Shona is based on, so phrases learnt here will be understood in Harare homes. One rule unlocks everything: Shona shows respect by using the plural form even to one person. Use the plural with elders, strangers and anyone you would call Mbuya (grandmother) or Sekuru (grandfather); use the singular with friends and younger children.

Shona	English	Notes
Mhoro	Hello (to one friend or a child)	Informal singular
Mhoroi	Hello (respectful, or to a group)	Use this with elders; safest default for a visiting child
Mangwanani	Good morning	Literally "morning"; often with akanaka, "good"
Masikati	Good afternoon
Manheru	Good evening
Wakadini? / Wakadii?	How are you? (singular)	To a friend; both spellings are heard
Makadini? / Makadii?	How are you? (respectful or plural)	Say this to Mbuya
Ndiripo	I am well (literally "I am here")	The standard reply; add makadiniwo? to ask back
Mauya	Welcome	What relatives say when you arrive from the airport
Ndatenda	Thank you (I thank)	Everyday
Tatenda	Thank you (we thank)	From the whole family; also a very common first name
Maita basa	Thank you for your help	Literally "you have done work"
Ndapota	Please
Hongu / Kwete	Yes / No
Pamusoroi	Excuse me / sorry (respectful)	Also when passing in front of someone
Sara zvakanaka / Sarai zvakanaka	Goodbye (to the one staying)	Singular / respectful
Famba zvakanaka / Fambai zvakanaka	Goodbye (to the one leaving)	"Go well"; singular / respectful

[Audio: a relative recording each phrase at home pace, singular then plural — never a fake audio URL] [Image: a greeting at the gate of a Harare home — placeholder only]

Mini dialogue at Mbuya's gate

• Child: Mhoroi, Mbuya. Makadini?
• Mbuya: Ndiripo, makadiniwo?
• Child: Ndiripo. Tatenda.
• Mbuya: Mauya, mauya.

Practice tip

A Shona greeting is a back-and-forth, not one word. Teach children to wait for the reply, then ask back. In many families a child adds a soft clap of the hands when greeting an elder; ask your own relatives how they do it rather than copying a website.

Only well-attested standard Shona phrases are given (Omniglot; Nkenne; Must See Spots; Wiktionary). The afternoon greeting "Maswera sei?" ("how has your day gone?", reply "Taswera maswerawo") is widely used but is left out of the table until a reviewer confirms spelling with a Harare speaker.

Tendai was eight and he was fast. Fast at running, fast at talking, fast at deciding. His grandmother, Mbuya Chipo, said he had a quick head and slow ears, which Tendai did not think was fair.

On Saturday Mbuya took him to Mbare Musika, the great market, to buy tomatoes and a sack of maize meal for sadza. They left the house in Highfield when the sky was still grey and walked to the corner where the kombis stopped. A kombi is a white minibus that carries people all over Harare, packed in tight, with a conductor who hangs out of the sliding door calling the route: "Mbare! Mbare! Town, Mbare!"

"Now listen," said Mbuya. "We take the one that says Mbare. Not the one that says Town. Wait for me to say go."

A kombi pulled up. The conductor shouted. Tendai heard the word "Mbare" somewhere in the shouting and jumped forward.

"Tendai." Mbuya had him by the collar. "That one goes to Town first. Ears, child. Ears."

The right kombi came two minutes later. They squeezed into the back row, and Tendai pressed his face to the window as the streets slid past: people carrying bread, a man wheeling a cart of green bananas, a church with a blue door.

"Mbuya," said Tendai, "why do you always say my ears are slow?"

Mbuya was quiet for a moment, the way she was when a story was coming. "Do you know Tsuro, the hare?"

Every child in Zimbabwe knows Tsuro. In the old stories, Tsuro is the clever one, small and quick, and Gudo the baboon is big and strong and always getting tricked. Tendai liked Tsuro.

"Tsuro," said Mbuya, "once decided he was too clever to listen. One day the animals agreed to dig a well together in the dry season, so that everyone would have water. The elders explained the plan carefully: dig here, not there; dig down, not sideways; begin after the rain stops. Tsuro heard the word dig and ran off before the rest. He dug in the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong direction. He dug very fast and very well. When he finished, he had a beautiful deep hole with no water in it, and he had to walk, very thirsty, to the well that slow old Gudo had dug exactly where the elders said."

Tendai frowned. "But Tsuro is supposed to win."

"Tsuro wins when he uses his head and his ears. When he uses only his head, he gets a dry hole."

The kombi swung into the huge, noisy space of Mbare Musika and stopped. The market was like a city of its own: long-distance buses with the names of far towns painted on them, Mutare and Masvingo and Kariba; mountains of tomatoes and onions and leafy greens; women calling prices; the smell of roasting maize.

"Right," said Mbuya. "Tomatoes first. The woman in the green wrapper, three rows in. Hold my hand, and if we get separated, stand still beside the bus with the red stripe and wait. Repeat it."

Tendai opened his mouth to say "I know." Then he closed it. He thought about Tsuro and the dry hole.

"Tomatoes first," he said slowly. "Green wrapper, three rows in. Hold your hand. If we get separated, stand by the red-stripe bus and wait."

Mbuya laughed, a big laugh that made the tomato seller look up. "Hare," she said, "your ears are growing."

They bought the tomatoes and the maize meal, and a man carried the sack to the kombi on his shoulder. On the ride home Tendai listened for Highfield, and when he heard it, he looked at Mbuya, and she nodded, and only then did he move.

Quick feet find the market. Open ears find the way home.

Moral: Being clever and quick is a gift, but listening comes first. A plan you did not hear is a hole with no water in it.

Original story for AllAboutAfrica. Tsuro the hare and Gudo the baboon are real characters from Shona folktales (ngano); this particular tale is our own invention in that tradition, not a recorded one. Ask your child: when did listening first save you from a mistake?

Rudo was seven, and she had a problem with the trees on her street.

Her family had moved to Harare in June, into a small house in Milton Park with a red roof and a gate that squeaked. The street was lined on both sides with tall trees that met over the road like hands clasped together. Their leaves were fine and feathery, and in the dry winter air the trees looked thin and tired and a little bit grey.

"Mbuya," she said to her grandmother on the very first evening, "why does everybody say Harare is pretty? These trees are boring."

Mbuya, who had grown up in the city when it still had its old name, only smiled. "Those are jacarandas," she said. "Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"You will see. But you have to wait properly."

Rudo did not know how to wait properly. She knew how to wait badly: kicking the gate, asking every single morning, sighing loudly when Mbuya said "not yet". July went by, with cold mornings and warm afternoons, and the trees did nothing. August came with wind and dust, and some of the leaves blew off, and the trees looked worse than ever.

"They are dying," Rudo announced.

"They are resting," said Mbuya. "A tree that is going to do something big needs to rest first. So do you. So does everyone."

In September, Mbuya gave her a job. "Every morning, look at the top branches. Not the whole tree. Just the tips. Tell me what you see."

So Rudo looked. For a week she saw nothing. Then, one morning, she saw something small and dark at the very end of one branch, like a tiny fist.

"Buds," said Mbuya, when Rudo came running in. "Now you are waiting properly. Waiting properly means looking."

Rudo looked every day. The fists grew fatter. More appeared. Then one morning in October she opened the squeaky gate and stopped so suddenly that her school bag slid off her shoulder.

The street was purple.

Not a little bit purple. Purple overhead, where every tree had burst into thousands of soft bell-shaped flowers. Purple underfoot, where the first blossoms had fallen in the night and covered the pavement like a carpet. Purple light on the parked cars and on the dog next door and on her own hands when she held them up. Even the air seemed to be purple.

"Mbuya!" she shouted. "MBUYA! Come and see!"

Mbuya came out slowly, tying her headscarf, and stood beside her in the gateway.

"There," she said. "That is why they say Harare is pretty."

They walked to school the long way, under the flowers, and Rudo's shoes made a soft sound in the fallen petals. Mbuya told her that the jacarandas had come to the city from far away in South America more than a hundred years ago, and that some of the oldest trees in town stood along Julius Nyerere Way, near the big park, and that every single October since before Mbuya was born, the city had gone purple like this, and every single year people acted surprised.

"Why are they surprised, if it happens every year?"

"Because waiting is hard, and people forget," said Mbuya. "That is why we need children. You remember for us."

A flower does not hurry, and it is never late.

Moral: Good things come in their own season. Waiting properly is not just sitting still; it is paying attention, so that you are ready when the good thing arrives.

Original story for AllAboutAfrica. The jacarandas of Harare really do flower purple every October and November. Ask your child: what are you waiting for right now, and how could you wait properly?