Verdict one: The government itself is not actively driving for plastic money. What hope for Mangudya, when even the government itself has no interest in plastic money?
So, leaving CVR, it was off to the bank. Lucky break, the bank was giving out $500 to each customer. It came in $5 notes, but these are hard times. One has to be grateful even for this grubby wad of grubby notes. Seconds later, the SMS buzzes: I have just been charged $7.50 for that withdrawal.
That is like 15 kombi fares, two working weeks’ worth of kombi fare! Eight loaves of bread. Seven-and-a-half Chibiku Supas. It is a real fortune.
With banks limiting lending, their core business, they are relying more and more on fees and charges to grow revenue. The non-interest income column on bank earnings report is fatter than their interest income column.
Verdict two: High bank charges, another reason why Mangudya’s cashless future is still light years away. How ready are banks to lower their charges when they have become their biggest earner?
And soon I am driving back to the office and I am low on fuel. At Total Avondale, I ask again: “Do you have a swipe machine here?” No, the guy says, just our Total top up cards. I stop at three more service stations, Puma, Zuva, and another Total. No cards. At the fourth, Engen in the CBD, I finally give up and part with some of my precious $5 notes for diesel.
Verdict three: Most petrol stations prefer their own top-up cards, not bank cards. Kombi crews, who have a big say in what financial product works or fails, would never have the patience. They use cash, which is while mobile money for commuter fares didn’t fly.
Days later, after a few rounds at the pub, we asked for the swipe machine. The first one didn’t work, returning some error code. The second one did, to cheers all round. A friend tried his mobile money cash card, and it was offline.
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