Mophane worm: the unofficial SADC currency
Exactly five years ago, a middle aged man from the remote iKalanga village of Changate made The Voice’s front page for torching three huts, in an inferno that caused damage worth over P25, 000.
The 34-year old Richard Toteng’s fury was triggered by a chicken that had feasted on the mophane worms he had left in the sun to dry. It’d be the chicken’s last meal.
Furious at missing out on his tasty treat, Toteng is said to have ripped off the unfortunate bird’s head before flinging the trembling carcass into a nearby bush. (Mophane worms, headless chickens and burnt huts – 12 April 2020).
But just how much is this worm worth? How far can a man go for this protein rich snack?
While burning down a house and decapitating a live chicken certainly seems a little extreme, the value of this precious worm is in full view roughly 120km out of Francistown.
Between the villages of Moreomabele and Topisi, along the A1 road, a long standing tradition and economic activity is in full swing. The bush has been turned into a vibrant township, as hundreds of mophane worm harvesters from all corners of the country gather for a bountiful harvest.
In a race against time – the nutritious caterpillar has to be collected before it pupates – harvesters have set up camps alongside the fire-breaker, or cut-line as they’re referred to.
It is here that business is booming.
The in-demand snack has even attracted traders from as far as South Africa and Zimbabwe, who have been spotted shipping tonnes of the dried worms in 50kg bags across the border.
With a 20l bucket fetching at least P500, and between P1, 200 and P2, 000 for a 50kg bag, the harvesters are making a killing.
The plentiful worm has opened many business opportunities for small traders who have set up tuck-shops, boutiques and entertainment centres for the hardworking harvesters.
The common currency in all these businesses is the mophane worm, the old barter system working efficiently in the middle of nowhere.
It’s 0930 in the morning when Joel Boikanyo shuffles across the road towards a makeshift tuck-shop.
In his hand is a carton of Chibuku stuffed with freshly collected pane.
With their guts squeezed out, the wriggling worms are occasionally pushed back into the carton as they attempt to escape.
“A loaf of bread please,” blurts Boikanyo by way of greeting.
With practiced hands, the trader takes the carton and dumps the worms into a nearby bucket, her safe deposit used to collect all the day’s proceeds.
She then gives her customer the sliced bread.
“How much is peanut butter?” he inquires.
“Three cartons,” replies the trader.
The customer’s focus shifts to a bundle of second hand clothing spread out on a mat.
“One item, one carton” the trader intervenes before he can ask.
He then grabs the peanut butter and marches off, with the parting promise, “I’ll pay you in the evening,”
The tuck-shop owner nods as if this is common practice and turns her attention to another customer carrying a five litre container stuffed with dry mophane worms.
She’s here to pay for two pairs of jeans and three plates of food she’d taken the previous day.
There are hundreds of similar transactions happening in this bush on a daily basis.
The worm is a currency used by traders from across the region, and is particularly rife in South Africa, Zambia and Zimbabwe.
“Skgapha-skgapha (carton), ta le itseele dithako batho bame,” another trader selling second hand shoes calls out to the harvesters.
Every morning these people leave their tents to go deep into the bush to collect money, literally hanging from trees.
In the evening they live like kings and queens, trading their loot for life’s guilty pleasures like peanut butter, a pack of cigarettes, and …..would you believe it, an ice cold beer.
Now, if you were a trader in the bush, and a chicken invaded your safe deposit, swallowing all your day’s patiently-picked proceeds, what would you do?
