Chapter 4: Wedding Saga - From Triumph to Meltdown

Oh, let me tell you about my journey from “Who, me? A baker?” to “I’m a baker now” and how my Zimbabwean flair snuck in like that one cousin who always insists on bringing their ‘world-famous’ pot of beans to a family gathering, even though everyone knows it’s just beans and they probably overcooked them. But hey, it’s tradition, right? It all started with a university friend who, seeing me spend far too much time posting my cake creations on social media (don’t judge me, everyone needs a creative outlet), decided I was the one to make cakes for her sister’s wedding. The wedding, mind you. Like, no pressure. The family, clearly under the impression that my Instagram feed was a culinary masterpiece, trusted me to bake. At this point, the only thing I had mastered was making sure my cakes didn’t collapse into themselves like Zimbabwe’s economy. But hey, what’s life without a challenge. Plus, I wasn’t going to charge them like I was some fancy London pâtissier, but chance is a chance, and I wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip by.

Now, this wedding had not one but two ceremonies. You heard me right, two. And yes, you guessed it: both cakes were on me. Let’s talk about pressure. I felt like a harried maid at a Zim wedding trying to keep up with the endless flow of guests coming in, checking for food, checking for drinks, checking for food again (because what’s a Zim wedding without at least five servings of sadza and stew?). They arranged a cake-tasting session, and let me tell you, I was so thrilled I might have done a little jig in the kitchen. But deep down, I knew this was my big break. If I could pull this off, I would be the toast of the Zimbabwean cake scene. Think of it like when you bake bread for the first time and the whole family stands around, silently praying that it won't turn into a stone. When I got the thumbs up on the flavour, I was ready to face my first challenge: The Wedding Cake.

First cake

First Cake: Now, I’d never attempted a tiered cake before. And let’s be honest, I’d barely kept my own kitchen from looking like a mukwidza (Zim word for disaster) when it came to baking. But the client was happy, and I was terrified. My friend helped me with the shopping list, because let’s face it, I was more lost than a tourist trying to find the airport without Google Maps. There I was, buttercream in hand, trying to smooth it out but nope. The frosting smeared like a bad rumour, you know that feeling when you’re trying to make sadza, and its giving mbodza (uncooked), well, this was me with the cake. Bedtime was at 4 a.m., and I had yet to get the cake smooth enough to not look like something I could offer at a roadside market.

Baking Tip: If you’re ever in a bind, too hot to handle - chill the cake. Literally. Put it in the freezer for a quick half hour to firm things up.

Transporting this cake was an adventure in itself. 60 miles, 2 hours, and winding roads, but hey, I got there in one piece and so did the cake, somehow. The moment I arrived, the chef asked, “Are you the baker?” I stood there for a second, thinking maybe this was an elaborate prank. Me? A baker? It felt like when you’ve just come back from Zim and someone asks you how you survived the infamous ZESA load shedding, and you’re like, “Honestly, it’s like we’re playing a game of survival every day!” But I held my head high. “Yes,” I said, my cake was there for everyone to admire. Is this what it feels like to be a true baker?

Second cake

Second Cake: Fast forward to my second cake, and I was feeling confident. You know how in Zimbabwe, after surviving your first round of exam results (even if you only passed the practical portion), you think you're untouchable? Yeah, that was me. Big mistake, because, of course, fate decided to humble me. I had been warned about the summer heat, but I thought, “This is fine, this is my moment.” Ah, naive. Within moments, the cake collapsed, I wanted to cry. The bride’s brother came over with soothing words, "It’s fine, don’t worry." Fine? The cake was more like a puddle than anything.

And then, the sweetest thing happened. The bride called me a few days later to thank me for the cakes. “It was perfect,” she said. And I swear, in that moment, my heart swelled. This wasn’t just about the cakes anymore. It was about the story, the hustle, and the fact that no matter how bad things get, we keep going.

You know, life’s a lot like making a cake. Sometimes the recipe doesn’t go as planned, the heat’s too much, and the layers start to crumble. But in the end, we learn, we grow, and we rise. Just like dough. From Zimbabwe to YouTube, I’m still learning, still baking, and most importantly, still laughing at the fact that, even when everything goes wrong, you get up, dust yourself off, and serve it up like it’s exactly what you meant to do.

And as they say in Zimbabwe: "Tora mhiko, endai kumusha." (Take a deep breath, go home, and try again.) Because, truly, that’s the spirit of resilience.

And my cakes may not be perfect, but they have a story, just like Zimbabwe itself.