At the end of the third quarter last year, South Africa recorded a high unemployment rate of 27.5%. Townships and informal settlements are at the helm of this problem where the youth lack resources to even apply for jobs.



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A young, unemployed man crosses a busy street on 12th Avenue.



Dragging a greasy trolley filled with trash, he looks at us
blankly as he continues to lug his garbage to the nearest junkyard. 



It is a regular sight and a regular weekday on the streets
of Alexandra, eight kilometers from Africa’s richest square mile, Sandton, in
South Africa.&nbsp; 



Sixteen-seater minibus-taxis dash from corner to corner,
packing their vehicles with enough passengers before making their way out of
the township. 



It is 10.30AM on this sunny Wednesday morning in December. 



The street corners are adorned with colorful tuckshops; they
stand out against the backdrop of the grey homes around them. 



<div class="wp-block-image"><figure class="aligncenter"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="925" height="595" src="https://www.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed1.png" alt="" class="wp-image-39175" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed1.png 925w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed1-300x193.png 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed1-600x386.png 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed1-768x494.png 768w" sizes="auto, (max-width: 925px) 100vw, 925px" /><figcaption>An Alexandra resident collects trash in order to make a living in the over-populated community. Picture: Gypseenia Lion</figcaption></figure></div>



One of the spaza shops is bright blue with light textures of
yellow paint; a man sits behind a mesh by the sales counter. It is almost
impossible to see his face. 



He offers a young man a cigarette via a peep hole through
the mesh. 



Three men gather to smoke the same cigarette before making
their way to the multi-purpose community center on the other side of the road. 



Each carrying a sling bag and an A4 envelope, they disappear
into a building located at the end of a twirling staircase. Young and old
ceaselessly walk in and out.



The yard is filled with a number of service centers: the
local clinic, revenue service offices, the post office, multiple internet shops
and the Youth Advisory Centre (YAC). 



At the end of the hallway, Themba Mafuya sits collecting
dozens of résumés from the eager youth who are desperately in search of
employment.



He gathers the pile of documents and hands it over to his assistant. 



<blockquote class="wp-block-quote is-layout-flow wp-block-quote-is-layout-flow">“People are hungry for jobs,” he says as he looks at the unending stream of visitors walking in and out of the center. </blockquote>



Mafuya’s institution creates a database of unemployed youth
within the community with the sole purpose of&nbsp;
collaborating with companies that are looking to hire. 



By working closely with government, YAC reports to the City
of Johannesburg on the state of unemployment in the community. 



Dressed in casual wear, the 29-year-old has a friendly and
positive approach when he advises potential employees. 



“Go and correct the mistakes on your résumé that I explained
to you. Make sure your documents are certified and bring it to me as soon as
possible. Don’t worry, they will hire you,” he tells a young lady.



With Gauteng province being the economic powerhouse of South
Africa, contributing 35% to the country’s GDP, according to recent figures
released by Stats SA, unemployment remains an area of concern – 29.6% of people
live in the province without jobs. 



But the province is not among the lowest performing in the
country. With an unemployment rate of 36.6%, the Free State has the highest
provincial unemployment rate according to StatsSA, in 2018. 



Limpopo, with a prominent rural population, surprisingly,
has an unemployment rate of 18.9%, making it the lowest in the country. 



Townships in the surrounding areas of Gauteng are still
faced with an influx of challenges relating to unemployment. 



Adding to the lack of jobs, social issues play a big part. 



“We need to start doing follow-ups. Ask how many youth have
been employed? Who are not employed? Why are they not employed? Maybe they do
not have a correct résumé and we need to figure out why the employees do not
choose them,” says Mafuya. 



Just a few streets away is a compound adjacent to a block of
fading pink apartments. 



The yard is divided by a muddy passage with small dwellings
on either side.



A smell lingers far beyond the cracks of the cement block as
two buckets get noisly filled with hot water to clean chicken. 



<figure class="wp-block-image"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="926" height="613" src="https://www.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed4.png" alt="" class="wp-image-39176" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed4.png 926w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed4-300x199.png 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed4-600x397.png 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed4-768x508.png 768w" sizes="auto, (max-width: 926px) 100vw, 926px" /><figcaption>A scene depicting a busy street corner on a late Wednesday morning in Alexandra. Popularly known as Alex, the township has one of the most highest concentrated unemployment rates in Gauteng. Picture: Gypseenia Lion </figcaption></figure>



Alfredah Phuloane introduces herself after she wipes the
chicken remnants off her hands using her multi-colored t-shirt.



With Phuloane is her uncle Velile Ndlovu who is her business
partner.



“As long as I have chicken, they are going. If I have 55,
all of them will be bought. I’ve already sold 25 for the day and we have just
started,” she says.



A helper, who didn’t want to be named, gushes: “I love my
job and I am proud of it.”



She too, like the 27.5% of the South African population who
are unemployed, will celebrate any job that will help them put food on the
table.&nbsp; 



In 2018, StatsSA announced an increase in the unemployment
rate at the end of the third quarter. 



According to the Quarterly Labour Force Survey, there are
16.4 million employed people and 6.2 million unemployed people between the ages
of 15 and 64 years in South Africa.



The latest figures record that the number of unemployed
people in South Africa grew by 127,000 from the 6.08 million in the previous
quarter. 



StatsSA Statistician-General, Risenga Maluleke, says
unemployment, according to the statistics collected, is calculated using the
4&#215;4 rule. 



These are job-seekers in search of employment four days a
week in a four-week period. 



Phuloane, who has been unemployed for three years, took the
iniatitive to start the business when she realized there was a demand for
freshly-slaughtered chicken in her community.&nbsp;




“At the time, when we were slaughtering the chicken for our
own consumption, some people were coming in and asking if we were selling them.
That is when we realized people needed chicken,”&nbsp; Ndlovu laughs. 



Ndlovu leaves the compound at 4.30AM to stand in a long
queue in Linbro Park where he buys the live chickens. 



On his return, at around 7AM, he places the fowl in a
makeshift coop.



With the helper, who earns a sum of money for her
assistance, the trio spend the day processing and packaging chicken for
customers. 



Three years of unemployment led Phuloane, a former domestic
worker, to entrepreneurship.



“If my business does succeed, I want to hire those who do
not have jobs. I want to make their lives simple. They can start their own
businesses then, because you can’t wait for work. There are no jobs now and it
will be difficult,” Phuloane says.



Her uncle on the other hand, who worked as a recycler in a
recycling company, decided to quit his job in late 2018. 



When Ndlovu rejected a job transfer to South Africa’s
capital Pretoria, it suddenly made him one of the thousands without employment.




The formal sector recorded job losses of 65,000 people, and
agriculture lost 1,000 employees in the third quarter of last year.



Without the promise of an increase, had he accepted the job
in Pretoria, Ndlovu’s expenses would have increased by $111 to travel 41
kilometers to the north eastern part of Johannesburg. 



He decided to quit.



“We realized that there is a big opportunity in the
township. We are trying by all means to not rely on anyone. We can take our children
to school. No one will suffer if they think about starting a business,” he
says. 



Social engineer Action Setaka, from the organization
ACTIVATE! Change Drivers (ACD), who advocates for the unemployed, says there is
a copious amount of injustice hampering access to employment.



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It is even worse in the townships. 



ACD is a network of young people interested in driving
change for the public good of the country through innovation and activism. 



For Setaka, unemployment has become a commodity for business
and institutions to exploit those desperately in search of work. 



From the seemlingly endless amount of documentation required
when applying for governmental posts, to the costs of printing and accessing
the internet at internet cafés, money is required.



It does not end there. 



“Transportation costs for traveling to interviews; posting
of résumés cost money, which benefits the internet cafés; data to browse job
opportunities and mobile networks make money out of this. Searching for
employment requires money, yet you find people who claim that our young people
are lazy and, therefore, they are not prepared to find work,” Setaka says.



The dire plight of the jobless youth in Alexandra is not in
isolation.



Similar circumstances reverbarate throughout the townships
of South Africa.



Another township, much like Alexandra, with compounds filled
with shacks, is swarming with people seeking jobs for survival. 



Located in the northern part of Johannesburg, Diepsloot has
the highest concentration of unemployed people in Gauteng. 



This is according to the Gauteng City-Regional Observatory
(GCRO)’s Mapping Unemployment publication, released in August 2018. 



The location, established in 1994, has grown into a
community with a population of more than 160,000 with an estimate of “24,737
shacks alongside more than 5,000 formal housing units, such as RDP
(Reconstruction and Development Programme) houses, self-built houses on
serviced sites, and a small number of bank-financed houses,” as quoted in
Diepsloot, a brochure compiled by the Johannesburg Development Agency. 



Based on the StatsSA 2011 census, the GCRO map shows the
concentration of unemployed people in areas that had rates worse than the
provincial median in 2011.



According to GCRO statistics, “the square kilometer areas
with the highest concentration of unemployed people are observed in townships
such as Alexandra and Diepsloot and contain 4,965 and 8,758 people”.



Diepsloot’s South African Youth Project (SAYP) general
manager, Clifford Legodi, says gaining access to employment for unemployed
youth in townships is harder than it is for youth who grow up in urban regions.
This points to a system exclusion due to the lack of access to resources. 



Thus, the development programs that will meet the demands of
the working environment will, in turn, open up opportunities. 



It starts with breaking norms. 



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“Young black people or previously disadvantaged communities
are still using the traditional method of taking a taxi, printing a résumé or
going to the offices. We felt that it was important to incorporate an online
skills program. You look at their online presence. How they apply for a job
online. Are they actually keeping a good online profile and how to secure
opportunities in time?” Legodi says.



SAYP is a youth development organization aimed at the
empowerment of young people by giving them the skillsets to utilize the
opportunities around them. 



This is done through the ‘Power Through Jobs’ program
offered by the non-profit.



Life skills, work-readiness, and getting a job are some of
the main points of focus for the youth of the township. 



Online job-searching skills have been implemented in order
to keep up with the evolving working environment.



Through encouragement and continuous skills development,
Legodi says the notion of staying in one position will fade away, and the youth
of Diepsloot will aspire to climb the corporate ladder.



“If they can conduct themselves in a professional manner,
they will gain credibility,” he says. 



The population is dominated by black people and for Legodi,
the lack of opportunities within their reach means that those who are able find
employment will have to travel long distances to get to work.



“Diepsloot has its own reputation that is quite limiting for
young people to get opportunities out there. 



“The media also has a bit of an influence, bad news sells. A
lot of the things you see are about the crime, but everyone is treated equally
within the community,” he says. 



“The mistake we have been making in the past when it comes to
addressing unemployment, is that we tried to develop a program that put
everyone in the same box. We tend to forget that people come from different
geographical locations and they are exposed to different lifestyles.” 



Twenty-nine-year-old Thapelo Tau sits in a living room
watching television. 



<figure class="wp-block-image"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="921" height="611" src="https://www.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed2.png" alt="" class="wp-image-39177" srcset="https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed2.png 921w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed2-300x199.png 300w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed2-600x398.png 600w, https://cms.forbesafrica.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/Unemployed2-768x509.png 768w" sizes="auto, (max-width: 921px) 100vw, 921px" /><figcaption>Thapelo Tau of Alexandra. Picture: Gypseenia Lion </figcaption></figure>



It is noon and he is catching up on his favorite shows in
the home he shares with his mother and two sisters.



“I have been unemployed for five or six years. It has been
difficult to look for work. Many people here give up and they just sit at home
and watch television,” he says. 



He spends most of his time on his phone and reading.



“You may take your documents to look for work, but when you
leave, they tear it up. We just give up because there is nothing we can do. I
have an uncle who has been looking for work for a long time. He just stopped
looking,” Tau says. 



When approached for comment, the uncle dismisses the
interview in vernacular. 



“We are looking for work. We can’t even speak English,” he
says. 



English is widely considered the language of access in this
nation where there are 11 official langages. Those who can’t speak the language
are almost always immediately excluded from public participation.



“The problem that we have seen with people from townships is
self-confidence. They get afraid when they have to leave their comfort space.
They then need to present themselves in a different way, they have to adjust to
a different lifestyle to showcase an approach,” says Legodi. 



Afri-Berry founder and director, Relobohile Moeng, says the language barrier is one of the biggest challenges for the youth in the townships. Going the extra mile for an intern who lacked verbal communication skills, she offered mentorship and guidance. “The confidence part I had to build in, as her mentor,” attests Moeng. 



Townships have the undying potential to contribute greatly to the country’s aggregate economic growth; this can be achieved only if the high populations are granted the opportunity to play their part in the economy. Alexandra and Diepsloot are testament to the facts. 



In the interim, Ndlovu, much like the rest of the unemployed population, strives against all odds, hoping against hope to continue to put food on his own table whilst feeding his community.

Unemployed3

IN PICTURES | The Occupation Of Unemployment In South Africa

As soon as I heard of my aunt’s death, I knew straight away that I had to make a plan to fill my petrol tank and attend the funeral. I hadn’t seen her in months and felt bad about not getting her the mobile phone I had promised her months earlier. Guilt was flowing through my body with the blood pumped by my hurting heart.
Back to the tank issue – I was broke and could barely afford to get enough petrol to drive 175kms to Ledig, in the North West province. After fetching my uncle in Midrand, north of Johannesburg, and with just a 1.5-liter bottle of Valpre water in the car, we began our journey.
Fifty kilometers into our trip, we drove through Hartbeespoort, a scenic holiday spot in the North West known for its dam. We were stunned to see the narrow bridge in the area; it was like being in a different country for the first time, looking at everything with a new eye. It looked like one of those bridges from the movies depicting ancient Europe. It was beautiful.
We didn’t have time to stop and take pictures; it was 6:15PM and we didn’t want to drive in the rain, especially as it was getting dark.
After driving past the Sun City resort, we knew we had arrived. Far from home, our Tswana dialect wouldn’t go unnoticed by locals; they would know we were from Johannesburg.
At Ledig, we were greeted by three men who were expecting us. I was interested in learning more about the guy wearing the white Marikana mine overall with an X marked at the back. He was loud and funny, but also useful. He helped carry the chairs and tables from the van to the house.
The only thing I found out about the guy is his age, his jokes and that he is known in the area for his pantsula (a culture originating from black townships during apartheid) dress sense. He also wants to go to Johannesburg; a common desire among many youths in the area.
On Saturday, the day of the funeral, I couldn’t hear a word at the service. What was strange was seeing people waiting at the graveyard for the burial. Even stranger, men were not allowed into the graveyard if they weren’t wearing a jacket; to be fair my parents had warned me about that.
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At most black funerals, there is a culture that has evolved over the last couple of years where music is played and alcohol is consumed after the burial. It is called ‘after tears’ and is done as a celebration of life for the deceased.
This ‘after tears’ ceremony in the rural area of Ledig was no different from the one we have in the townships, where I live.
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It is now Sunday morning and I have just enough petrol to get us back home to Soweto. It wasn’t the most pleasant drive back to Johannesburg because we had nothing to nibble on, nor drink. Just a dry mouth, a hangover, and a dirty car.
Finally, we get home. I freshen up while my uncle heads to bed. I was tired but felt it was important to go to church with a friend after what was a sad weekend.
I never heard the sermon – I was too tired. Instead I took my shoes and socks off, rested in the car and passed out. I was woken by a knock on the window; my friend told me I embarrassed her because people saw me sleeping in the car outside church.
I didn’t care – I had rested and was officially back in Johannesburg.

SIA-795

The Sad Road Trip On An Empty Wallet

For 96 years, Richard Maponya has been battering down barriers of prejudice and proving that a black man can do anything.
His journey began in the dusty streets of Lenyenye, a township in the Limpopo province of northern South Africa, where he was born. He moved to Polokwane, where missionaries trained him as a teacher. With a qualification under his belt, he moved to Johannesburg, in 1948, in search of a teaching post and greener pastures. This was during the early days of apartheid and it wasn’t easy for a black man to do anything.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-4578" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/001-200x300.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="300" />
“Back in those days, you had to register your presence if you moved to a new area. I had moved to Alexandra township and I went to the pass office to register,” says Maponya.
There, he found an Afrikaner man looking for people to work at his potato farm in Delmas, 65 kilometers north east of Johannesburg. Little did he know he was going out of the frying pan into the fire.
“He asked for my documents, looked at my pass and all my documents and said ‘this boy would fit in well with the group I am looking for’. I told him I was there to just register in the new area but he took my pass, paged it and he spoke in Afrikaans with another gentlemen with him and said ‘this man is 28 years old’… He took my pass and altered my birth year from 1920 to 1926. He also took my birth certificate and never brought it back to me. I think he wanted a group of people who were about 20 to 22 years old or so.”
On that day, Maponya lost his identity forever.
“I have employed lawyers to fix that but even in the archives of our government, they don’t have any records, so I walk as a man everyone thinks was born in 1926 yet I was born in 1920. This is one thing I never talk about, you are the first journalist I’ve ever disclosed this to,” he says as he reveals the pain of his past.
Like the bags of potatoes they were going to carry, Maponya and a group of young black men were loaded in a truck and taken to the fields to work.
“During those days, black people were terribly ill-treated. We had no rights whatsoever; I was lucky my uncle worked for a liberal Englishman who rescued me from being abused while digging and loading potatoes. They gave me a small job of washing dishes and my uncle’s boss came to pick me up a week later… I stayed with him for a few days and then went back to Alexandra.”
As we meet, 69 years later, Maponya has swapped his matchbox room in Alexandra for five mansions in Africa’s richest square mile, Sandton. When we compliment his beautiful Victorian-style home, he says, “Have you ever been to my other homes?”
It is hard work, smart decisions and some laughs, like this, that have helped him make millions. Even though he is suffering from flu, he talks to us.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-4575" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/Dr-Richard-Maponya-Tata-Nelson-Mandela-Ms-Nomvula-Mokonyane-218x300.jpg" alt="" width="218" height="300" />
Maponya’s journey into entrepreneurship began 70 years ago when South Africa was no country for budding black entrepreneurs. The tough times steeled him for his long journey to become a legendary businessman.
Rattling along in the back of the potato truck, he never thought of a life in retail but then came an interview for a job in a department store.
“They were offering me more money than a teaching post would and the gentleman who interviewed me liked me from the word go,” he says.
Even more money was coming his way. Within months, he was promoted to a fashion buyer for the store. His boss, Mr Bolton, a kind and intelligent businessman, he says, taught him about fabrics, how to select clothes, and customer service. The two worked hand-in-glove for three years; turnover increased and Bolton was promoted to CEO of the group in 1951. Maponya thought he had struck gold.
“When he got promoted, he called me to his office and thanked me for helping him reach that point. He said ‘unfortunately I can’t promote you because you have a ceiling over your head, you cannot oversee white people. All I can do is maybe make you baas boy but that doesn’t really help you with anything,’” says Maponya.
The dapper looking 31-year-old Maponya nodded his head and muttered a courteous response, expecting little else to follow.
“I was very surprised because Mr Bolton continued to speak. He said ‘I am going to let you buy clothing samples here so that you can sell them after hours and on weekends so you can make a bit of money’.”
And he did. Before long, Maponya began to recognize the budding businessman in himself. His after hours hustle paid off.
“I realized people didn’t have money to buy upfront and I started a wear and pay system and it worked so well. People would take clothes and pay for them at month end and I was making a lot of money,” he says.
After a year of good business, Bolton was diagnosed with a brain tumour and was forced to retire. With him, he took Maponya’s business.
“The person who took over from him didn’t want to hear anything about it. He redirected the stock they gave me and gave it to Indian hawkers.”
It was a blessing in disguise. Maponya was angry. To be big, Maponya thought he had to risk big. He resigned from his job to pursue the uncertain world of entrepreneurship. He started buying clothing from wholesalers. The business flourished.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-4576" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/Dr-Maponya-his-late-wife-Ms-Marina-Maponya-218x300.jpg" alt="" width="218" height="300" />
Maponya applied for a trading license for a shop in one of South Africa’s biggest townships, Soweto, but was turned down. He went to Mandela and Tambo, a law firm run by South Africa’s struggle heroes Nelson Mandela and Oliver Tambo. At the time, it was the only black-owned law firm in the country.
“Nelson was still a very powerful speaker. He was so powerful that, I would say, he could say to a mountain, move and it would move. They fought for my license but we didn’t succeed in getting a clothing store. But, they got me a license to trade daily necessities,” says Maponya.
At the time, there was no milk delivery in Soweto. There was also no electricity for fridges, so people bought milk for the day. Maponya saw a gap.
“I was shocked. People ate breakfast with milk everyday but had no place to buy close to them. I opened a little dairy there. I started with 10 boys cycling the neighborhood on bicycles everyday selling milk, cash, door to door.”
It was from these humble beginnings that his empire grew. The business moved extremely fast from 10 to 100 men cycling and selling for him; then, big business woke up.
“Clover saw the potential of selling milk in the townships and they started coming with big trucks to sell. They took the bulk of my clients and I realized I couldn’t compete with them,” says Maponya.
With the wisdom of knowing when to let go, Maponya gave up the milk-selling business for Maponya’s Supply Stores, a backstreet store that grew into a massive retail empire that was to make him a household name.
“I started with a butchery, then a fruit and vegetable store, and then a grocery store with two tables inside where we sold cooked food,” he says.
Maponya’s Supply Stores expanded across Soweto.  Growth meant problems.
“I struggled with getting the right people to manage the stores. The only stores where people were making profit are the ones where my wife and I were operating. The other stores would break even or run at a loss.”
It became frustrating, again, he knew he had to let go.
He closed the stores he and his wife couldn’t manage. This encouraged him to look for other opportunities. There was a long list because there were no services in the township. So, he built Mountain Motors, the second black-owned garage in Soweto.
“It surprised everybody. Some say it was the biggest in the southern hemisphere. We were selling petrol in an unbelievable manner. We were getting support from every black person in Soweto. We were selling over a million liters per month,” he says with a smile.
Mountain Motors became the first black-owned garage to have a motor vehicle dealership. Like all his other businesses, it took off.
“Later on, I was invited by BMW to take over a dealership in Soweto. That made history. I would get orders from people from America. It was history that a black man would sell cars those days… I would get an allocation of about 30 cars per month and I would sell all of them in a week… I would borrow cars from other dealers and sell three times my allocation per month,” he says.
It meant, when new stock arrived, he would return the cars he borrowed and would spend two months without stock. He tried and failed to get his allocation of cars increased. Paying staff, when there were no cars to sell, was hard.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-4577" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/Dr-Maponya-Opening-of-Soweto-Toyota-218x300.jpg" alt="" width="218" height="300" />
“As an entrepreneur, you should always know when you have made money and the business won’t be worth your energy anymore. It doesn’t mean it has failed, it means you have dug everything you can from it and it is time for something new that may make you more money,” says Maponya.
Again, following his own advice, he closed down the motor business and went on the hunt for a new venture. It ushered in some of his worst days in business.
“I applied for a casino license. I qualified for everything they required [besides the skin color] because it was still during apartheid. When we went for an interview, they asked me if I have R10 million, a lot of money at the time, and I told them I don’t have it in my pocket but I can make means… they said its either you give it now or lose the license… the licence was awarded to white brothers. This is a frustrating and terrible thing I chased and never succeeded.”
As painful as it was, Maponya used his canny and shrewd characteristics to go after his lifelong dream – a world-class shopping mall in the heart of Soweto. It took him 27 years of sweat, court applications and fundraising.
“You won’t believe it if I tell you I started building it on the 28th year… I even went to Parliament to make a presentation but I kept being turned down… They said the people of Soweto would never support a mall in Soweto because they want to shop in the city where there are brighter lights and I told them it’s not true… I have been fighting and fighting but I said as long as they don’t put a bullet on my forehead I won’t stop,” he says closing his eyes to emphasize his point.
In 1979, Maponya acquired land for the mall, in Soweto, on  a 100-year lease and, in 1994, the year South Africa got its independence, after several attempts, he acquired it outright. But the battle was only just beginning.
Various attempts to finance construction failed, until Maponya’s holding company entered into a joint venture with Zenprop Property Holdings. The sweat and pain paid off and on September 27, 2007, Nelson Mandela, the man who had been in prison for as long as it took Maponya to build the mall, cut the red ribbon to open Maponya Mall.
“It was the highlight of my entire life. It was a tough exercise to get money. I could have met about half of that but I needed help. To see this come to life made all the pain I have ever gone through in business worth it,” he says.
Today, the R650-million ($48.7-million) mall has more than 200 stores and a cinema; it is also one of the largest shopping centers in South Africa and one of the growing Johannesburg attractions.
“I am very proud of the mall. It can stand anywhere in the world and compete. I am proud I have built something for the people of Soweto because I have always wanted it to be an economic hub.”
A world-class mall was not the end, merely a milestone. The Maponya Group is also in the poultry industry. They count Pick n Pay and 24 hospitals, in Gauteng, the province of Johannesburg, among their customers for eggs. They also grow vegetables.
Maponya still has filling stations. He also intends to build another mall in Soweto. Maponya Group’s ventures also include property development, horse racing, retail, automotive sales and liquor.
“I wasn’t born to be an entrepreneur, I learned to be one. I don’t think anyone is born to be an entrepreneur, you learn. I looked at the young boys of my age, when I was young, managing their father’s businesses and I had to go and say ‘baas’ to small boys like that? No, I was not going to allow it. I told myself I am going to create a business for myself and also create jobs like they do,” says Maponya.
While this unfair advantage inspired him, he was also inspired by many black small businessmen; among them was the late Richard Baloyi.
“When I was staying in Alexandra, Baloyi was the only richest black man I had ever known. He owned buses. That man inspired me, he was my role model. When I looked at him, I said ‘I want to be rich like that man, one day I will be richer than that man and indeed I did it. If he was still alive, he would shake my hand and say ‘boy you have done it’.”
Maponya’s success has earned him many friends. Apart from being married to Mandela’s cousin, Marina, he calls Mandela, his lawyer back in the early 1950s, his greatest friend.
“Mandela asked me to pick him up at the airport when he was released from prison because he knew I owned a car dealership. I picked him up at the airport and that was the most frightening time of my life. We were chased by people on foot, helicopters, motorbikes and cars. Everyone just wanted to touch Mandela. They could kill him just trying to touch him,” he says.
According to Maponya, Mandela was scheduled to sleep at one of Maponya’s houses in Sandton but there wasn’t enough security. They booked a place to sleep for the night. He says the most frightening part was when he drove Mandela to FNB Stadium, in Soweto, the next day. People were streaming from all areas for a chance to meet him. The stadium was packed.
“We managed to go in but coming out was a nightmare. There were more people outside than inside. We realized they will squash us and never allow the car to move.”
Mandela was picked up by a helicopter bound for Orlando Stadium, where there was another crowd waiting.
“When we were on our way to Orlando Stadium, we could see all the people from FNB Stadium running to Orlando Stadium.”
“I drove him after that to a few meetings but I realized I can’t cope with his schedule… I gave him a BMW 7 Series as a gift and a driver who drove Mandela from that time until he died,” he says.
To top that, Maponya has dined with the Queen and calls Bill Clinton and the Oppenheimers friends.
At this time of his life, Maponya has a lot to be proud of but still has more up his sleeve.
“I am 96 years old now and I am not going to retire. The day I retire would be the day you say to me ‘lala kahle’ (rest in peace), then that would be my retirement. I would know I have done my piece. People who retire are lazy people. You retire and do what? Bask in the sun? I am not that type of a man,” he says.
Mentoring young people is a big part of Maponya’s life. Monalisa Sam says she was lucky to be mentored by Maponya. The two crossed paths when Sam was a general manager for Maponya Mall Property Trust in 2007. A friendship was forged in the two years she worked there, before she left to co-found Tungwa Retail Holdings in 2011, a company run by black women.
“Mr Maponya has been such a big part of my journey. I think he is probably one of the most underrated elders in business in the sense that young people don’t know the lessons they can learn from him. There is so much pressure on achievement and success that we forget to build a legacy which is what Maponya did. His life story is so important for young people in business,” says Sam.
You have to admire Maponya for doing what many can’t. He could have chosen the easier path instead of pushing his way into business in a white man’s world. Easier still would have been to stick with what he was trained to do – and teach.
Maponya has been the first in many things, but this is not the last we will hear of him.

‘As Long As They Don’t Put A Bullet On My Forehead  I Won’t Stop’

This zinc enclosure, hidden between two shacks in a South African township, is a hot little corner of hell. The dog inside, a powerful pit bull, cowers as the door is broken open and the torches of the raid team shine on him. He’s one of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of dogs kept in hiding, chained and neglected, to serve an explosion of dog fighting across the country.
It’s a crime which occurs far from middle-class homes and businesses – yet it serves as both an indicator and predictor of crime that looms over them. Where dog fighting flourishes, drugs, gambling, organized crime, thievery, assault and murder march in lockstep.
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“Dog fighters are violent criminals that engage in a whole host of peripheral criminal activities. Many are heavily involved in organized crime, racketeering, drug distribution, or gangs, and they arrange and attend the fights as a forum for gambling and drug trafficking,” wrote Hannah Gibson, in a study published by the College of Law of Michigan State University in 2005.
But why has this crime taken off in South Africa?
Twenty years ago, in a Gauteng study of complaints registered at major branches of the SPCA (the local arm of the animal welfare organization NSPCA), dog fighting didn’t even feature, says Wendy Willson, Manager of NSPCA’s Special Investigations Unit – there was just one report where two dogs jumped their walls and mixed it up. But “in the 2014-2015 statistics, there were over 1,290 reports of dog fighting to the NSPCA.”
These ballooning stats are just the tip of the iceberg; dog fighting has almost no recognition among the public and police in South Africa. Most people have no idea that it is a crime and police have been known to laugh in disbelief when animal welfare organizations report incidents.
The same applies to the rest of Africa. Dog fighting as a crime is almost unheard of, although it has leaked out into surrounding Southern African Development Community (SADC) countries, such as Namibia, to a limited extent. But the SPCA in Kenya, for example, says there is no dog fighting there, while Uganda’s SPCA “suspected but could not confirm” some isolated incidents.
However, Amina Abaza, Chair of the Society for the Protection of Animal Rights in Egypt (SPARE), says dog fighting is an issue in Egypt.
“It is becoming more and more popular, especially in the lower class of the society,” she says.
In Egypt, it’s not yet against the law and videos of fights are often posted online. People import dogs from Eastern Europe.
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“Each litter will bring them money,” says Abaza.
“It’s a symptom of an economic time and of a defiant and desperate youth,” says Willson.
Dog fighting occurs worldwide, especially where young men have little prospects and feel emasculated, as shown in a 2008 study of dog fighting among low-income youth in London. But, in South Africa, it has an added layer of ferocity and is largely driven by bloodlust, says Willson.
It’s a perfect vicious circle: exposure to dog fighting at a young age reduces empathy. Older boys and young men maintain the circle by inducting a new generation of children into this secretive world.
In Duduza, a township east of Johannesburg, the NSPCA were approached by a school concerned at the behavior of about 20 pupils, who were mimicking dog fights in the playground – biting, growling and attacking each other, and even playing out the mating of dogs. These boys, aged between nine and 13, had been introduced to dog fighting by an older boy or man whom they looked up to. School records show behavior changes over six months: “Elevated aggression levels, bullying and violent outbursts,” says Willson, noting that one child attacked his teacher with a six-inch nail.
In the hyper-stimulating and ‘fraternal’ atmosphere of a dog fight, these boys are exposed to unbelievable brutality. It is an introduction to a network of criminality that drives an inability to understand another’s pain and fear. Often violence becomes part of the thrill.
Fortunately, the criminal justice system and communities are beginning to take this issue seriously. In 1995, an early dog fighting bust netted several people who were fined (the wider group all chipped in to pay the fines). Today, dog fighters go to jail.
The NSPCA Special Investigations Unit gathers evidence patiently, over many months, and keeps the identities of informants safe, to construct a strong case in court. They’ve developed an ability to forensically examine dog carcasses and bones and determine what kind of fighting the dog has been forced into from the lesions on the bones.
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“It’s important that communities, especially parents, understand [that] when their children get involved in dog fighting, they risk criminal records – which means they’ll probably never work,” says Cora Bailey of Community Led Animal Welfare (CLAW), an organization that is trying to educate people on the dangers of dog fighting in townships west of Johannesburg.
“Communities know how dangerous dog fighting is, to them and their children,” says Bailey. “They don’t want this going on next door. They know it ups the violence quotient considerably.”
The violence of dog fighting is not only felt by the dogs, the community is also being hurt, despite being unaware that a cruel blood sport is becoming rampant near their homes.

The Criminal World Of Dog Eat Dog

It’s a Thursday afternoon in November, with the summer sun baking the pavements, and everything in sight. Being a weekday, South Africa’s famous Vilakazi Street, home to two Nobel Peace Prize laureates, in Orlando West, in the historic township of Soweto, is not too busy – there are fewer tourists compared to the usual.
I am looking down the linear street, no more than a kilometer, filled with history, craft and commerce, not to mention an assortment of tourists.
It’s a far cry from the street it was in the apartheid days, days before its most-famous resident, Nelson Mandela, was whisked off to prison for 27 years. His home here, number 8115 or Mandela House, which he said is marked with an ‘X’ in his mental geography, is a museum now, the street’s biggest draw. Mandela had returned to this house when he was released from prison in 1990.
Vilakazi’s other famous resident was Archbishop Desmond Tutu, the Nobel prize-winning social rights activist who also opposed apartheid.
I strap the camera around my neck, put on my sunglasses and become a tourist, walking from one end to the other exploring the street; it almost feels like I am not in Soweto, this is one of Africa’s world-renowned pieces of real estate.
It takes me less than a minute before I see an urban building to my left, The Box Shop, a shop created primarily for locals but with international tourists streaming in and out.
Launched as a fashion store in 2015 employing about 11 staff, it has extended its retail offerings to furniture and food – mouth-watering delicacies such as mogodu (lamb or beef tripe).
Sifiso Moyo, marketing director of The Box Shop, is one of the store’s four founders who decided to open the store on Vilakazi Street.
“It was a combination of things that made us pursue Vilakazi, we looked at the Gauteng government mandate in terms of revitalizing townships, so we looked at how we are going to align ourselves with that strategy and contribute positively to the dream of township revitalization,” says Moyo.
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I walk again for three minutes, and stop, as I see a gentleman with a snake around his neck. I step closer to make sure I am not imagining things.
It is a snake, a real one, a Red Tail Boa. After introducing myself to the gentleman, he directs me to the house to meet his mother, Lindiwe Mngomezulu.
Her business is offering tourists the Soweto Live Snakes Show. The inspiration for it came when she joined a snake club in Edenvale, east of Johannesburg, South Africa.
Her daughter, Lwandle, had forced her mother to part with R5 to see snakes at the Soweto Arts Festival. Curious, Mngomezulu asked how they could join the club. They were told to visit on Saturdays.
“Love. I wouldn’t have them [the snakes] without love. But the business started when my daughter was seven years old, when she first held a snake. As a mother, I gave her support; wherever she wanted to go where there was snakes, I took her, only to find that I have an interest too,” says Mngomezulu.
I am speaking to Mngomezulu in her living room, which is almost like a mini-zoo – to my right is a monkey, behind me, a parrot, and next to her, a hedgehog. I am a little uneasy knowing there are pythons in the next room, which was once one of the bedrooms in the small home.
The mother and daughter started volunteering at the snake club cleaning the enclosures of 300 reptiles including crocodiles; shortly after, by 2009, they were bringing snakes to the township for snake shows, so it could generate revenue for them. At first, business wasn’t good because they didn’t know how to charge, but worst of all, the community was not in agreement with the idea of snakes in their township as they thought the mother-daughter duo were practicing witchcraft.
“The entrance fee was R5, we didn’t know what we were doing, and people were scared,” says Mngomezulu.
Not long after, Mngomezulu bought her daughter her first pet, a Corn snake, and called it Pikinini because it was small. But the fact remained; they were not making money and had to return the borrowed snakes to the club.
That was when Mngomezulu decided to buy her own snakes to start her own mini snake park. After the Corn snake, it was twin pythons and a boa.
During the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, Mngomezulu went back to the club and borrowed snakes for a show in Soweto, the day of the final game, which drew visitors from all over the world. This time, she made wads of cash, enough to share with the club.
Sadly, in 2013, three of Mngomezulu’s snakes died because of pneumonia. Her four-roomed house in Vilakazi Street wasn’t warm enough for the snakes.
Today, thankfully, business is okay, and Mngomezulu can more than afford a loaf of bread. She is now extending her house to accommodate more snakes and tourists. The entrance fee is worth it. People come in to touch the snakes and pose with them for photos.
“Our show is not just a show, it’s an educational show, we educate you about the snakes we have, because I take care of them, we grow them, train them. They are used to cameras, noise and people,” says Mngomezulu.
Not only does she make money on Vilakazi Street, she also has her snakes starring in films and the small screen, namely a South African TV show shot in 2015 titled Ngempela.
Although her show also includes her other pets: a monkey, parrot, bearded dragon lizard, hedgehog and a yellow anaconda, Mngomezulu says the fear of snakes can drive people away.
“When one stands at the gate and fears going in, others get scared too,” she says. The tour guides are also an issue; they don’t spend time at the Soweto Live Snakes Show which affects her business.
I don’t get to watch the show, so I move on to the house next door, a space selling art.
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Thamaga Montjane is CEO of JHTCE (Joining Hands To Create Employment). He says the challenges he faces are people going only to one end of Vilakazi Street and not going further up – to this spot where his shop is.
I can relate to it. As I was walking towards Mandela House, I could see more action – more cars, more color, more tourists thronging the stalls there – than here, by Montjane’s shop.
I speak to one of the vendors a few feet from Mandela House. Bongane Ngcobo sells t-shirts, caps and African art. An entrepreneur in his own right, he says he makes about R4,000 ($282) on a good day and about R200 ($14) when it’s not so good.
As I stroll further down, the street is getting busier. I am drawn to a group of idling youngsters outside an art gallery named Shova Lifestyle Origin.
Thabo Modise, the owner here, started off selling t-shirts in the streets of Soweto; now he owns the gallery and the boutique next to it.
“It is a lifestyle boutique, where we have local fashion designers showing their work and we have a gallery for locals to do the same,” says Modise. He is an entrepreneurial success on Vilakazi Street.
The ambience of the street gets more vibrant as the afternoon progresses. I go across the road from the gallery, to Sakhumzi; a popular restaurant in Soweto, right next door to Tutu’s house. I step in to speak to a few tourists gulping down drinks and South African food.
“It feels awesome being here, we went to the Mandela museum and it was great, proper energy, real place,” says Tavis Wright, a tourist from England.
Lorenzo Grifantini, a tourist from Italy, says there is life and movement in the street and the people look happy.
Not too far from where I am seated at the restaurant, I spot more tourists savoring the local food.
“I didn’t expect a vibrant and classy restaurant like this here, I’m really surprised and I’m loving the food. I had tripe, it was very delicious,” says Adrian Seigs, also a tourist from Europe.
At the end of Vilakazi Street is Kwa Lichaba, a busy car wash corner on the opposite side.
Eventually, what was meant to be a 10-minute walk for me with my camera, turned out to be an hour-long expedition.
On the journey, I learned that the street boasts more South African tourists than foreigners and that hawkers could possibly make more money on a daily basis than a business with a counter, cash register, tables and a door.
As I look at the street again, I think of Benedict Wallet Vilakazi, the South African Zulu poet, author and linguist who died in 1947, and after who the street is named.
Little did he know that school children would be fighting for education on that street, that Winnie, the former ANC Women’s League president and ex-wife of Mandela, would be arrested on that very street, that Nobel accolades would arrive all the way from Sweden to this street in Soweto, or that today Vilakazi Street is more about preserving history – and making money off it.

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Pythons And  Peacemakers Down Vilakazi Street

On a warm Thursday afternoon, at the Wanderers cricket grounds in Johannesburg, he looks like a high school fan seeking autographs.
Look again; this is Temba Bavuma, a history-maker with a quick eye and a broad bat. The 5.47-foot tall cricketer was the first black South African to score a century in a test match.
Where he made history is part of his story. The century came at one of the most pristine cricket grounds in the world, watched by some of the richest people in Africa at Newlands in Cape Town. Bavuma looked like he was born there; he wasn’t. He was born just 10 kilometers away, in the impoverished Langa township. Two worlds that could hardly be further apart.
On the walls of Langa, the heroes of the streets are celebrated in paintings. Bavuma is up there among the likes of South African music icon Brenda Fassie, sporting heroes Thabo Mngomeni and Thami Tsolekile.
“Inspiring the kids is important because they need to see that there is a brighter future outside the streets of Kwa-Langa,” says Bavuma.
The 26-year-old batsman says in achieving his maiden test century in January, there was no greater feeling than being recognized  by the youth in his township and the young children running up to him, seeking batting advice.
“Life has changed quite significantly since my milestone at Newlands. I spent a couple of days back home at Kwa-Langa and not only the elderly, but the youngsters were really proud of what I had done. The media also was flocking [after] me afterwards,” says Bavuma.
As he speaks, it is clear that the young batsman has his head firmly on his shoulders despite all the media hype.
Bavuma came from a family of sportsmen; inspiration came from his uncles. As a boy he would attend their cricket matches. His sports journalist father also loves the sport.
Bavuma’s talent was already evident in his early years at one of the oldest schools in South Africa, the South African College Junior School. When the family moved to Johannesburg, because of his father’s career, Bavuma would consolidate his cricketing career even further at St David’s Marist Inanda.
Now, he is one of a new generation of sought-after black cricketers that teams are prepared to pay top dollar for.
“Naturally you’ll find that franchises are going to end up paying more for your black African players because they need to field a certain number. It’s like in any market, you have bread and you have milk. Milk might cost more than bread and there’s a reason that milk costs more, maybe there’s a bit more demand for milk you know,” says Bavuma.
“I never actually saw myself competing with a fellow African brother or a black guy, I saw myself competing for six spots with all the other guys batting. That’s helped me to keep me much more motivated and to feed my competitive edge.”
Apart from the financial benefits he gets for being a black African cricketer, Bavuma says he has never experienced any form of racism from his teammates. He says he was welcomed warmly at the Proteas camp and he feels a part of a brotherhood. Bavuma notes, though, that he did receive some chirping on the pitch from English all-rounder Ben Stokes during the test series.
“He walked up to me while I was on the crease and he basically told me that I didn’t belong in the team. I guess chirping is part of the game,” says Bavuma.
The significant impact Bavuma’s 102 not out could have on children, especially to the majority of South Africa’s population was not lost on the young man who had grown up in the township.
“When I made my debut, I came to be a bit more aware of the significance behind it. It’s not just me making my debut for South Africa but it’s being a role model and inspiration for other kids, black African kids in particular. So this milestone solidifies this achievement,” says Bavuma.
Powerful words from a small man, with a big heart, born and bred in Langa.

Langa’s Little Big Man

Cape Town’s townships were once referred to as “apartheid’s dumping ground”. Today, 22 years into democracy, the stories usually told of these spaces speak of poverty, rampant crime and socioeconomic marginalization.
But Tony Elvin, the charismatic founder of Ikhaya Le Langa, has a very different view. “When I first discovered Langa, not only was it not what I was told in terms of supposedly being a sad and fearful place,” he says, “It was the place where I found a community still intact. There’s an energy and a spirit that is in Langa, and if we can capture that, it’s like gold.”
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Seated in the café at his headquarters in a repurposed Langa primary school, Elvin uses a detailed and dog-eared map of Cape Town to introduce what his NGO is trying to achieve in Cape Town’s oldest black township.
What the map reveals is surprising and powerful: Langa does not sit on the isolated peripheries of the metropolis where common lore has long positioned it, but right at its pulsing heart.
As a black Londoner living in Langa, Elvin admits that he’s used to surprising people. Before he moved here permanently in 2010, the long-neglected Langa community’s interaction with the rest of the world had been limited to occasional groups of white tourists passing through on a quick “poverty safari”, as Tony disdainfully calls the archetypal township tour, before heading back to their cushy city hotels.
Through the ongoing development of the so-called Langa Quarter, Elvin hopes to emphatically change that trend.
“The aim is to create an aspirational cool place, not just for tourists, to create a new place in Cape Town where Capetonians can also go, not only for a history lesson, but to listen to some great jazz, see some great art, chill out and have a great time. I want the Langa Quarter to be to Cape Town what the French Quarter is to New Orleans,” says Elvin.
The Langa Quarter is the pilot model of a concept that Elvin has dubbed the “Social Enterprise Precinct”. The idea, he says, is to overlay the social enterprise principles of “people, planet and profit” onto particular neighborhoods, and to thereby create “viable, sustainable spaces where investment will flourish, and the poverty will then take care of itself.”
Elvin has considerable experience doing this in Cape Town, having first come here as a social enterprise consultant for celebrity chef Jamie Oliver in 2004. Elvin soon fell in love with the city and went on to set up his own social enterprise consultancy firm in the center of Cape Town, where he came into contact with a number of young township-based social entrepreneurs.
“I became aware that there was a lot more I wanted to do in Cape Town, and particularly in the townships,” says Elvin.
He concedes that he still “wasn’t quite sure” what he was setting out to achieve when he moved from his luxurious Hout Bay residence into the township to start Ikhaya Le Langa.
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“Even today, I sometimes describe it all as being at sea, in the middle of a storm, in a boat that I’m still building, without knowing what shape it will take, and I’m not sure what direction I’m headed in either. It’s still new, this approach.”
But Elvin can already boast a number of successes, including the Langa Quarter Homestay Hotel, where visitors are fed and accommodated in the home of a Langa resident. Since its inception a little over a year ago, this initiative has contributed more than R100,000 (roughly $6,400) to the 15 households currently involved – a considerable amount of money in an area where the majority earn less than R4,000 (roughly $250) a month.
Then there’s the annual, and increasingly well-attended, Uplifting Langa Through Reachable Art (ULTRA) street art event, which this year drew talented artists from across the Langa community and far beyond; world-renowned French street artist Jace stayed in Langa for a week as the event’s artist in residence.
Other fledgling ventures – including a media, graphics and advertising studio, an online shop for local artisans and designers, and a new restaurant – have drawn support from multinational companies, including Amazon and Ikea.
But take a walk with Elvin through the intricate crisscrossing streets of the quarter and it’s evident that he’s not resting on his laurels. He talks incessantly, throwing out countless ideas and plans for improving everything that he passes.
The effusive greetings he receives from the local residents along the way pay testament to the time he has invested in gaining their trust, and ensuring that they will be a central part of every step of this process.
“Above all, I’m focused on how the wonderful, cool transformation of Langa can positively influence the community and what is the opportunity to drive change. Langa deserves to be shown some love.”
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It’s also clear that Elvin feels more than just a philanthropic affinity for Langa.
“I love living in Langa. I’ve got friends here, I love the noise of Langa, I like the people that you walk around and see every day – it’s really very charming. After six years, Langa’s my home.”
With so much still in the pipeline, Elvin is not looking to uproot himself anytime soon.
“The Langa Quarter is far from a finished product, but we are at a stage where we can invite people in and, critically, they can stay,” he says. “So that’s a stake in the ground and we will grow from that, and more and more people will benefit from that. Essentially what we’ve done already is create hope.”

The Londoner Capturing African Spirit And Spinning It Into Gold

For Herman Mashaba it was a long and tiring climb to the top. An apartheid police crackdown on student politics forced a young Mashaba out of the University of the North, in his second year. He was forced to work as a clerk.
“One day we were ordered by police to leave the university immediately. I never understood why they had to involve law enforcement in solving matters with the students. I simply packed my bags and went home,” recalls Mashaba.
In two years, he saved enough to buy a car. Mashaba had a short stint as sales representative for a hair products company – SuperKurl. It was here where he met a white Afrikaner business associate, Johan Kriel, who was also a pharmacist. The law didn’t allow the two to go into business together. But they found a way around this to start a company called Black Like Me.
In 1984, Mashaba quit the job, after two years, and started selling his own hair products from the boot of his car. From the seed capital of R30,000 (around $2,000) he borrowed from friends, Mashaba had built a R10-million ($725,000) factory in 1993, running in the heart of Mabopane township, north of Pretoria.
Apartheid laws prevented Mashaba from buying or renting land in an industrial area, so he was forced to build his own 6,000-square-meter factory.
Soon, Black Like Me products went all over Southern Africa but clearly somebody didn’t like it and threw a match.
“November 17, 1993, is a day I will never forget. It’s a day I have difficulty explaining but out of it came a lot of lessons. The incident itself was horrific; how I survived was a miracle. Only God knows,” says Mashaba.
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This was to become Mashaba’s worst day, the destruction of seven years of producing Black Like Me products from a dusty township factory.
“I stood there watching the fire department people fighting the fire in my factory. I immediately realized it was not an accidental fire, it was spread across the factory. When the fire department combed the place, this arsonist came through. Unfortunately, when the workers started to arrive for the six o’clock shift, the factory was gone to ashes. You can imagine over R10 million in 1993, it’s close to R100 million today. More than 150 people were crying for their jobs,” says Mashaba.
He says there was no time to cry. His suppliers’ trucks came to deliver stock to the burned down factory that he had to find an alternative storeroom for. By 9AM, he assembled his management team and discussed an alternative. In two weeks, Mashaba found a smaller place to work in in Midrand, north of Johannesburg. But it took two years to get back to full production.
“The lesson for me was that while I went through this people moved on, that’s where I lost market share. The products were not on shelves. The same day when the factory burned down, I had a call from our office in Johannesburg, to tell me about a delivery from Lesotho. The delivery turned out to be bags of marijuana. I asked them to get police involved. The tragedy of it is there was never an investigation,” says Mashaba.
Despite him asking people for information and offering a R50,000 ($3,600) reward, no one was prosecuted for burning down his factory.
Mashaba credits his culture of saving for getting him back on his feet. When the insurance was taking too long to refund, Mashaba used his savings to get the new factory in Midrand.
“I didn’t even get half of what I was insured for, and they took time to pay me. You can imagine the banks at the time, as blacks, they were not interested in us. The only relationship I had with banks was to deposit my money,” he says.
“Fortunately, I never allowed circumstances to determine my fate. I have always believed I was in control of my destiny. I don’t want politicians’, or anyone’s, favors.”
The fire is one of many stories in Mashaba’s first book: Black Like You. Mashaba’s second one, launched this year, is called Capitalist Crusader, a title borrowed from a headline for a FORBES AFRICA cover story on him. In the book, Mashaba speaks about issues that see him vilified by his people who accuse him of being an insensitive capitalist.
“I want to be known as a capitalist. I wrote the book openly, so that people know my agenda upfront. At the same time, I don’t want to be misrepresented. Unfortunately, collective thinking to a large extent misleads people. Most people’s agendas are not what they preach. Let’s judge each other on the basis of what we are doing not what we are preaching,” he says.
Mashaba says the government is to blame for high unemployment.
“This higher unemployment of South African people is a man-made phenomenon created by the government. It looks like it is in our government’s interest for people not to work, so that they depend on government grants. If they really wanted people to work, they would create an environment for entrepreneurs and capitalists to create work for people. We need a free market. They must ask their colleagues in China and Russia what communism did to people,” says Mashaba.
“To protect democracy you need active citizenship, you don’t need to be politicians. If South Africa wants to be a model and a prosperous nation, we need a free market system. You cannot prosper by the government being the driver of the economy. Just create the environment that will allow the 50-odd-million South Africans to be the players. And the sooner we abolish all race-based legislations, the better for the future of this country. It is very dangerous to run the country on the basis of race and tribalism.”
In early 2014, Mashaba stepped down as a chairman of the Free Market Foundation, a post he held for two years, to join main opposition party the Democratic Alliance (DA). He was vilified by many in the black community and called a traitor for joining what they say is a party of white privilege. Mashaba maintains he has no political ambitions, despite being approached by many to throw his hat in the ring for the mayor of Johannesburg.
“There’s no way you are going to see me toy-toying. I never toy-toyed in my 56 years of living, so I don’t think I will start now. I think I will be a stupid politician. If there was no DA, there would be no one I would vote for. Yes, they are not perfect but they represent my value system,” says Mashaba.
Today, from his sunny office in Sandton, the richest square mile in Africa, Mashaba leads Lephatsi Investments, a company with interests in mining, construction and logistics.
He invests in young companies with ideas. After two decades, Mashaba hasn’t forgotten his worst day of fire, fury and despair – he lives to help young go-ahead companies survive theirs.

‘How I Survived Was A Miracle’

Kgomotso Mautloa dropped out of college. The nerdy former web-design student says it was not laziness, but the entrepreneurial spirit, that drove him to do it.
“You can’t teach someone to be creative, you can’t say this is how you become creative, it comes from the heart. A lot of guys who are designers are very passionate about their work because it comes from the heart. Every time you design something, you put a piece of your heart in it,” says Mautloa.
It all started with a chat with college mate, Ashley Moetlo, in 2006. Both from Alexandra, a township in northern Johannesburg, the pair saw a niche market for web design in the growing South African music industry. They couldn’t wait another year to qualify. That year, they quit and started a company named Green Robot Design.
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“The first client was a rap group from Daveyton, east of Johannesburg. They were about nine guys, really passionate about their stuff. They paid us for the first project and we bought a printer with the money. It was an awesome feeling,” says Mautloa.
But things did not turn out well, after a year, Moetlo left the company to return to university. Moetlo was the strategist, aligning and planning; Mautloa was the designer.
It was tough for a while and he had to work extra hard, Mautlao says.
“I started juggling both our roles so that the work could still be done. To some extent, that made me much stronger and more resourceful,” he says.
Mautloa took a day job with another company for a year and a half, while building his own business from home.
“I used to work tirelessly during the day and at home I worked on deadlines. It was not easy because I had to try and maintain a certain standard for myself… It’s always difficult to run your own business while working for someone else,” he says.
Mautloa says it was difficult but he made sure he delivered. After a year and a half, things started taking off for Mautloa, he had enough money to revive his own business, Green Robot Design. He then quit his job.
By 2009, Mautloa says more business was coming in. Today, Mautloa is the creative director in his company with seven people working for him, providing services in animation, brand activation, application development, print and online design as well as strategic planning, exploring different mediums of communication.
“For me, being an entrepreneur means being a thinker and a solutions provider. It also means to be a role player in the community, but more importantly, building the economy. We all have a role to play in building sustainable communities and companies that will change South Africa,” says Mautloa.
“We have been able to avoid complaints and we are efficient. That is one constant feedback that we have from our clients,” he says.
Mautloa says Green Robot Design helps small businesses develop their brands. He has also worked with South Africa’s big artists, like popular radio and ‘house’ jock, Mo Flava, and multi award-winning rapper, Khuli Chana.
“With the start-up people, our team can easily exchange views, they are open to our ideas and strategies, and they are hungry for success,” says Mautloa.
For his hard work and determination, Mautloa was nominated for the 2015 Vodacom Rising Star Award. He says there are opportunities to grow elsewhere. His next mission is to branch out on the continent.
“South Africa has an influx of many designers, there are a lot of us who want to get a piece of the big pie and I guess there is enough to go around. But that’s not where our focus is. Let’s look elsewhere, there are other countries that need our services,” says Mautloa.
So watch out Africa, Green Robot Design is coming.

It Was Tough  For A While

Sizwe Ntsaluba Gobodo is a rare accounting firm built on small township businesses with sweat and hard work under apartheid. This year, it celebrates 30 years, and is the fifth largest firm in Southern Africa. It also works in West Africa. Eighteen years ago, it was rocked by uncertainty and despair. This was Victor Sekese’s worst day.
Sekese is living proof you don’t have to be eccentric to run this business, but it helps.
“Am I properly dressed for this interview? By the way, thank you for being late, while you were getting lost on your way here I had to catch up on something,” says Sekese, as he strides into the boardroom neatly dressed in a black suit and tie, before breaking into raucous laughter.
If it takes one man to change the world, Sekese could be that man. He has been the chief with the company since 1994, and chief executive for 18 years. You could say he is a rock of a company worth $60 million.
The foundation of this rock was laid in the turbulent townships of 1980s as South Africa burned.
“We were operating at grassroots level. We were literarily getting our hands dirty helping all sorts of township entrepreneurs, largely focusing on professional people running law firms, medical practitioners and non-governmental organization work. We helped them with books and tax matters. That’s the type of portfolio I was working on,” recalls Sekese.
In 1995, international funding for NGOs was dried up and the company had to help to close down many organizations. This was lost revenue. So, they started to knock on the doors of government parastatals and private companies.
In 1998, they got nice contracts from telecommunications and services companies. Right at this zenith, the company was shaken to its core. Sizwe Nxasana, the founder of Sizwe Ntsaluba Gobodo (then Nkonki Sizwe Ntsaluba) left his younger colleagues for a government job.
“Nxasana was appointed CEO for Telkom, a lifetime opportunity for him. Now the founder, the pillar, the icon of the firm is leaving. We were very young, we had enthusiasm, we had energy, we had vision, but we were still building ourselves in the marketplace. One thing I have learned in life, there’s no substitute for experience. When we leave these Ivy League institutions, we leave with confidence only. That is not enough,” says Sekese.
Nxasana left Sizwe Ntsaluba Gobodo bereft. There was uncertainty and clients cast doubt on the young team. Sekese, who was a manager at the time, says services firms, in their early days, are linked to founders and personalities.
“Our key clients were getting jittery about Nxasana leaving. Now we needed to be quick on public relations, we stepped up quickly without the luxury of time. We tried to emphasize the success of the firm was not premised in an individual,” he says.
It was also felt that Sizwe Ntsaluba, another founder and second in command to Nxasana, was in his shadow. In this crisis, the company took a deep breath and put its confidence in Sekese, in his early 30s, appointing him chief executive.
“This never occurred in my mind but we needed to do things and do them quickly. One is being asked to take the lead in a situation where there’s a lack of confidence in the market. I saw myself as a person to leverage the team and the philosophy was that this firm was not about personalities.”
The team rallied behind Sekese and he was sent to Harvard for a short course in leadership. This gave him confidence.
Sekese says the experience forced the company to rebrand as Sizwe Ntsaluba VSP and appoint a marketing team to change its image.
In 2011, Sizwe Ntsaluba merged with Gobodo Incorporated and renamed itself Sizwe Ntsaluba Gobodo. The new partner, Nonkululeko Gobodo, was the first black female chartered accountant in South Africa. She sold out and left in 2014.
In the past three years, Sizwe Ntsaluba Gobodo received a 5-year multimillion-rand contract from Transnet and announced plans to expand into the continent. Transnet and MTN are major clients.
Sekese says they are not comfortable as the fifth behind Deloitte, Ernst &amp; Young, KPMG and PwC.
“We are working on our Africa strategy, extending our footprint across the continent and acquiring other firms to increase our capacity,” he says.
Sekese, a chartered accountant and University of the Witwatersrand University alumnus, was an entrepreneur in his own right but believes in the power of partnership. A few years after completing articles in 1991, he started Sekese Associates in Pretoria.
“I wanted to create something big on my own but I realized that if I am alone it was going to take longer and be even more difficult. I believe in not reinventing the wheel. Sango Nxasana, my old colleague at ABASA, an association for the advancement of black accountants, approached me to join him. It was a no-brainer for me. I collapsed my little firm and got into a system that was already moving,” says Sekese.
Behind the spontaneous laughter and carefree demeanour of the father of two, lies an activist. Sekese, raised in Mamelodi township, east of Pretoria, cut his teeth in social activism at KwaZulu Natal University in his first year of a BCom degree. The university closed down because of the black students’ political activism. Sekese continued with his activism at Wits and later ABASA, where he met with Sango (meaning door in Xhosa) Ntsaluba, who became his mentor.
“He really lived up to his name. He opened doors for many,” he says.
You could argue Sekese is also a dab hand at battening down the hatches.

What Do You Do When Your Company Loses Its Mojo

In March 2012, a young family’s peaceful sleep turned into a harrowing experience when burglars broke into their home in Tembisa, a crime-ridden township on the East Rand of Johannesburg. At 2AM, the family woke up to the noise of the intruders looting their belongings. The father was stabbed several times before the assailants turned their attention to the teenage girl, attempting to rape her.
No arrests were made, resulting in the community living in fear.
Thuli Mthethwa, a software developer turned entrepreneur, was devastated when she received the news hours later about what had happened to the family of her 36-year-old sister, Thembi Nonyane.
“If my younger sister had something to protect her, a simple panic button, surely the neighbors could have been alerted and rushed in to help,” says  Mthethwa.
A few days after the break-in, a traumatized Mthethwa became more frustrated when she could not find a security company with a reasonable alarm system she could instal in her sister’s home. Mthethwa says she realized the harsh fact that only the rich could afford home security.
“The cheapest was a R430 ($35) monthly subscription on top of the installation that costs about R7,000 ($565),” says Mthethwa about alarm systems available in the market.
The moment of becoming the change that you want to see struck Mthethwa. She quit her fulltime job as a software developer and took it upon herself to conceptualize and design cheaper alarms to help curb crime. After a year of consultation and negotiations for a government subsidy, the first personalized panic buttons were made available in 2013, and later followed by home alarms.
This experience led to the birth of the Memeza Home Community Alarm system, the first public alarm system in South Africa connecting a household to the nearest police station and community policing sector. The system also allows  integration with a private security company and can be configured to as many people as possible, sending text messages to their cellphones.
“Following a year’s intense research for an affordable alarm system, the Memeza Home Security System concept was born. Initially, I couldn’t sleep, I could not rest. It bothered me that we are in a free country but we are still feeling unsafe in our homes. If my sister had an alarm in her house, the crime could have been prevented,” says Mthethwa.
Business Against Crime South Africa, a nationwide organization established in 1996 after former president Nelson Mandela called on businesses to join government in fighting crime, bought into Mthethwa’s concept and approved the system.
The installation of Memeza’s system costs a household under R1,000 ($80), a once-off payment. Memeza is currently operating as a non-governmental organization with a budget of over R1.2 million ($96,000) from the South African National Lottery. The company has 10 staff and is using Mthethwa’s home as an office.
In February 2015, a pilot project consisting of 600 alarm units began in the township of Diepsloot. The Diepsloot police station welcomed the program to help reduce the high crime rate in the area notorious for murder and house break-ins.
The South African Police Services crime statistics shows that the number of home invasions remains at an alarmingly high rate, with a total of 6,336 reported in the Gauteng province in 2014. Mthethwa says a thorough introduction of Memeza alarms will reduce household intrusion and violence on women by up to 90%.
“The uniqueness of this is it is the first alarm system in Africa which the owner doesn’t need to pay a monthly instalment. You only need airtime for the device to text police when it is required. As little as R5 airtime would be sufficient for a month and the system has a back-up battery when the power is off,” says Mthethwa.
Mthethwa’s journey started with a leap of faith. In 2012, she entered a competition funded by the SAB Foundation looking for budding entrepreneurs with social innovation concepts in the country. Mthethwa’s project placed fourth and she won R250,000 ($20,000) to finance the implementation of her business. She was also entered into a five-month mentorship program.
A year later, Mthethwa was trained at the Innovation Hub in Pretoria, where she was afforded an office space and a full-time mentor for a year.
Mthethwa also works with community policing forums distributing thousands of personalized panic buttons to women and girls in poor communities for free. This is one of Memeza’s community building projects.
From software to alarms, Mthethwa used technology for social service. Thanks to her, the communities she serves sleep easier now.

Thuli-Mthethwa_1300

Raising the Alarm

As the summer heated up in the heart of Soweto, Johannesburg’s largest township, businessmen Ndumiso Madlala and Josef Schmid, brewed 12,000 liters of beer for the Christmas rush. All seemed busy with the whiff of malt and hops. Brewmaster Madlala shared his brew with the FORBES AFRICA crew. The slightly sweet, lingering finish washed agreeably over the palate of this avid beer imbiber.
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It is their first Christmas; they want to double their production; enough to get the whole of Soweto drunk until the New Year. But it has not been smooth-sailing for the duo; an in-house beer festival in October was postponed following a yard inspection by the health authorities. They wanted an oil tank to be covered at the brewery. A hiccup in the frothy beer business.
“With this venture alone we foresee a good R55 million ($5 million) per annum, and we are also planning to open another four establishments in other townships in the country. Our model is exclusively township. As I was traveling Europe when I was a student, I saw every little town had its own beer. Here townships are big neighborhoods, I see it necessary they have their own local beers,” says Madlala.
Schmid joined forces with Madlala with a vision and a passion.
“In South Africa microbrewing was very elitist and white dominated, prior to Soweto Gold. But with the great emerging and growing middle class in the townships we saw a niche market. So, we see ourselves as pioneers,” says Schmid.
The two are as different as cold beer and warm tea. Thirty-five-year-old Madlala grew up in Elandskop, a village 35 kilometers outside Pietermaritzburg in KwaZulu-Natal. He obtained a Master’s degree in science in the Netherlands and then worked for Africa’s biggest brewer, SABMiller, for nine years. Schmid, 44, the son of an Austrian butcher, was born to the Swedish middle class. He is a hospitality and tourism executive who came to South Africa to work.
They met through a friend in early 2012. In October, they registered the business under MadMead Brewing Co. After a two-year wait for a full license, they turned out their first batch of Soweto Gold in July. This start-up company cost investors $800,000. The Industrial Development Corporation, a government entity, also loaned the company $320,000.
“We estimated that we will brew for about seven months until we reach capacity and in that time we accumulate funds to do an expansion but there was such a demand for the beer that Ndumiso started brewing in July and we reached capacity in August. The reality is that we have hit the production peak in the first month of production. Coming from nowhere, we are the second-best selling craft beer in the country,” says Schmid.
“As an entrepreneur you are always a dreamer and it is that dream that makes you so sure that everything is going to work out. No matter how bad things turn out, the vision carries you forward,” says Madlala.
It’s been a long and winding road. Schmid and Madlala traveled to China searching for the best machinery and shipped it to South Africa, in late March.
“Ndumiso is an expert in processing; he modified their designs to work in our space and our flow and what we want to do,” says Schmid.
MadMead Brewing Co is based in Ubuntu Kraal, an entertainment venue with a restaurant, in Orlando West, Soweto. In a few months, they’ve channeled the beer through 25 restaurants, pubs and taverns around Johannesburg, including affluent Sandton, Rivonia and Fourways. They employ more than 60 people.
As the company senses demand, the names are born: Apple Ale, Cherry Ale, Orlando Stout and Weiss Gold.  In this, Ndumiso has not forgotten his roots.
“For next year we are also conceptualizing a sorghum malt maize beer which brings our traditional ways of brewing together with the Western ways of brewing… We want to put sorghum beer back in its premium space, so we want to see if we can flavor the traditional beer with pineapple. But this will be on the non-commercial scale for the guests to enjoy in-house,” says Madlala.
Soweto Gold is enjoying popularity at craft beer festivals.
“The best ego boost for us is to go to a beer festival and you get people saying this was the best beer on the market. We outsell people on price because we are a quality beer,” says Schmid.
“We have hit capacity without even tapping into Cape Town or Durban; we are only in Johannesburg for now. We are now venturing into canned beer because it is easier to package and we are modelling ourselves after American micro-brewers,” says Madlala.
He says canning of their beer will help in shipping to markets in Africa and overseas, but their first attempt was difficult.
“We had cans already out in the market but we pulled them back because we could not control the quality. The canning was done by a third party. As soon as we started our own canning line we were sold out. This has enabled us to pasteurize our product and it can stand on the shelves for at least three months and therefore makes a viable retail product,” says Madlala.
Cans could be a good move in a market that rates them above brown bottles, according to Apiwe Nxusani, a general manager and master brewer at Brewhogs Brewers, one of craft beer pioneers in South Africa.
“I personally believe there’s a market for brands like Soweto Gold to grow and compete with the commercial beers. It depends at which segment of the market they are specifically targeting as the price at which craft beer is sold at could never compete with your 750ml of Black Label, for example, as sold at the shebeens,” says Nxusani.
“The market would be the upmarket, classy and BEE guys in Sandton who want to make a statement.”
Christopher Gilmour, an investment analyst at Absa Bank, agrees that craft beer has its place.
“Craft beer, or real ale as it is known in Britain, is a small but rapidly growing industry in South Africa. Until seven years ago, there were fewer than 20 brewers, the largest being Bavaria and Mitchell’s,” says Gilmour.
He says the rest of the world is catching up.
“These beers have a loyal and knowledgeable following, quite different to that of premium beers. Pricing is often significantly higher than premium beers and reflects the lower volumes brewed and higher input costs and lower economies of scale compared to mainstream and premium beers,” says Gilmour.
Whatever the volume, Soweto is heading for a golden Christmas. Don’t let the gentle sounding name of Soweto Lady Gold fool you. This lady has a kick like a mule.

No Matter How Bad Things Turn Out: Cheers!

Not everyone gets a second chance to do things over, least of all presidents. But two rem-arkable former leaders are doing it again, out of office.
The first is former US president Jimmy Carter, who managed to reinvent himself through his philanthropic work with Habitat for Humanity.  A renowned peace-broker, Carter recalibrated his image, which had been severely dented during the Iran host-age crisis, through his dedication to providing affordable, low-cost housing to poor Americans.
Carter has also played a pivotal role as a member of the Group of Elders, former heads of state who speak out on issues of global leadership.
The second is former South African president Nelson Mandela. While in office, Mandela was hemmed in by numerous global factors that inhibited his new government from undertaking fundamental change.
When he retired from active politics and executive office, Mandela dared to tread where he had been unable to as the country’s first democratically elected president. Through his altruism, Mandela has managed to re-engineer his legacy and is today recognized as one of the world’s greatest philanthropists.
Known affectionately by his clan name, Madiba believes in fundamental change rather than charity. It is an outlook which is embraced by the Nelson Mandela Foundation (NMF), which was formed in 1999 to support the causes that were close to the statesman’s heart, especially those he could not focus on while he was in office.
However, attaching the Mandela brand to projects is a risky undertaking, especially as many are keen to profit from the icon’s name, including those who would use the brand for selfish ends.
Sello Hatang, who is the CEO of the NMF, says the foundation, has to be mindful of what is considered peer-based philanthropy. This occurs when projects are undertaken for financial benefits, such as tax breaks, instead for bringing about long-term change.
The NMF also guards against encouraging consumerism and instead focuses on building skills and knowledge within communities.
“Communities must be empowered… and assisted to see what they can do for themselves. Of course it is done with help of others from the outside,” says Hatang.
“It is important that whenever you do a philanthropic program you don’t throw money at the problem, but you find out from these communities what they need the most.”
He cites an example in which the NMF visited a community in Limpopo that wanted a library. While his colleagues were on-site, they realized that while there was no library in the area, there was a greater need for ablution facilities at a local school.
“What my colleagues found was children washing their hands in buckets and then because there is no fresh water, they also drink from that. So it is important that you don’t come in and impose what you think is best for communities, but rather find out from them what they need. We are now going back to the drawing board and we are now addressing the issue of water and a library.”
The foundation believes that for its philanthropic work to have value, community members must have a sense of ownership over the projects. The NMF encourages locals to be part of its initiatives by chipping in, financially or otherwise.
“So we would say for example (to a school): ‘You have to pay something towards the library.’ So for example they would raise R20,000 ($1,900), and the library is R220,000 ($21,000). They give it to us, we don’t collect that money. We give it back to them and say: ‘Now you use this money for a sports field or to improve something in the school.’ But there is a sense that they paid for it,” he explains.
Sustainability has to be at heart of philanthropy if it is to transcend charity, something Hatang is keenly aware of, and which saw the work of the foundation undergoing a shift from its initial remit.
As the Mandela brand continues to grow, it has massive clout, especially with corporations and businesses keen to be associated with it. The foundation is no longer a philanthropic organization that gives money to projects, but is itself is a donor-funded organization.
“Whenever we find a new partner who comes in who wants to work with us… we do ask that they submit their founding records, check they are registered and that they do things above board,” says Hatang.
Because the NMF does not deal with money directly there is little chance of it being swindled of cash. However, there still are chancers who want to make a profit off the Madiba brand.
Hatang cites an example from early in 2013, when a pizza company was bust for lying. It claimed that for every pizza sold, R1 ($0.10) was don-ated to the foundation.
Something else Hatang says the NMF has to be acutely aware of is building the brand of Mandela instead of denuding it.
“We always have to strike a balance between managing the brand, protecting the brand, and making sure that people can use it for good. That balance is what we always struggle with. We try to have people concentrate on giving for Mandela day and doing it genuinely and in a sustained way. Not necessarily for their grand enhancement.”
Nelson Mandela International Day, which falls on Madiba’s birthday on July 18 and which is recognized by the United Nations (UN), is where the foundation focuses most of its philanthropy.
“The rallying call is: Take action, inspire change. Make every day a Mandela day. Because we believe you have to bring about structural changes (to make a real difference),” says Hatang.
Mandela day is theme-driven, and education has been the main focus over the past three years. Events are decided on in consultation with the UN and the South African government.
This year the foundation prioritized literacy, school feeding programs and housing. The latter included bringing in corporates, with the help of local aid organization Gift of the Givers, to build homes in Johannesburg’s impoverished Alexandra township. The year before, Habitat for Humanity helped the foundation provide homes for residents of Orange Farm informal settlement in Gauteng.
With its literacy initiatives, the NMF has received a lot of help from international charity group Breadline Africa. The organization has helped build libraries across South Africa and fill them with books.
“We believe a learned community is an empowered community. We have young people who are still struggling. And with the kind of education we have at the moment, we want to build on it. Instead of pointing fingers, do something about it. And sometimes it’s minimal where you just build a library,” Hatang explains.
South African packaged goods company Tiger Brands and mobile communications giant Vodacom have been brought on board to help supplement the school feeding scheme.
“Tiger Brands, with the Department of Education, have a program where they feed the kids. I think it is breakfast and a lunch. This one that we have introduced is different. We launched it in July where kids are given food parcels when there is a long break. They get fed at school, but because of the levels of poverty, for some of the kids that is the only meal they have the whole day. Now what happens when they are on school holiday? They get the food parcels to take home on the last day of school,” says Hatang.
The program was launched in
Alexandra and is being rolled out to the rest of Gauteng, Limpopo and KwaZulu-Natal.
When the NMF was launched, the philanthropic projects it undertook were infrastructure-heavy, as most of the communities that Mandela visited asked for clinics and schools. In 2004, the foundation realigned itself, focusing on  philanthropy, dialogue and preserving the memory of Mandela.
Hatang says these elements are vital to build South Africa, as they help to create social cohesion.
He is particularly proud of a new project that sees South Africans and international players assessing how communities have moved on from repressive pasts and how they deal with that oppression.
“This is us venturing into the international community. This is the first project where we are spreading our wings. It is important that South Africa learns from others. We tend to think that we know it all and that we have done it all. There are communities that have gone through what we went through, maybe for not as long as we have, and they are still learning. There is room for us to learn,” he says firmly.
The foundation is also spreading its wings on the continent and has started to look at projects in other African countries that complement its values and objectives. Cooperation in trade and industry and greater intra-African trade between South Africa and her neighbors create the ideal context for branching out. One of the initiatives the foundation is currently considering addresses how African countries are moving away from alienation toward more cooperation.
In a similar effort to encourage social cohesion, cooperation and tolerance, after the drastic rise in xenophobic attacks in 2008, the NMF used its Dialogue for Change program to get people talking. South Africans often blame foreigners for taking ‘their’ jobs, as many migrants are willing to work for less money and under unfavorable conditions.
“We shouldn’t always just be pointing fingers to make excuses sometimes for our own failures,” Hatang points out.
He says the next dialogue series will focus on young people. The highest unemployment rate in South Africa is among the youth, and as a result, many of them turn to crime and other social ills.
“It is really needed. It is clear that young people feel alienated because of the level of unemployment hitting them very hard. You have alienation because of political processes where young people don’t feel included enough; also because of the fact that they didn’t live through what the older generation lived through. Young people also need to feel included in terms of decision-making processes.”
A resource that will prove invaluable to future generations is the NMF’s memory archives, a collection of Mandela’s papers that capture a sense of his life and the times he lived through. Hatang says the archives include various books and publications, including a graphic novel to teach pupils about Madiba’s life.

The Spirit of Giving

Quitting your job to embark on a new business venture is always a risk. But leaving stable employment when living in Khayelitsha, South Africa’s third largest township where half the population is out of work, almost borders on insanity… or genius.
Wongama Baleni (23), Vuyile Msaku (25) and Vusumzi Mamile (24) have done exactly that. The childhood friends opened Khayelitsha’s first real coffee shop in July that sells cappuccinos, espressos and americanos brewed from top quality coffee beans.
“It was our dream to own our own business. We convinced each other that it was time to try something new,” says Msaku, who used to work as a barrista at a well-known South African coffee shop chain and brought the professional know-how to the venture.
Something new they did indeed. In a place where stores are usually housed in metal containers or rickety wooden stalls, the Department of Coffee (DOC)—a professionally branded shop with a modern logo and corporate colors—is the real deal.
“We are the first and only ones to sell quality coffee and cappuccinos in the township. The only other coffee you get here is instant,” says Msaku full of pride.
As a trained barrista it was Msaku’s job to source fresh beans for their store. He got a supplier to prepare a special blend of Arabica, Ethiopian and Italian beans that will be sold solely to the DOC.
“It’s a mild, medium roast, not too bitter. I created it with the people of Khayelitsha in mind,” he says, explaining that his average customer comes from an instant coffee culture and isn’t used to Italian-style strong, thick coffee.
At $0.80 for a regular americano, $1 for a cappuccino and $0.90 for a double espresso, the DOC is an affordable place to get one’s caffeine fix. The shop also sells muffins at $0.30 a piece and cookies for a mere $0.25. In summer, iced latte and cool drinks will be added to the menu but the food offering will remain limited.
“We don’t want to go too broad. We rather focus on our brand, on coffee. At most, we might sell sandwiches and coffee in a combo.”
Baleni, Msaku and Mamile have given careful thought to the branding of their store. The primary color is a warm, bright orange “to attract customers”, says Baleni, combined with either white or black. The uncluttered logo is made up of two stylized coffee beans, diagonally placed so that they form a heart shape, symbolizing love for coffee. The three owners wear stylish black shirts with the orange DOC logo stitched onto their back under orange aprons with the same logo printed in black. Trendy straw hats round off the look. The message: drinking good coffee is hip and cool.
Six weeks after opening its doors, the trio already sells more than 200 cups of coffee a day. With 30 to 55 cents profit per cup, that’s about $2,500 in earnings a month—not bad for a small start-up in a township setting. A key to their early success has been the choice of location. Positioned opposite the Harare train station, one of Khayelitsha’s main commuter hubs, and close to the local magistrates court, hospital, shopping mall and taxi rank, the DOC benefits from the bustling foot traffic of hundreds of residents each day. To make sure they won’t miss early risers, the DOC opens its doors at 4am, seven days a week, closing only at 6pm, when the after-work rush is over.
Apart from take-away sales, numerous people who work in the area call in for deliveries.
“In the beginning, we were worried that the township people wouldn’t understand [coffee culture], but they surprised us. There’s a new generation in Khayelitsha that is keen to change the perception of the township, lift the standard,” Says Msaku.
For this young crowd, drinking cappuccinos is fashionable, a small status symbol that shows “I’m moving up”. It’s something worth spending a dollar on, at least once a day.
The DOC’s business premise is spot on. According to a report by the African Development Bank (AfDB) last year, the continent&#8217;s middle class tripled in the past three decades. Now, a third of all Africans, or 313 million people, belong to this group. Although the data has to be treated with caution—the AfDB’s definition of lower middle class includes anyone earning $4 to $10 a day, while those earning $10 to $20 a day count as upper middle class—one thing is certain: Africa’s growing middle class has brought a new kind of consumerism to the continent as more and more people can afford to buy things beyond their most basic needs. Cappuccinos are just one example.
It was a difficult road to travel until the trio’s dream of opening a coffee shop became reality. In early 2011, Msaku, Baleni, a fireman, and Mamile, a worker in a towel factory, quit their jobs to pursue a “Micro-MBA” at business school—The Business Place eKapa, which specializes in small to medium-sized enterprise development. They studied store management, costing, pricing, stock control, marketing and accounting, and after several months of intense market research identified a gap in the market: the cappuccino in the township.
“We took a huge risk leaving our jobs. [Financially], it was a very difficult period for us until the opening,” says Mamile.
The three men lived off their meager savings and relied on support from their families until they hurdled the problem of finance. In the beginning, it didn’t look promising. Several banks had turned down their applications for a loan, as neither had enough financial security to qualify for credit. But then a chance encounter helped getting their venture under way. A group of private entrepreneurs from Cape Town, who were looking for an opportunity to “pay it back” and liked the trio’s coffee shop idea, offered them an interest-free loan, repayable within three years.
“They liked our concept and decided to mentor us,” says Baleni.
How much venture capital they invested to get the shop up and running, the three young owners are reluctant to disclose, however.
“We don’t want to attract too much attention,” says Baleni, fearing envy from the community that might lead to theft. In Khayelitsha, where high unemployment rates have caused massive poverty, drug abuse and crime, safety remains a prime concern. The set-up of the coffee shop reflects this, too. The windows are protected by thick burglar bars. Intruders are kept at bay by a heavy security gate and a wooden door, which is locked at all times. Earnings need to be banked at least once a day to lower the risk of a hold-up. The short walk to the bank is never done alone.
But that’s the reality of South African township life, Mamile says, something every entrepreneur who wants to do business here has to reckon with.
“We’ll do whatever it takes to make this work,” he promises, because the trio’s business plans don’t end here. Once they have paid off their loan—the three count on a return on investment within the next two years already—Msaku, Baleni and Mamile want to turn the Department of Coffee into a chain.
“We plan to open more stores in Khayelitsha and in other townships,” says Baleni.
With that, he does not only think about their own success but has a bigger picture in mind: economic growth and upliftment within previously disadvantaged urban communities.
“At the moment, all money is flowing out of Khayelitsha. Everyone spends their hard-earned cash in the city. The wealth doesn’t stay here,” he says.
The DOC might be one step towards changing this.  <img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-1374" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/DOC_8_KPalitza-300x197.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="197" />

Home Brewed

Sixty years ago South Africa was no country for budding black entrepreneurs, but Richard Maponya managed to defy the odds and opened a backstreet store that grew into a massive retail empire on the back of which he became a legendary black businessman.
<div id="attachment_277" style="width: 209px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-277" class="size-medium wp-image-277" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/CTX7445-199x300.jpg" alt="" width="199" height="300" />Richard Maponya at the Maponya Mall, Soweto</div>
That grocery shop in the township of Soweto, opened in the early 1950s, led to several in the years that followed. From there he ventured into car dealerships, petrol stations, butcheries, supermarkets, bus services and funeral parlors. He later joined a consortium that acquired Coca-Cola’s bottling plant, when the soft drink giant decided to disinvest in apartheid South Africa. He also became a cell phone provider and his name was linked to many deals and ventures.
To be big, Maponya had to risk big, but his achievements were many, not least his own economic freedom, which he had won long before political freedom came in 1994.
Canny and shrewd, he continued to move with the times and pushed his pile of chips into property development and four years ago unveiled his biggest lifetime achievement: the Maponya Mall in Soweto.
“I wanted the people of the township to be able to spend their money in the township and create employment for themselves.”
This year he opened Maponya Motor City not far away from Maponya Mall. And there’s more to follow. The 90-year-old still has a few more ventures up his sleeve.
You have to admire Maponya. If it was a desire to make a go of his life that drove him all these years, he could have chosen an easier option than betting on business in an all-white, male world. Easier still would have been to stick to what he had been trained to do—high school teaching. But Maponya has no regrets and if he could roll back the clock he would do it the same all over again.
“The only thing that would be different this time is that I would be an even bigger entrepreneur,” he says without a hint of humility in his voice. “The playing field is leveled now and things are so much easier today than they were when I started out.”
He was born in 1920 in the small village of Lenyene, in Limpopo, and later moved to Polokwane, where missionaries trained him as a teacher. With his qualification under his belt, he headed to Johannesburg in 1948 in search of his first teaching post. But as fate would have it, the dapper-looking 28-year-old was snapped up by a drapery store in the city center before he had a chance to sit the other side of a school desk.
Maponya hadn’t envisaged a working life in retail.
“But they were offering me five times more than the teaching post would have paid. And I said to myself, ‘these may be the greener pastures I was looking for after all.’”
Little did he know how green those pastures were to be.
Yet those were dreadful times for black South Africans. That year—1948—also marked the dawn of apartheid that would result in a half a century of inhumanity for non-whites. Maponya ought not have been an exception. He was living in the township of Alexandria, renting some space in the home of members of his extended family and subjected to the same harsh reality that every other black person endured.
“We were like foreigners in our own country,” he remembers. “The native was treated in the worst possible way.”
But Maponya had struck lucky though he didn’t realize it at the time. At the drapery store he reported to a man by the name of Mr Bolton—“we did not call the white man by his first name then”—and the pair worked well together.
Bolton was hard-working and enterprising. Maponya was equally so. Bolton was also a good businessman and he coached his employee in the trade.
He taught him about fabrics, quality and design. He mentored him in customer care. He encouraged him to select clothing and designs that would appeal “to my people” as Maponya put it.
Before long, he began to recognize the budding businessman in himself.
The pair worked hand-in-hand for three years, during which time Bolton was scaling the corporate ladder until he was promoted to CEO of the company in 1951. But before he closed his executive door on the drapery floor, he asked to meet with Maponya.
“Son, I am being promoted because of our joint efforts and I don’t know how to thank you,” Bolton told his junior.
Maponya nodded his head and muttered a courteous response, expecting little else to follow, but Bolton continued speaking.
“You have a ceiling over your head because you are black so there is nothing I can do,” he said, stating a glaring fact. “All I can offer you is a job as a foreman.”
“But I would like to give you the chance to buy samples and soiled clothing that you can sell after work or on the weekends to make some extra money for yourself,” the new CEO told him.
“And that is what gave me my start in life,” Maponya remembers, all these years later. “Without it, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”
He started selling the garments on a ‘pay while you wear’ basis. Folks had little cash to spare then so he indulged them with credit. Trust went a long way in the early 1950s.
“‘Take it and wear it’ I would tell them and I would collect the money at the end of the week. They never let me down. I never lost a penny in those days.”
And it was from those humble beginnings that the empire began to emerge.
At this hour of his life, Maponya has a lot to be proud of, yet he refuses to step down. To this day he still works a five-day week, six if his children allow him. On the eve of his 91st birthday, I tell him he is a poor advertisement for a pension plan.
“I don’t even know what the word retirement means,” he chuckles in response.
These days his time is taken with his latest project, the Richard Maponya Institute for Skills Training and Entrepreneurship.
“This is the big one,” he says. “This is my legacy project. This is what I want to leave behind, a place where young people are not only given a skill but the know-how to go out and create work for themselves.”
The legacy idea began to take shape a couple of years ago as Maponya began to take stock of the challenges facing South Africa. Idle youth stared him in the face.
“If only I could tell you that it is thousands and thousands of youth that are unemployed, it might not be so bad. But it is not. We are talking about millions and millions of our young people who have no jobs. That’s a lot of people and I don’t think we fully realize how awful it is for them or how dangerous it is for society to have so many idle youth falling into the trap of poverty. They deserve more and so does South Africa.”
For guidance, he turned to Brazil, a country that made some clever moves many years ago when it began to train its youth to become the kind of entrepreneurs that would start the small and medium-sized enterprises that now form the backbone of the South American country’s economy.
“South Africa is no different. We need young men and women who will go out and create their own jobs and not depend on the economy to create work for them. It will never happen that way. This is a society that is becoming too dependent on the state. The state can only do so much and it certainly cannot solve the challenge of unemployment.”
Maponya’s plan is a commendable one, but how difficult is it to become an entrepreneur? Is it something that everyone can do? Or is it a character-driven thing?
“If you have discipline you can become an entrepreneur,” he tells me. “That’s the core requirement: discipline. I wasn’t born an entrepreneur. No one is. You learn to become on. But you learn it through discipline.”
What about a vision, or a plan?
“You might have the best plan in the world, but if you don’t have the discipline to pull it off, it will never happen. Discipline is everything.”
Can discipline be taught?
“It’s not only about teaching it, but learning it. The will has to come from the person, not the teacher. What can be taught is how to develop discipline. The rest is over to you.”
As simple as that?
“It can be,” he says. “If not, we have to decide to live in poverty and with poverty. But if we want to change it, then we must join hands as South Africans and begin to turn this ship around. We need strong, social leaders. We need mentors. We need willing youth. If we have all of those, and I believe we have, then many things are possible.”
The training institute—on Brazilian lines—is still work in progress, but he hopes he can open its doors to the youth of Soweto at some stage next year.
“And if it works, and I know it will, then I would like to see it replicated all over South Africa. But I just want to get this one right. This is my legacy. My way of giving back. This really is my big one.”
And will he then hang up his boots?
“No,” he says, without a flicker of hesitation. “For as long as the Lord gives me my health, I think I will work until the last day. I think I will die with my boots on. That is how I think it is going to happen.”
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Tag: Township

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