A decade ago, Tshephiso Marumo faced widespread condemnation for her decision to sell corn door-to-door, despite holding an honors degree from a university in her native Botswana. This profession was often stigmatized in the southern African nation, seen as menial labor unfit for an educated individual with journalistic aspirations.
Her former professor, deeply disappointed, mockingly bestowed upon her the nickname Mmammidi, a Setswana term that loosely translates to ‘Corn Lady.’
At 33, Ms. Marumo famously ignored the detractors. Her unassuming start has since blossomed into a celebrated success story across Botswana, a true testament to her triumph and inspiring spirit. She now operates two highly successful roadside food stalls in Gaborone, the capital, delighting customers with traditional village cuisine rarely found in urban centers.
Her innovative approach has transformed the perception of roadside food vending, making it a trendy pursuit. This success has garnered her a massive social media following and attracted a diverse clientele, from politicians and musicians to prominent influencers.
Video: See traditional Botswanan dishes being prepared with care in Tshephiso Marumo’s backyard.
However, the very traits that fueled Ms. Marumo’s ascent—her unwavering persistence, frankness, and stubborn resolve—have also contributed to her polarizing public image. With growing prominence, she has become an increasingly vocal online commentator on sensitive subjects, including parenting and drug addiction, leading some to label her a social media bully.
On Facebook, one of Botswana’s leading social media platforms, Ms. Marumo commands a following of over 240,000—a staggering number equivalent to nearly 10 percent of the nation’s population. She proudly named her business ‘Mmammidi,’ embracing her old professor’s moniker, and emblazoned it across her company’s T-shirts, aprons, and even two vehicles.
“Many things I’ve accomplished have never quite given me a brand, a name, or a distinct identity,” she reflected. “But through selling corn, I found my identity.”
Ms. Marumo often remarks that she courted controversy from birth; her mother’s teenage pregnancy caused significant family discord.
Her upbringing involved moving between Gaborone, where her mother served as a police officer, and Kalamare, a village three hours distant where she resided with her grandmother. Her grandmother operated an illicit tavern from their home, a practice generally disapproved of in the community.
Despite this, Ms. Marumo maintains she felt no shame, emphasizing that she was always well cared for. Her grandmother instilled in her a love for cooking, an interest that deepened when she later studied home economics.
Image: Tshephiso Marumo expertly prepares traditional dishes like ‘seswaa’ (shredded beef) and ‘bogobe jwa lerotse’ (a thick porridge of sorghum and melon juice).
Following her success with corn sales, Ms. Marumo launched her cooking enterprise. She began by hosting dinners at her home, preparing Tswana cuisine in the authentic manner—using three-legged cast iron pots over a wood fire. The dishes are primarily seasoned with just salt and natural fats, a traditional method designed to enhance the inherent flavors of the meats, starches, and vegetables.
Her home dinners rapidly gained such popularity that in late 2019, she transformed a neglected field at a bustling intersection near her house into her inaugural food stall. Situated on a street corner adjacent to Gaborone’s central business district, Ms. Marumo’s venture offered a refreshing alternative to the prevalent Westernized, spice-heavy offerings of chain restaurants, quickly becoming a local favorite.
“I am deeply passionate about my heritage, my origins, and the foods my ancestors enjoyed,” shared 37-year-old Orebotse Makgolo, visibly pleased after her first meal at Ms. Marumo’s stall. “We often consume so much Western food, so it’s wonderfully refreshing to reconnect with our local culinary roots.”
By January, Ms. Marumo had successfully launched a second food stall. Both establishments are simple wooden structures with flat, tin-sheet roofs, located on unpaved lots. Her team has grown to 11 employees, who gather at her humble bungalow each morning at 6 AM. There, under a backyard shelter, they ignite fires for approximately 30 pots, meticulously preparing the day’s menu amidst a haze of heat and cooking smoke.
On a recent day, this culinary effort yielded a diverse spread, featuring a shredded beef dish known as seswaa, a variant with tripe called mokoto, and bogobe jwa lerotse, a hearty porridge made from sorghum and melon juice.
Two years prior, Ms. Marumo embarked on a new endeavor, hosting the inaugural event of what she envisioned as an annual series of women’s empowerment seminars.
However, her contentious online persona has led many to question her genuine commitment as a women’s advocate.
Through social media, she has openly criticized certain parenting styles and even challenged individuals’ decisions to have children. In response, online critics have subjected Ms. Marumo to personal attacks regarding her physique and dismissed her food as ‘soily,’ implying a taste of dirt.
Thato San, a Botswanan beauty brand owner, recounted her shock last year when Ms. Marumo publicly implied her involvement in the drug addiction of a recently deceased rapper, a close friend. This accusation came just months after Ms. San herself had nominated Ms. Marumo for an award at a Women’s Month brunch.
“It was truly disappointing because I had admired her,” Ms. San stated. “Many would describe her social media presence as overwhelmingly negative.”
Ms. Marumo contends that her intentions are frequently misconstrued and her statements distorted. She believes her success has fueled resentment, empowering others to unleash unbridled criticism against her.
Driven by her own journey of overcoming skeptics, she feels a strong obligation to address women’s issues. Mothers frequently reach out to her seeking advice for their children, and her volunteer work and fundraising efforts for an orphanage have, she says, cultivated a profound maternal instinct, despite not having children of her own.
“I am a public figure, yet I remain human,” she asserted. “I demand my freedom, my right to express myself.”
Image: Customers enjoying lunch at one of Ms. Marumo’s popular food stalls. Her culinary business flourished after her initial success selling corn.
Benah Sekgabo, who studied alongside Ms. Marumo in 2011, recalls that she has always followed her own path. Ms. Marumo sported distinctive hairstyles and crafted her own footwear, jewelry, and clothing, asserting that she refused to conform by purchasing mass-produced items like her peers.
Despite the online controversies, her business appears unaffected. For many, Ms. Marumo’s bold demeanor is precisely what makes her so captivating.
“She radiates confidence,” commented Losika Mooketsi, a 20-year-old accounting student savoring a plate of Ms. Marumo’s stewed meat. “She simply doesn’t allow negativity to impact her. People may spread rumors, but she remains unfazed.”
Yet, beneath her tough exterior, Ms. Marumo admits that the relentless criticism takes an emotional toll. Each morning, she begins her day by reading the Bible and jotting down uplifting messages on sticky notes, which now form a vibrant collage on her bedroom door.
One such note reads, “Pray for those who have caused me pain.”
Another declares, “Thank you God for P1,000,000,” reflecting her ongoing ambition to earn at least a million Pula (approximately $76,000 USD).
A final note, quoting a well-known Psalm, encapsulates her life philosophy: “I will fear no evil.”
Image: Tshephiso Marumo, adorned in her signature dark hat and apron, stands confidently outdoors against a backdrop of lush green trees and a cloudy sky, embodying her spirit of self-expression.