Cresencia Marjorie Chiremba

Two weeks ago I was on here complaining about bottles. The kind that arrive at shops already looking tired. Caps cracked, labels peeling, like they’d given up before they even got to the shelf.
Today I want to tell a different story.

Last Thursday I ducked into a tuckshop in my hood. Just needed beans. Nothing special. I grabbed the usual brand. The one that starts with O. You know them.

They’re the ones we grew up on. Cooking oil in those big metal containers. Margarine wrapped in special branded papers.

These days even the margarine comes in those clean plastic tubs. Easier to wash, easier to store. That change alone told me the company was listening.

I didn’t expect anything from the beans. A tin is a tin, right? But when I got home and opened it, I stopped. There was a small plastic lid clipped on top. And under the label, tucked neatly, was a disposable spoon.

That was it. A lid and a spoon.
And yet I stood in the kitchen for a good 30 seconds just looking at it.

It took me back to boarding school
We had a matron and a boarding master who ran a tight ship. Food rules were serious. Rule number one about tins: “Once you open it, empty it immediately. Don’t leave food in the tin. It contaminates.”

That lesson stuck. For years I’ve opened a tin and poured everything out, even if I only wanted 4 spoonfuls. Then I’d wash the empty tin and throw it away. Wasteful, but I didn’t know what else to do. This tin fixed that old problem. You open it, take what you need, and snap the lid back on.

You can put it back in the cupboard, or in your bag, and not worry about leaks or ants.

For someone who is always on the go, that’s not small. That’s useful.
And the spoon. Look, I know. It’s more single-use plastic. In Harare we already have enough of that in the drains and bins.

But also be real with me. How many times have you bought lunch and had nothing to eat it with? On a kombi, at your desk, at a bus rank. You end up using a pen, or your fingers, or you just don’t eat.

This spoon meant I could sit on a bench and eat properly. Clean. No drama.
It’s convenience and hygiene in one.
Packaging is where companies talk to us

We don’t talk about it enough, but packaging is the last handshake between a maker and a buyer. Too often it feels like an afterthought. A cost to cut. We get dented tins, weak caps, products that look old before we even buy them.

This felt different. The lid was sturdy. It clicked shut properly. The spoon wasn’t just thrown in — it was tucked in so it wouldn’t fall out.

Those are small engineering choices. But they tell me someone thought about real life. About a parent packing lunch for a child. About a commuter who won’t finish the whole tin. About someone who doesn’t want to transfer beans into another container and create more dishes.

There are real benefits too. A resealable lid means less waste. I didn’t have to throw away half the tin. It means fewer spills in a bag. It means food isn’t sitting open, collecting dust or flies.

The spoon, while plastic, also means you’re not using a dirty fork from who-knows-where. In public places that matters.

What this says about the O brand
This is the same company that started with oil in metal drums. The same one that moved margarine into plastic tubs because they were cleaner and customers asked for it.

Expanding from oil and margarine into foods like beans is not easy. We remember brands for the first thing they gave us. If the new product feels cheap, we lose trust.
So when they put effort into the tin, it sends a message. “We’re still here. We’re still watching how you live.

“They didn’t reinvent the tin. They just made it make sense for 2026. That’s how you carry trust into new products. Not with big adverts. With details.

3 QUICK THOUGHTS
To manufacturers: Invest in packaging that solves problems. That lid probably costs a few cents. But it bought my loyalty. I’ve told 3 people this week. That’s word of mouth you can’t buy.
To retailers and tuckshop owners: Notice these things and point them out. “This one has a lid, baba.” You’re not just selling beans. You’re helping a customer make a better choice. That builds loyalty for you and the brand.

To us customers: Speak up. If you like it, send a message or comment. If you hate the plastic spoon, say that too. Companies only keep doing good things if they hear us clapping — or complaining.

But let’s talk about the trade-off
I can’t ignore it. The spoon is single-use plastic. We need to do better.

Ideally it would be wooden, or compostable, or made from something that breaks down. The lid too — can we make it from less plastic? Can we design it so it fits other tins? Innovation can’t just be “more convenient.” It has to be “more convenient and less harmful.”

That’s the next step, and I hope the O brand is already working on it.
Why I’m still thinking about it
What got me wasn’t the invention. It was how _seen_ I felt.

We buy the same things every month. We expect the same experience. So when a brand changes one tiny thing to make my day 2% easier, I notice.
Good design is invisible until it’s missing.

When a cap is weak, you’re angry all day. When a tin leaks in your bag, you remember it for weeks. When it works, you just move on with your day.

A LID.A SPOON
Not headline news. Not a revolution. Just a small, human gesture that said: “We thought about you.” I walked out of that tuckshop with beans.

And I walked out with a bit more faith in products.

Nowadays everything feels rushed and cheap, that kind of modest, practical improvement is worth celebrating.

Small acts of care matter. They’re what build trust over time.

***Cresencia Marjorie Chiremba is a Marketing, Sales & Customer Service Consultant. For suggestions and training, contact her at [email protected] or
+263 712 979 461 / 0719 978 335 / 0772 978 335.