NOS foggers, split mags and dropped suspension are staples for drag racing in Mayfair; the subculture keeps local police busy and the costs are exorbitant. But the guys, and the girls, love it anyway.
“Neh hond, I’m going to jigga, this truck driver naai is wasting time,” Smiley says as he changes into reverse gear. Big G, sitting in the passenger seat, just nods like a mafia don.
It’s a busy Wednesday afternoon in Mayfair. People are pacing up and down the sidewalk on Mint Road and shop owners are sitting outside their stores trying to escape the heat inside. There’s a big soft drinks truck parked vertically across the road, causing drivers to honk their horns in frustration.
Smiley is among those stuck behind the truck. There’s a sense of urgency in the lanky 22-year-old’s body as he revs his 16v DOHC engine. He makes a U-turn and speeds down the road in the opposite direction to meet up with a client before he leaves the neighbourhood and heads for Soweto.
“We have to catch this ou before he vias to the kasi so we can get our cash,” he says.
Smiley needs money, fast. In order to make it to the finish line first at the upcoming drags, he’s going to have to come up with a small fortune. The Pioneer AVH-X7550BT 7” in-dash sound system with Bluetooth and USB that he wants costs R5 500. A new NOS fogger, to boost his speed, goes for about R500. And the 17” alloy wheels he wants will set him back R5 400.
CUSTOM-MADE CAR ACCESSORIES: Individual styles give cars an identity like no other on the road. Most of the workshops in Mayfair do their installations and repairs on site and services can be expensive. Photo: Michelle Gumede
He is not about to let speed limits slow down his efforts to get to the race prepared. Speeding down the back roads of Mayfair, he accelerates over huge speed bumps and takes a left turn at the sight of any traffic jams on the road before finally arriving in Riverlea after a bumpy 10-minute drive.
Usher in the igusheshe
A black BMW 325is flickers its headlights signalling to Smiley. He parks his white Honda Ballade behind the sleek Beemer. Known as igusheshe, the BMW 325is has been a symbol of gangsterism and cool in South African townships for years.
The two drivers simultaneously get out of their cars and sit on a bench where they discreetly exchange parcels. After a brief conversation, they each return to their vehicles. Back in the car, Smiley reclines his seat and fires up his engine. He lets out a sigh of relief.
“Dis duidelik,” he says with a killer smile.
His infamous bright smile, known to knock any lady, young or old, off her feet makes a brief appearance. His friends reply “Salute”.
Smiley turns up his ageing Pioneer sound system and Drake lyrics start to pump through the speakers.
“Started from the bottom, now we’re here, started from the bottom, now my whole team fucken here.”
On the way to the drag races near FNB stadium, the glow of lit cigarettes peer out of half-rolled down tinted windows. An evening breeze blows and brings much-needed relief to the three pals –Smiley, Big G and Corbin.
ALL-STAR CROWD: The drag races attract people from all over Joburg who drive all types of cars. The competition is tough as modifications vary from car to car. Photo: Michelle Gumede
“I just wish we run into that clown – Jumpstar. I want to wys him that ek is nie bang of his dom modifications,” Smiley says frowning.
He has an angry and competitive energy about him whenever he talks about Jumpstar – his arch nemesis. The guys compete about everything, clothes, girls but most of all cars.
Bragging rights, money and girls
Big G explains that Jumpstar and Smiley went to nursery school together. They were inseparable and their love for cars and girls developed over a long time. But their relationship turned sour when the boys fell for the same girl in high school. The lady known as Lynne was blown over by Smiley and they had a fast-paced teenage love affair, for a short while anyway, until Jumpstar came along.
“He slept with Smiley’s medie [girlfriend],” Corbin adds.
Annoyed with Corbin’s interruption, Big G says Smiley and Jumpstar will face off again, at a race that weekend—if Smiley can get some money together.
“They’re racing on Sunday and this ou needs at least ten grand by Friday to sort his car out if he’s gonna slat a win,” says Big G.
Using his skinny fingers, draped with golden rings, Smiley grabs a cider and gulps it down.
“Ja and my ou Big G is going to help me out with a nca [great] job next Thursday,” Smiley responds.
The winner takes the bragging rights, money and girls. Word on the streets is that Jumpstar has added some mean modifications to his car, including NOS and a new sound system. Just the thought of it seems to put Smiley in an uncomfortable mood. He grinds his teeth and bites on his thumbnail.
There’s almost a narcissism about the pride the guys in these parts of town have about their cars. Your car is a symbol of male pride, creativity and individuality. Motor heads across Mayfair and Fordsburg fight for status and quench their need for speed on the makeshift racetracks in open fields in the Johannesburg south. Battling it out on the racetrack like Smiley and Jumpstar is no unusual feat in these circles.
“This racing thing, it’s in my blood,” Smiley says.
SYMBOL OF PRIDE: Guys in Mayfair take pride in their cars, no matter what model or make they drive. Photo: Michelle Gumede
Flashy guys have a lot of exterior modifications on their cars. Bright red paint, window stickers, big bumpers, shiny spinners, personalised number plates and mean grilles while “silent assassin” types disguise their powerful engines and ear-piercing sound systems in ordinary-looking sedans that are deceivingly powerful. Smiley fits the latter description.
The atmosphere is buzzing in the open plot that serves as the racetrack every Wednesday night. The open field is nestled inconspicuously across the road from the iconic FNB Stadium. Although the gathering is illegal, this is not the most discreet of crowds.
Music pumps from every other car and the girls — dressed in sexy summer shorts, long weaves and skirts — dance and congregate around the more expensive cars. Vodka and beer flow as the guys size up each other’s rides.
The only thing that can stop the drags are the blue lights of the police. However, Johannesburg Metro Police Department (JMPD) officer Coetzee says that there have been very few arrests made but there is a R1 000 fine if you’re caught.
But few people do get caught. Coetzee said JMPD hires its cars from a rental agency and they come standard so it’s difficult to catch up with these cars that have modifications that allow the drivers to hit high speeds fast, leaving JMPD in the dust.
“Instead the crowd disperses whenever they see us coming,” he laughs.
There are a number of legal drag races in the Johannesburg area but Smiley and his crew prefer living life on the edge.
DRAGGING ALONG: The drag races are a huge part of youth culture in Mayfair and surrounding areas. Photo: Michelle Gumede
What happens when Jumpstar arrives
In a circle demarcated by old tyres, a Honda Civic revs its engine and does doughnuts. The driver keeps running out of the car, dancing to the medley of sounds blasting from the different vehicles, leaving the car to continue circling on its own. The crowd roars with excitement and the other drivers look on nervously. The guys try to keep their cool by talking smack about the sound the Civic exhaust makes but the girls keep on screaming as if they just saw Michael Jackson.
Half an hour later, another Honda Ballade, this one hot red, arrives and catches the attention of Smiley and his crew. The car has been pimped out with dark-tinted windows, yellow lamin-x on its fog lights and a super, low suspension. The driver revs his engine and parks in front of two drunken girls dancing and groping each other, forming sultry silhouettes in his lights.
It’s Jumpstar.
“I’ll go scout it out now, now,” Corbin reassures Smiley. He disappears into the darkness.
For the rest of the night, young and old guys’ cars continue to compete in the art of spinning and racing while crowds roar and boo at competitors. Smiley’s crew keep their eyes on Jumpstar. He’s chilling cheekily with his boys across the tyre-barricaded race area, just waiting for Smiley to make a move.
Of the more than 25 auto body shops that can be found in the Mayfair and Fordsburg area, there are only two that Smiley trusts to take care of his transie (car) – Autostyle and Domingos.
“It’s a fucking expensive interest or hobby; cars break all the time and parts don’t cost the normal prices anymore,” Smiley says.
Solly Domingos opened the doors of Domingos on Mint Road in 1941. His son Joe Domingo was the first “coloured” driver on the racing circuit during apartheid. According to website Hood Ride SA, between 1960-1975 Joe’s father spent about R2.9 million on Team Domingos racing as the team had no sponsor.
FAMILY AFFAIR: ‘Butch’ has been working alongside the Domingos clan for over 30 years. Family run businesses like Domingos on Mint Road are a common affair in Mayfair. Photo: Michelle Gumede
Autostyle, owned by the Mohammed family, has been a part of the Mayfair business community for 18 years. Autostyle started out as a small parts shop and now towers over the busy Church Street with two sister shops in the same area.
“You get from the oldest 80-year-old guy who still wants to pimp his car up and still looking for the accessories,” Zak Mohammed, a sales representative at Autostyle, says.
Both of these family run businesses have earned fierce reputations for their expertise and products. Smiley insists, “They have the sickest accessories in this part of Johannesburg.”
The day after having seen the improvements and modifications on Jumpstar’s ride, Smiley strips down most of the interior of his beloved Honda Ballade. It’s supposed to make the car lighter and faster.
He removed his sound system and mags that are due for replacement before Sunday’s race. “Eish, it’s standard and ugly,” he says with a sigh.
LIGHTENED LOAD: Stripping down a car to its bare minimum is one of the methods used to make the car go faster on a racetrack. This Toyota can go from zero to 100km in three seconds. Photo: Michelle Gumede
Zak recommends adding stance to any competition car. The stance is used mostly at shows and is not an everyday scene in Mayfair, but the motor heads love it as an added creative effect that can be installed on most makes. “Stance is like the new in-thing,” Zak explains.
It’s about modifying wheel alignment in an unusual way with your back wheels slanted out. “It’s a new modification where you put your back wheels to go into negative camber,” Zak says.
The inside of the tyre gets eroded while the outside retains its shine. Drivers usually have their own wheels for everyday driving when the negative camber goes back in and alignment is restored to normal.
Zak warns against even trying to do this on a daily basis as it’s not practical. “Your alignment’s going to go off and you’re gonna have vibration on your steering wheel.”
Car warranties compromised by modifications
Manufacturers don’t care much for modifications to their vehicles. VW brand specialist Mpho Sebitlo says it’s not advisable to modify your car beyond those provided by the factory.
“The warranty of the car parts is compromised and the car devalues even more than a standard car would,” Sebitlo says.
Smiley spends the next week working hard, making money with pick-ups and drop-offs to pimp his ride. Inbetween, Smiley makes time for his two girlfriends. The cute young girls don’t seem to mind that he comes and goes between them. Smiley moves between both girls, kissing and casually slapping their bums as if to assert his dominance over them.
It’s Thursday, the day of the big job, and the usually talkative Smiley is rather quiet, distant. He’s making a chicken mayo sandwich in the kitchen and playing more Drake from his phone.
“I want the money, money and the cars. Cars and the clothes. The hoes, I suppose. I just wanna be, I just wanna be, successful.”
Smiley and his crew are vague about how they make the money that funds their expensive lifestyle, except that it involves a lot of pick-ups and drop-offs.
Smiley and Big G leave town at six in the evening. He boasts on Whatsapp that they made the four-hour trip to Limpopo in three hours. Then, they wait and wait for the delivery vehicle on a deserted road outside a small village in Phalaborwa. Forty-five minutes later, their client arrives with a large package from Zimbabwe. The exchange is made silently.
The morning after the big job is tense. He needs to sell the goods in the package quickly if he is going to pay for the accessories and labour on his cars by race day.
It’s Sunday evening. After all the preparation, Smiley doesn’t race against his opponent. He says it’s been postponed to the first week of December. Smiley insists he doesn’t fear his opponent and the delay is strategic.
“There’ll be more people then ‘cos its mos the festive season, then I’ll crush Jumpstar in front of everybody.”
The delay may put his street cred on the line for now, but Smiley’s passion for speed, money and girls will keep him in the fast lanes of Mayfair.
FEATURED IMAGE: The drag races attract people from all over Joburg who drive all types of cars. The competition is tough as modifications vary from car to car. Photo: Michelle Gumede
According to crime statistics, the Fordsburg and Mayfair areas are two of the safest foreign-inhabited areas in Johannesburg. The Muslims in the area, which is increasing yearly, believe it is because of their peaceful nature. Can this be true?
Mayfair and Fordsburg have become places where refugees, asylum seekers and immigrants from the world come to find and protect one another.
For Mayfair, an area rich with foreign businesses and residents, the once “whites only” zone went through two xenophobic waves virtually unscathed.
Some residents, such as Amir Sheikh, have hailed the area as a safe haven for foreigners because of the peacefulness of Muslims, who make up the majority of the population.
Others though, still look over their shoulders and hold on tight to their children when walking in the streets and complain that ordinary crime is on the rise.
Somalis first foreigners
The vast majority of Somalis immigrated to this area in the early 1990s as their home country burnt with civil war.
Luckily for these families, there were many Indian people of Islamic faith already living in the area.
This was partly due to a court judgment in the 1980s against apartheid’s Group Areas Act. A court ruled that Indian people could not be evicted under the Act if they bought or rented properties in Mayfair as the state couldn’t provide adequate alternative accommodation.
The wealthy and well-established Muslim Indians in the area helped the Somalis who shared their faith through one of the five pillars of Islam, zakāh . Zakāhis an annual payment made under Islamic law on certain types of property and used for charitable and religious resolves.
Bursary administrator for the South African National Zakah Fund (SANZAF) Nqobani Mbanjwea talking to a possible donor via telephone from the Mint Street, Fordsburg, office. Photo: Anlerie de Wet
These Indians then took “shares” from their businesses and spread them among the destitute of the Muslim community, which included the Somalis.
As the years went by, foreign nationals from many different countries (most of which were Muslim) found solidarity living in the Mayfair and Fordsburg area, which had become increasingly commercial.
In Central Road you can find a spaza shop owned by a Bangladeshi, a clothing store owned by an Egyptian and a takeaway owned by an Indian. In the same street you would see Zimbabweans working as sales ladies and Mozambicans as chefs.
Somali Hussein Hussin in his mechanic and auto-electrical workshop, Al Maka, in Langerman Street, Mayfair. His trade is wanted more in South Africa than in his home country. Photo: Anlerie de Wet
“The truck at the borders already know to drop them [foreigners] here,” said Sheikh.
As to why the foreigners choose to settle in this area, local immigration practitioner Pieter Britz gave two reasons: The area has a lot of work for them as immigrants and some of their families are already living there.
Sheikh, however, believes foreign Muslim people choose to start their new lives in the area because “it is the only area close to the CBD that hosts people of Islamic faith”. This allows Muslims there the freedom to work and still practise their religion, such as taking breaks from work during the day to pray at a mosque.
Relatively safer?
According to Sheikh the crime rate in the area has dropped over the years, since his arrival in 2003, which he believes is due to the rising number of Muslims in the area as they are “peaceful people”.
Although the crime statistics in the area dropped to a recorded low in 2013, it increased 15% in the past two years.
Egyptian Salama Elshereef and his cousin have been working and living in Fordsburg since 2006. They followed their family here after they came to the country in 1997.
“Egyptian people here have a lot of businesses in all Islamic areas in South Africa. They helped me work my way up to owning a business.”
Elshereef agreed with Sheikh that the area became safer and more peaceful as the number of Muslims in the area grew.
“Where there are Muslims you will always feel safe,” said Elshereef, but contradictory to this statement he also noted that crimes of all sorts have shot up since the beginning of 2015.
“Crime is coming back to the area because it is getting business. Lots of foreign markets are getting busier, making more money and the thieves know,” said Elshereef.
Even with the belief that crime in the area has increased, Elshereef would still rather stay here than go back to Egypt.
“In Egypt life is better when talking about safety, but business here is better and I feel better near my family … that’s why I came here for them, not because I believe it’s safer,” said Elshereef.
Egyptian Salama Elshereef waiting for customers at his Muslim clothing store, Ameera’s Fashions, on the corner of Central Road and Dolly Rhadebe. Photo: Anlerie de Wet
Zimbabwean Vanessa Chalmers said the area with all the different foreigners is “mostly friendly”.
Although “in all honesty” Chalmers said it is safer in her home country but “the economy, schooling systems and technologies are better in South Africa”.
The 21-year-old Chalmers said the area isn’t that violent although “there is always this one bum that is looking for trouble”.
‘There is fighting all the time. Shooting and stealing’
Ethiopian Hadra Ahmed is a newcomer to the vibrant foreigners’ hub. She came to South Africa in 2009 and, after living and working in Durban with her brother for five years, she moved to Mayfair in August to get married. Her fiancé owns a bistro and has been in the area for two years but she is not comfortable with the idea of living here.
“This is not [a] good area to raise kids,” Ahmed said before talking about her young daughter and her second child, which is on the way.
Ahmed went on to talk about how a Pakistani guy was hijacked on the corner of Bird Street and 9th Avenue, in front of the restaurant she has her coffee stall in.
“There is fighting all the time. Shooting and stealing. They stole the man’s car and drove back to shoot him.”
Although she believes the criminals to be South African, she doesn’t think they killed the man because he was a foreigner. “People here from all nations get attacked and killed, even South Africans.
“I like this country, but I’m scared when xenophobic attacks happen,” said Ahmed. Only bruises and an empty shop remained when her brother was attacked in Durban in 2008 with the first xenophobic wave.
“Here it is safer, but attacks still happen.”
Yet, she would rather stay here than go back home. “Life here is better, we do own business. There we can’t” due to economic conditions,” Ahmed explained.
Sheikh said he knows of one xenophobic attack that took place within the Fordsburg/Mayfair area. A Somali man was strangled to death in Carr Street in front of his garage in May 2008. Nothing was stolen.
Anti-foreigner sentiments were again spread in 2012 by a group that called themselves the South African Blacks Association, according to a media report.
The group circulated pamphlets and letters in the area warning foreigners that “we are coming for you”.
Gift of the Givers worker Fadia Jacobs on her way from the Mint Street, Fordsburg, office to go to a needy family in the area. Photo: Anlerie de Wet
They threatened to rape and kill foreign women along with the following: “We will burn your houses, your so-called luxury cars, we will kill your fucken [sic] puppies [children] and burn down your shops.”
As xenophobic violence affected South Africa in 2015, Mayfair’s Christ Church set up a refugee camp on its grounds with the support of Gift of the Givers, an African disaster relief organisation, and the community.
“This is truly a safe haven for us foreigners because when the xenophobic attacks happened other foreigners came here to find shelter,” said Sheikh.
Amir’s view of South Africa as hospitable and receptive has not changed due to the xenophobic attacks.
“The same person that gives you space to trade and doesn’t know your country of origin cannot actually be a xenophobe. Still there are people that cling to the element and claim things when there are tensions somewhere.”
Non-Muslims also welcome
Britz and his practice assist roughly 30 to 40 immigrants a month.
“I find that our clients integrate into the area easily … They have strength in numbers and know people here, they speak the same languages and know the same type of socialistic statuses.” Then again, most of his clients are Muslims.
Muslim women waiting for friends before going to the mosque for Friday afternoon prayers. Photo: Anlerie de Wet
However, Sheikh said that while the area is dominated by Muslims, non-Muslims are also welcome.
“Non-Muslims have no difficulty coming into the community… we co-exist well,” said Sheikh.
He explained that people from the SADC region come to live and trade in the area.
“[It] doesn’t mean when you [are] of other faith that you are not accepted and accommodated into the community.” To strengthen his point, Sheikh used the example of the area’s ward counsellor, Barry Musesi, being “a black Christian from Limpopo”.
Although, over the years Sheikh has noted a change in pattern as the Muslims, especially the foreigners, are no longer as united in the area as they used to be.
“There is some inter-Islam racism and dislikes. There are talks about Somalis taking over everything … and a fear that we own most of the businesses in the area.”
Yet he believes that even with all the cultural differences they are still more united through Islam – with an understanding that their interactions are mutually beneficial.
Zimbabwean waitress Vanessa Chalmers wiping plates before Calisto’s Portuguese restaurant opened at 12pm on a Friday afternoon. Photo: Anlerie de Wet
But as a Zimbabwean Christian, Chalmers finds it difficult to integrate into the community, purely because of the tightly knit Muslim groups. She has been working in Fordsburg at Calisto’s Portuguese Restaurant for the past two months. She has been in the country from the beginning of 2015 to study accounting through South Africa’s distance university Unisa.
“Some of the Muslims are not that friendly, but with my work you are forced to get along with them. I found that if you are not of their kind, you are not seen as human.”
Other than her feeling uncomfortable in the presence of Muslims, she said she gets along well with all the other foreigners in the area.
Chalmers’s colleague, Gunjan Sur, has been in South Africa for five months under an “asylum seeker” status – although his life was not in danger in his home country. His travel agent in India allegedly told him the status was the same as a five-year work permit. She was wrong and he can no longer get hold of her.
Although Sur is stuck in South Africa, he sometimes forgets because “there are people here from my country and from Bangladesh and Pakistan who follow different religions. I feel at home here”.
Nonetheless, despite some struggles and disputes, many foreigners still come to this area for protection and to build better lives for themselves. Compared to other areas where foreigners are found in great numbers, such as Hillbrow and Yeoville, this area still statistically remains one of the safest.
Whether Muslims are connected to the higher levels of safety for foreigners or not, the Fordsburg and Mayfair areas serve as the definition of a “rainbow nation” for many foreigners.
FEATURED IMAGE: Gift of the Givers worker Fadia Jacobs on her way from the Mint Street, Fordsburg, office to go to a needy family in the area. Photo: Anlerie de Wet
The Cape Malay population of Mayfair may be small, but they carry in their heritage a strong sense of community in everything they do. The bond they share is defined not by geographical location, but by a past with distinct traditions of culture and faith. Who are they, where do they hail from, and what does the future hold for them?
The smell of baked dough whirls in the air around the corner from Shoneez Confectioners. You can’t trace it immediately if you’re walking or driving up St Elmos Street in Mayfair, Johannesburg, but there is a freshness in the air that strikes you in passing and ignites your curiosity.
As you get closer, you see the big windows with the name of the bakery. Well-lit, with turquoise and green graphics, the bakery is a bright light amid the dreary browns of the block. Situated between a spice shop and a barber, the bakery glows with the promise of a new relationship with Cape Malay cakes as opposed to just buying what you need and leaving.
Recording all the recipes
Behind the counter of Shoneez Confectioners stands the owner, Shoneez Moor. Her accent is distinct from the twang of the South African Indian customers she serves every day. You can tell she is Malay from the way she says “shukr” and “alhamdulillah”, Islamic phrases of praise to God. Her dress sense is also distinct from the many women who come into the store wearing hijabs, a scarf wrapped around the face which fully covers the hair, and abayas, an Islamic dress which covers the body.
Moor is wearing fashionable sneakers, track pants, a sports T-shirt and a gold necklace with her name on it. She is a self-made woman.
Five customers wait inside the bakery to pay for their goods from the single cashier. The space brings out the colours of the cakes, giving each an appeal of its own. Red cakes covered in coconut, golden chocolate chip cookies, cream-coloured caramel twisted doughnuts, shiny chocolate-covered, dark brown brownies. All are observed and analysed before a choice is made.
One of the customers grabs a bag of rolls from the back section of the bakery. As she waits to pay for her purchase, her eye falls on the scones. She calls someone to assist her. A few minutes later, she leaves with her rolls, her scones, and some caramel sticks and doughnuts. The look on her face says: “I couldn’t help myself.”
Moor’s cakes are a typical part of the Cape Malay experience, a combination of welcoming warmth, exceptionally well-prepared food and a belief in something unconventional.
Moor never set out to bake. Her success lies in pure self-determination and hard work. “I run a tight ship,” she says, speaking about her business ethic. Her baking comes from the skills she learnt from her mother as a child growing up in Bosmont, west of Johannesburg.
She says she used to write all the recipes down in a book as she was growing up, and is now using them as a catalyst for her success. She points at a batch of freshly baked butter biscuits. “This is gadat biscuits,” she says.
A gadat biscuit is no different from any other butter biscuit except that it is made with the intention of being served at gadat, a Cape Malay form of celebration that involves praying in a group, as a community.
Traditionally young girls would record all their mother’s recipes in a notebook . Here Faieza shows recipes for the treats served at Shoneez’s bakery. Treats like bollas and koeksisters and gadat biscuits (butter biscuits) which are authentically Malay dishes that form part of the Malay heritage. Photo: Rafieka Williams
The Cape Malay people of Mayfair are, within and without, trying to carve their own space as a community with strong ties to Cape Town. They are caught between thriving in their own personal lives, and having to assimilate to more dominant cultures in the area. Although they are few, they have found ways to stay true to their own despite being different; using their culture to their benefit.
Connections to Malaysia and Indonesia
Pragna Rugunanan, a sociologist at the University of Johannesburg, says research on Cape Malay people in Mayfair is rare because “the community is hard to access”. She suspects that one of the reasons that Cape Malay people and other immigrants move into this community is because Mayfair and Fordsburg have strong Islamic influences, with the variety of mosques established by residents who came here after land was made available to them by the government.
Farouk Achmat was born and bred in District Six, once the heart of Cape Town, where the ancestry of the Cape Malay identity was cultivated. Before the area was demolished under apartheid law, the races intermingled freely. Malay people had a strong influence on the Afrikaans language, the third most-spoken language in South Africa next to isiZulu and isiXhosa. Today, you will find that many Malay people still speak Afrikaans as a first language.
Under the apartheid government Malay people were classified as such because there were differing cultural differences to Indian and coloured people. Most Malay people are Muslim and follow the Islamic faith which forms a part of their identity that distinguishes them from other races and cultures. Photo: Rafieka Williams
Although Achmat makes the distinction between being coloured and being Cape Malay, no Malay person can trace their exact connections to Malaysia or Indonesia. From the original slaves and political exiles, such as Sheikh Yusuf and Tuan Guru, who first brought Islam to South Africa and spread it, the Malay people adapted to new ways of life at the southern tip of the continent. For this reason, Achmat believes there is a cultural difference to being Cape Malay that goes beyond race.
In Cape Malay culture, Islam is intertwined with traditions and cultural practices. Achmat moved to Mayfair in 2000, to deepen his understanding of his religion. He says that as a Cape Malay you’re considered to be a “slams”, a derogatory term used for Cape Malay people within the Islamic faith. He explains that Cape Malay people know their religion on a communal basis but the feeling of community is lost in Mayfair beyond the idea of sharing the same religion.
According to Achmat, the traditional practices of Malay people are frowned upon by many of the South African Indians in Mayfair. “They see it as bid’ah,” he says. Bid’ah in the Islamic faith is considered to be reprehensible innovations. These are new ways of doing things that are considered to be against Islamic scripture. But Achmat says “this is the way we grew up” and that it cannot be changed.
Faieza Shaktar of 6th Avenue, Mayfair, speaks proudly of her Cape Malay heritage. In her home she wears what is referred to as an “onnerkappie”, a small, material head covering worn by Muslim women that covers all your hair, usually worn as an alternative to the full scarf. In Cape Town, it’s common to see women wearing one of these head coverings.
Shaktar speaks Afrikaans with fire, often running out of breath, going from one topic to the next. What starts out as a quick visit, turns into a full day, just talking. Words like “kanallah” (please), “tramakassie” (thank you), “wallahi” (I swear), and “boeta” (big brother) are second nature to her, but if you don’t know Cape Malay people, you would be lost as to their meaning.
Faieza Shaktar demonstrates the traditional wear that Malay women would hand sew and embroider on their own for celebrations such as gadats and for madressah (Muslim school). She still preserves and holds onto these garments that she was raised in so she can remember the days when Malay culture was thriving in Fietas, Johannesburg. Today young Malay people just buy abayas. Photo: Rafieka Williams
Shaktar tells of working for an Indian man once. “Hier vra hy vir my, ‘why don’t you wear your abaya?’ toe se ek Do I wear abaya for you?” Shaktar says that as a Muslim this upset her. The way she understands her religion is not to show people in her attire that she is Muslim, but in the way that she treats people.
Wherever Shaktar goes, whether it be to mosque, the shops or just outside her door, she always has conversations with the people around her. For Shaktar, talking to people and learning about them is an important character trait. She says that this warmth that she expresses towards people is something that she was taught growing up, the way her grandmother used to send food to her neighbours when it was labarang, a Malay term for the Muslim festival of Eid.
“She used to make such a big pot of biryani so that her Christian friend auntie Carol and auntie die ene moet a bak kry. We used to be delivery boys, kassam. One day my granny said ‘you know this woman, I send her every year, I send her biscuits, food, cake, whatever, and every year for Christmas she sends me a bowl of peanuts’.” She laughs hysterically at her memories. Her grandmother continued sending and giving. “It doesn’t matter who you are, give that person, and that person. It’s my neighbour, you know.”
Integration issues in Mayfair
In Malay culture, your neighbour is an imperative part of your culture, because neighbourliness builds community. Traditionally, Cape Malay people would bake and exchange treats during Ramadan, a norm that is still practised in Cape Town and the Bosmont area in Johannesburg. In Mayfair, Shaktar says, this doesn’t happen because South African Indians don’t do it, but this doesn’t deter her. She still sends goods to her Indian neighbours. “I feel good in showing them that this is how we do it, and I didn’t make what they eat, I made onse doughnuts, ek het onse banana puris gemaak, things that I came with from my grandma.”
A few streets from Moor’s bakery, at 94 St. Bride Avenue, live Gabier and Somaya Davids. It’s Saturday and they’re having guests over, just as they did on Friday and Thursday. Having people over at their house is a regular occurrence. You can hear the camaraderie as you stand outside their gate. Today, the guests are Faldelah and Farouk Dorsen, friends of the Davids for almost 20 years.
Faldelah also wears an onnerkappie. Her Cape Malay accent is high-pitched and she speaks so fast that her words are seemingly attached to each other. Farouk wears a kufi cap, an Islamic skull cap for men. They met in the first few months the Davids moved here and are still having lunches together.
“Although we live in this Indian community, and although we know everybody here in this community, you will find that our closest friends are Malays from Cape Town,” says Gabier.
When the Davids moved here, they found it extremely difficult adjusting to the secluded nature of Mayfair and Mayfair West, compared to what they know as Malays. There is rarely anyone walking in the streets unless they’re going somewhere, no conversations between neighbours outside their gates, and no children playing. Even though there are many mosques, they are not regularly packed on a Friday for prayer, unless it is Eid.
Gabier explains that this was a challenging environment to live in because it was different to the communal aspects they were familiar with as Malays, whether from Cape Town or Johannesburg. The Davids decided that if they weren’t going to get their culture in Mayfair, they would bring their culture there. They have regular gatherings with other Cape Malays, where they practise traditions they are used to.
“We’re very traditional and our forefathers used to do gadats at any opportunities we had, birthdays, weddings, to congregate. And having that it’s almost like you stick with your own kind,” says Gabier. “We understand the tradition, we speak the same language, we converse in Afrikaans, we like games like dominoes.”
Heritage and the future
But the Davids don’t think that their children will continue with the traditions in the ways they did. “Everything is about technology now,” says Gabier. He fears that all traces of their Cape Malay heritage will become a thing of the past, just like the memories of faraway District Six and nearby Fietas.
And yet, the threads of the community continue to weave their way into the future. Back at the bakery, Nawaal Schroeder, a 20-year-old Wits student, is packing away cakes behind one of the counters. She is clothed in an abaya and a hijab and an apron. Schroeder studies occupational therapy as a full-time student and works at the bakery on weekends.
She has a welcoming and friendly demeanour, greeting customers with a smile, the kind of smile that you emulate in your eyes. “It’s very funny because a lot of people think I’m Indian and I don’t even look Indian,” she laughs heartily. She says although there are a noticeable amount of coloured people at Wits, Malay people are rare. Schroeder makes the distinction between South African Indian Muslims and her own experience of being Malay, “They don’t know about any of the cultural stuff that we do,” she says.
Faieza Shaktar holds an image of herself and her brother when they were younger. The picture shows the style of clothing that Malay people would wear during the 1970s. These were mostly formal suits and dresses with the kufi cap and dresses that covered the knees. Photo: Rafieka Williams
Schroeder recognises that some of her young Malay cousins have difficulties staying in touch with their culture because of outside influences. “It’s sad that a lot of them are trying to become Indian or white or like these hip-hop celebrities,” says Schroeder. She adds that her mom raised her to be proud of her Malay heritage and not to be embarrassed.
“It forms a very strong part of my identity. It’s unique because we don’t have the same practices that the South African Indians have,” says Schroeder. For her, “Being Malay has deep-rooted influences on the South African heritage as a whole.”
And, like the rest of the South African youth, Schroeder knows that times are changing. With her strong ties to her culture, she still believes in progress and moving forward. Schroeder says that when she one day has kids “it would be good to merge the two”, meaning the Malay traditional world and the modern world.
“Don’t modernise it too much where you lose the essence of the culture,” she says as if to remember an age-old truth. Schroeder goes back to packing the caramelised koeksisters and decorated lamingtons onto a tray and the bakery seems more welcoming when she is in it. As she works she carries a certainty in her expression, the bakery is home for her. Not home the way we understand it but home in that there is a sense of belonging here in Moor’s bakery, with the modern-day twist on traditional cakes and the smell of new and old coming together to affirm what is their own.
Schroeder represents a bright future for Malay culture in Johannesburg, knowing where she comes from and paving a way to merge her tradition with the modern world. One could almost say the future is as bright as the blaring light coming from the bakery as it lights up the dreary brown building it forms part of.
FEATURED IMAGE: Faieza Shaktar demonstrates the traditional wear that Malay women would hand sew and embroider on their own for celebrations such as gadats and for madressah (Muslim school). She still preserves and holds onto these garments that she was raised in so she can remember the days when Malay culture was thriving in Fietas, Johannesburg. Today young Malay people just buy abayas. Photo: Rafieka Williams
In a community where listening to music is prohibited, the melodic sounds of the nasheed genre are a popular alternative in Islamic households. However, even in this religious genre of Islamic praise music there are contending views as to what is halaal and what is haram.
SOUNDS OF MAYFAIR: There are a number of stores in the Fordsburg area that cater to the musical needs of its residents. From nasheeds to Bollywood sounds. Photo: Thembisile Dzonzi
Seductive, explicit, harmful, shameless, vulgar, promotes vice, is not to be listened to or haram (prohibited in the Qur’an). These are some of the terms used by the observant Muslim community to describe Western styles of music.
Within the religious constraints of the Muslim community that prohibits music, nasheed is an alternative option. The genre has been popular in the Arab world for centuries but has also drawn a lot of debate in the Muslim community.
To unfamiliar ears, nasheed sounds like a combination of humming sounds sung in a variety of tones and melodies. It comprises various pitch formations and harmonies that sometimes mimic the sound of instruments. Nasheed can also be accompanied by a percussion instrument such as the daf, a traditional Islamic drum. It is traditionally sung in Arabic or Urdu.
In South Africa’s observant Muslim community, nasheed is sung in English and the use of instruments such as the piano have been embraced, particularly by the Muslim youth.
‘All music is haram and should not be listened to’
ALL IN THE BEAT: The drum set, traditional daf and djembe are the instruments of choice for nasheed artist Zain Bhikha. Photo: Thembisile Dzonzi
For Mayfair resident Junaid Bata, music played an integral part in his adolescent life. “Many years ago I was very involved with music. We used to play around on guitars and enjoy ourselves with music,” Bata says.
In Surah Luqman, Verse 6 of the Qur’an, it states “And of mankind is he who purchases idle talks (i.e.music, singing, etc.) to mislead (men) from the Path of Allah without knowledge, and takes it (the Path of Allah, the Verses of the Qur’an) by way of mockery. For such there will be a humiliating torment (in the Hell-fire).”
This reading in the holy book is one of the reasons Bata changed his opinion on music. He says, “In our religion we are not allowed to use musical instruments, and being young we were naughty.”
As Bata matured, listening to the rock and roll of the 1960s and ’70s became a distant memory of boyhood. “When I got married I quickly moved away from the wrong things and music was one of those wrong things,” Bata says.
Bata, like many Muslims, now leads a life without Western-styled music. Sharing in the orthodox belief that all music is haram and should not be listened to. For Bata walking away from music was an easy choice based on faith.
For many observant Muslims like Bata, the sounds of nasheed have to be on par with their religious values. Keeping the sound and its content clean is a priority.
The nasheed genre is popularly associated with international artists such as Yusuf Islam (formerly known as Cat Stevens) and South Africa’s Qari Ziyaad Petal and Zain Bhikha.
Depending on their preferred school of thought, nasheed artists share varying perspectives on the religious boundaries of the nasheed musical process. Some artists prefer to take a traditional approach and only perform nasheed using nothing but vocals and Arabic, while others are experimenting with English lyrics and various instruments such as the daf and piano.
QUR’AN COMES FIRST: Traditionalist Qari Ziyaad Patel prefers to sing his nasheeds a cappella without the accompaniment of any instrument. Photo: Thembisile Dzonzi
For Qari Ziyaad Patel, following orthodox dogma in relation to song is an important part of Islamic teachings. “My first and foremost priority is reciting the Qur’an. This is what differentiates me from other nasheed artists,” says Patel.
For Patel, nasheed can be described as a form of Islamic poetry made with soothing sounds that are accompanied by meaningful Islamic text. These are often sung in traditional tunes that have been passed down many generations.
“We all do know and we always follow the teachings of the noble Prophet Muhammad where he has mentioned in many of his narrations telling us of the harms of music,” says Patel.
“Wherever you go today you will find that wherever there is music, sadly a lot of vices take place at raves and clubs and so forth.”
Patel began singing nasheed some 15 years ago on a visit to Bata’s house where the two began a father-son like relationship composing nasheed together.
“My son made him read the Qur’an,” Bata recalls.
“I was inspired by his voice and I said to [Patel] why don’t you sing something and he said ‘what should I sing?’ and that time there was the war in Afghanistan and the Taliban,” says Bata. Patel interjects to elaborate that the pair were so impressed by the way children were taken care of during the time of war that they decided to write about it.
Over the years they composed a few more songs together, The Grief I Feel being one of their most popular songs. “I wrote one or two songs for [Patel]. The songs were a bit heavy,” says Bata.
“All of our songs are completely kosher. All our songs are in the spirit of peace,” Patel says, as he elaborates the non-fundamentalist aspect of his nasheed. For him nasheed is not music, it’s a form of Islamic praise poetry.
1 MUSIC, 2 ARTISTS: Patel holding his album ‘Children of Africa’ and Zain Bhikha’s ‘Mountains of Makkah’. Photo: Thembisile Dzonzi
“We were taught when we were kids that anything associated with music will only bring harm and wrong with it. It’s forbidden. We were taught to be careful of the vices associated with music,” Patel recalls.
Despite the traditional approaches practised by Patel and other nasheed artists in the area, and worldwide, the more modern, instrumentally based nasheed industry is a thriving one.
Artists like Zain Bhikha have made the move to English nasheed and have found local and international popularity. Bhikha is among the handful of South African nasheed singers who sing in English and use instruments like the daf.
However, Bhikha still remains cautious about the restrictions of halaal and haram music. Most of his albums come with bonus tracks that consist of non-instrumentals or offer the drum versions of the original nasheed. “Inadvertently, by being cautious and my love for a cappella, I’ve created a niche for myself,” Bhikha says.
Zain Bhikha
In the past 20 years, the name Zain Bhikha has become one of the most prolific in the South African nasheed landscape. Bhikha’s career began with simplistic a cappellas, reciting the Qur’an on cassette tapes. It was in a fateful moment that one of his cassettes landed in the hands of Yusuf Islam, who was so impressed by it that he flew Bhikha out to London to record A is for Allah with him.
It seems the influence of working with former rock star Islam shifted Bhikha’s creativity from reciting a capella tunes to more elaborate tunes that consist of vocal layering, harmonies and drumming.
Bhikha has made a number of appearances on the Top 500 Influential Muslims in the World list, which is compiled by the Royal Islamic Strategic Studies Centre in Amman, Jordan. He is also an international superstar in the Islamic music world and is often referred to as one of the founding fathers of the modern day nasheed. Though if you ask him, in his gentle demeanour, Bhikha would tell you “music is like a hobby for me”.
“I’ve seen this whole genre of English/Islamic music come from nothing over the last 21 years and every day I see new artists and every one of them comes with his or her own style. I think [the industry] is going to grow,” says Bhikha.
DRUMMING: Zain Bhikha demonstrating how he uses the daf to get his signature sound. Photo: Thembisile Dzonzi
Bhikha adds that bringing an African influence to his nasheeds has helped distinguish him from other artists. “My songs are very African, you can hear the African backing vocals coming through, you can hear the influences, even the melodies, whilst contemporary, they have a very strong African background.”
But Patel feels the shift to English nasheeds is a sad sign of the Islamic community. “There’s a great shift to English nasheeds, sadly many a time the old folk and the young folk as well they won’t understand much of the Arabic sung on some of the nasheeds. The Arabic is of a very high level and even the Urdu at times is of a very high level,” says Patel.
According to Patel, Arabic nasheeds are easier to sing because of the way in which the Qur’an is written, it allows the artist to put a tune to the words with more ease. “That gives us the edge over English artists. Arabic is very versatile,” says Patel.
He adds: “You will find that some of our parents and our grandparents would understand. But the current generation, we have lost our connection with the home language so many tend to go and listen to English nasheed.”
Patel recalls how many of the nasheed artists started off reciting nasheeds without any music but once they are in the industry they feel the need to want to try and make their material more accessible through the use of instruments and English.
“They will start to try make their music better and start inserting a bit of musical instruments. So they will initially start by inserting instruments where there is consensus from the scholars, for example the daf, and as time progresses, they want to make their music and nasheed more accessible and eventually we find some youngsters having a full-blown musical nasheed,” says Patel.
For Bhikha, music is simply black or white. “Either it’s a good song or a bad song, either it’s inspiring you to do something that is in accordance to what you wish to emulate as a human being or not. A lot of the songs out there are teaching our children harmful messages, whether it be about the materialism of this world, whether it’s about disrespecting women, whether it’s about drugs, whatever the case may be,” says Bhikha.
“For me personally, I don’t subscribe to any particular dogma. However, I do believe that I’ve erred on the side of caution to make my music accessible. So all my albums are only with drums and voices and even on the same album you will find both,” Bhikha adds to his contemporary thoughts on the longstanding debate.
“The important thing is for people to focus on the music rather than everything else. We should focus on the music, focus on the message and make a difference,” says Bhikha.
LIKE FATHER LIKE SON: Zain Bhikha’s son Rashid is currently working on his solo EP after years of collaborating with his father. Photo: Thembisile Dzonzi
His more conservative counterpart shares a stronger and more traditional view on the prohibition of musical instruments. “As a reciter of the Qur’an and a Qari of the Qur’an, I would say that this is totally and completely incorrect. For us and the teachings that we have been taught, music and instruments are not allowed,” says Patel.
Music on Islamic radio
For traditionalists like Patel, nasheeds should be recited using vocals and harmonies but no musical instruments whatsoever. “There are others who would beg to differ but majority of us here in South Africa are of the school of thought that all musical instruments are haram and should not be used,” says Patel.
Islamic radio seems to agree with Patel’s view and contributes to the conservative nature of the Islamic community of Fordsburg and Mayfair. “From a faith perspective if something is not clear, allowed or not allowed, people would rather abstain from that grey area,” says Ismheal, public relations officer at Radio Islam.
For Radio Islam in Johannesburg, the station only reserves 5% of its content for music. The other 95% is talk. “Our licence conditions don’t allow us to play music because we are a more traditional or if you would like to use the word ‘orthodox’. I suppose, yes, our listeners share this sentiment,” says Ismheal.
He adds that the station has conditioning measures that filter through all music before it gets put on air. While most stations are concerned with making sure their aired content is audible and complies with the Broadcasting Complaints Commission’s mandate, Radio Islam checks for lyrical content and the use of instruments. Their checklist is simple, “first people will listen to it see what the lyrics are, what does it say. The other is ‘is it accompanied by musical instruments’ yes or no and if it’s not, fine,” says Ismheal.
From a contemporary point of view, Bhikha’s sentiments are more concerned with the instrumentally populated Bollywood style of music. “It’s interesting in the debate about music because many people would say music might not be permissible but Bollywood music has its own genre and exceptions a lot of the times. I think it’s because the tradition of Indian culture in Bollywood is so strong there’s a lot of nostalgia there … but that’s also changing, it’s becoming a lot more modern.”
Within the large range of music on sale in the Fordsburg and Mayfair there is a split between traditional nasheed CDs and copies of Bollywood tunes that fill the album shelves in music stores.
“Like in many communities, music is a central part of the heartbeat of Fordsburg and Mayfair,” says Bhikha.
In the western part of Johannesburg, there is a plethora of small and big stores that cater to the musical needs of the Fordsburg and Mayfair Muslim community and its visitors, traditional and contemporary.
“Ultimately, I think all human beings want to listen to beautiful sounds and beautiful poetry, this is what makes up human beings,” says Patel.
FEATURED IMAGE:1 MUSIC, 2 ARTISTS: Patel holding his album ‘Children of Africa’ and Zain Bhikha’s ‘Mountains of Makkah’. Photo: Thembisile Dzonzi
On the outskirts of the Johannesburg CBD lies a pulsating colourful melting pot that stretches for about 350 stores. Tailored in the vibrant cloth of multiculturalism, a distinct pulse and a rich history, Oriental Plaza reflects the cultural diversity of South Africa.
Formerly an apartheid-era attempt to build a distinct identity and a whites-only area in town in mid-1970, the Plaza’s oriental domes echo tales of segregation and the forced removal of disgruntled Indian merchants.
Beautifully kept, the Plaza is laid in gold tiles and stands out against the dirt-riddled, pungent and busy CBD setting. As its palm trees and Delhi-Middle Eastern inspired deco suggest, the Plaza was an attempt to tightly hem in Indian shop owners to a part of the city designated for “Indians”.
Walking through the Plaza a mystique fills the air, scarlet in colour with a spicy overlay. Yards of golden fabric hang loosely on dusty windows. Rolls of material are carefully arranged on top of tables and behind doors while loosely cut pieces spill into the corridors.
Pulled together by the three Grand Bazaar stairs, the plaza’s cultural diversity makes it a very interesting tale.
An Indian merchant in a dimly lit, congested store with weary-looking drapes carefully studies his curtains trying to negotiate a price for a customer.
“How much do you have my friend?” he asks, studying the customer carefully.
“I have R200, will that be fine?”
“That’s good,” he says quickly, carefully wrapping a shiny-metallic curtain in a black plastic bag.
Fabrics, fabrics, fabrics
The Oriental Plaza is known for its fabrics that are sold at discount prices. There is rarely a fixed price – it’s an Eastern market where bargaining is part of the experience.
The Plaza is known for its richness and multiculturalism, “a fashion melting pot” as many term it.
Weaving your way around, your eyes are treated to gracefully draped golden-brown saris from Leela’s, carefully beaded shweshwe print khetshemiyas (a head-doek worn by Xhosa brides) at KwaNtu Afrocentric designs and sharply pressed, Italian imported tailored men’s suits from Khaliques.
Kishore Desai, a 67-year-old who has owned Leela’s for 35 years, says he takes pride in his sari business and expresses gratitude for his multiracial clientele.
“People of all races come into my shop and that’s what makes this place unique,” he says.
Situated in the pearl of the Oriental Plaza, Leela’s, shop no. C87, stands in the Grand Bazaar. Enhanced by bright lighting, it holds an untouched elegance displaying sunset-burnt sari drapes with golden embroidered borders, long-tunic silky metallic kurtas and golden Indian jewels.
Lakshmi Desai wearing an Indian kurti at the Eastern-wear boutique, Leela’s. The boutique has many multiracial customers who love to buy Desai’s saris. Photo: Litaletu Zidepa
Leela’s, meaning playful, has been in the Desai family business for 35 years. Named after his great-grandmother, Desai says he takes pride in his store that has been passed through generations.
“It is very special to me. It has seen many generations and that is very important. It is a family owned business and we have been here since the beginning,” says Desai.
Walking around his store, Desai says his garments, which he terms “Eastern wear”, are part of an unbroken tradition.
“These clothes have been sold by my family for many years. They are an important part of our identity. It is great that we can share what makes us unique with other people in South Africa.”
A poised woman, Desai’s wife stands next to him, her expression slightly guarded.
The long, burnt-orange trail of her sari hugs her figure. The six-and-a-half metre cloth is humbly draped around her, embroidered with what she calls zardosi embroidery, a golden-metallic thread used for embellishment.
Daksha Desai smiles carefully and interjects her husband’s conversation: “Our saris are the best in the business.”
Desai agrees his saris are the top-selling garments in the store.
“My saris play a great part in my business. They are very seasonal, the different colours, the different parts of the year and things of that nature,” he says.
“Saris are worn the same and the blouses are made to customise the customer’s request. Some customers want a long blouse, some want a fancy blouse with lots of beads and things like that.”
But while saris are associated with Indians, Desai says it is his multicultural South African clientele who have kept his business thriving over the years.
“Our Eastern garments are not only worn by Indians. I have a very big African community and European community, in fact my business basically relies on the African and European community, very little of the Indian.”
The Oriental Plaza cultural mix opens an insight into how culturally diverse South Africa is. Khajara Firoz, a 29-year-old who was born in Pakistan, says his business has taught him an appreciation of other cultures.
Pakistani-born Khajara Firoz at his sewing studio in the Oriental Plaza. Firoz makes African traditional men’s suits using African fabrics and he says he appreciates African cultures and fabrics. Photo: Litaletu Zidepa
At the opposite end of the Oriental Plaza from Leela’s, next to a store heavily crammed with Eastern garments and assorted jewellery, Firoz sits at his sewing machine.
He is stitching a champagne-gold, plain-weave sheer material over an ivory coloured lace fabric. It’s for a girl who is attending her matric dance farewell.
Firoz has been a women’s wear designer for the past nine years. He says he deals with matric dances, wedding gowns and African traditional men’s suits – “anything”.
Sitting in his dimly lit 50 square metres store in the Grand Bazaar corner, Firoz says he taught himself to sew.
“I taught myself everything because I believe I can do anything I want. I needed a job and things were bad back in Pakistan so I decided to come to South Africa and start my own business.”
His store has two other designers from Pakistan, one who deals with leather garments and the other Eastern-wear garments.
Asked about the reception of his business in South Africa, Firoz’s eyebrows shift together slightly as he expresses his pain.
“Since I moved to South Africa in 2007, my business has gone through a lot of things,” he says.
Foreign customers chased away
Firoz says his business has faced many challenges. His voice breaks underneath his words, a shift from the light, cheerful person he was 20 minutes ago. The most recent blow to his business was this year’s xenophobic attacks that chased away his foreign customers.
“Most of my customers are from Mozambique and Malawi, now those customers I am certain are scared to come to South Africa. I often go to Mozambique and supply my stuff because they are scared to come this side,” Firoz says.
He says spending money on travels to Mozambique and Malawi for his customers, importing his fabrics and the weakening rand have led to a decline in his business. This has led to him being open to using South African fabrics supplied by customers.
“Most of my materials come from Pakistan and India but the dollar price affects my imports.”
He has worked with many local fabrics for his African suits, such as the shweshwe fabric, a classic, indigo printed and dyed cotton fabric used by many African cultures in South Africa, and also the kente cloth fabric used by Ashanti people in Ghana.
Firoz says he always wants to try something new for his business to make it timeless and isn’t afraid to play around with fabrics.
“I like the African prints, they are pretty and colourful. I make Western-style African male suits,” he laughs.
“These suits are your normal suits but I use African prints, it all depends on the customer. They can be very hard to make but I only strive for the best,” he says.
Firoz says he appreciates African cultures and wants to learn more about the fabrics.
“I am learning every day and I try to improve every day,” he says with a smile.
The colourful resonance of the Grand Bazaar gives character to the plaza. Many spaces in South Africa under apartheid were used as tools in an attempt to define people’s heritage. In the case of the Oriental Plaza this had a mixed result.
Developing its distinct urban character, the Plaza has managed to create a cultural fusion, a South African reflection of its distinct ethnicities and cultures.
The manager of KwanNtu Afrocentric Designs, Vicky Ginya, wearing traditional Xhosa attire (isikhakha), a red, white and yellow beaded black head-doek (isikhetshemiya), complemented with vibrant and colourful beadwork (uvelibhoyi) and a beaded smoking pipe (inqawa) at the store in Oriental Plaza. Photo: Litaletu Zidepa
African inspiration at the Oriental Plaza
One of the distinctive stores at the Plaza is KwaNtu Afrocentric Designs.
KwaNtu, meaning “a place of gathering”, is where “everyone is welcomed, no matter the race,” says Vicky Ginya, store manager.
The floor of the store is sprinkled with cuts of colourful pieces of African-printed fabric.
Known as “Afrocentric” in the fashion industry, KwaNtu has managed to emphasise the African, shweshwe and Ghanaian presence in an Eastern-Indian neighbourhood.
Ginya – “Sis’ Vicky” to her customers – carefully places red and yellow beads on a black cloth.
She refers to this black cloth embroidered with white thread as isikhetshemiya.
“This is worn by Xhosa brides. It gives her dignity; it makes you a beautiful, dignified Xhosa woman.”
Ginya says the beads, which she refers to as intsimbi, are symbolic.
“Beads are an African style. These are the colours of Isintu sa kwa Xhosa (Xhosa nation). The red means ukuthandana (physical love), the yellow beads mean ubutyebi (wealth) and the black cloth symbolises marriage and regeneration.”
She adds that these beads all add up to the idea of marriage as a symbol of the abundance of love and rebirth as you are entering a new chapter.
Started in 2013, Ginya says the idea to place the store at Oriental Plaza was “to mix ourselves as we are in Mzansi Africa”.
“We tried to break the mentality that this place is only for Indians. So we are based here because we are all Africans and there will be people who will come here looking for saris but people become so happy when they see or find Mzansi traditional outfits.”
Ginya adds that many shop owners at the plaza send their customers to KwaNtu.
“Many people, from tourists, white people and even Indian people come here. Most of the time they say they have to go to a traditional wedding and others say they have black husbands or wives but what I know is that they love our merchandise, especially our beads.”
Pointing to a white and black dress complemented with scarlet red and white beads, Ginya says they take pride in making everyone beautiful.
Ginya says white South Africans and European tourists have taken a liking to the beadwork sold at KwaNtu, saying she wants them to see themselves as Africans and get the African experience.
“White people, they also like the beads. We want oMama (women/mothers) and oTata (fathers) to wear our clothes with pride; we want them to see themselves as umAfrika (Africans).”
“We respect all people here, all cultures and we want everyone to feel at home. We practise uBuntu here.”
While many shop owners says businesses at the Plaza are declining, many Mayfair business owners can only dream of reaching the golden Plaza.
Along 8th Avenue and bordered by Bird and Hanover streets lies a less colourful, crammed Amal Centre in Mayfair, which some describe as “Little Mogadishu”.
Held tightly together by the smell of sabayad (flatbread) and baasto (pasta), “Little Somali” is a refuge for many and a home for the homeless.
Ethiopian coffee makers, Pakistani shop owners and Somali restaurants can be found in the area. On Fridays, an owner hurries to close his shop as prayer emanates from different mosques and engulfs the “little” town.
This hub is home for the working class. Somali refugees own many businesses in Little Mogadishu, most notably textile shops.
Many Somalis who occupy this space silently hope one day they will reach the Oriental Plaza.
Walking through the Amal Centre, which was once a BMW showroom, many rolled-up fabrics can be seen peeping through small square stores, much like the setting at the plaza.
Somalis in South Africa have experienced violence and discrimination, an exclusion that has driven many of them to Little Mogadishu, much like the forced removals at Fietas under apartheid in the 1970s.
22-year-old Mohamud Mohamed is a South African born-Somali and hopes one day he will have his own store at the ‘thriving’ Oriental Plaza. Photo: Litaletu Zidepa
For people like 22-year-old Mohamud Mohamed, the Oriental Plaza is where he wants to be. “These are imported legally, nothing here is illegal,” says Mohamed.
Mohamed works at Al-Haramayn, a shop owned by his mother since 2006.
His mother, reluctant to be interviewed, waves her reddish-brown stained henna patterned hands and points to her son: “Talk to him, not me.”
“The things we sell here are mostly traditional women Islamic clothes. We also sell cosmetics and perfumes,” he says.
Mohamed says money is scarce in the area and his mom is thinking of closing her store.
“I heard my mom say things are worse now. She has been here for 20 years now, and that time there were not many Islamic people around.”
Mohamed complains about the overcrowding of the shops in the centre. He says he wishes that his mother had a “much better” store at the Plaza.
“Back then, she was one of the people that owned a shop here. But now there are more people,” he says.
“All the shops here are selling the same stuff, same things exactly.”
Mohamed says it is hard to make money at the centre and one day hopes to join shop owners at the Plaza.
“Everything is hard this side, my only hopes are to take this business to the Plaza and maybe make a living that side,” he says.
Mohamed’s friend Abdul Naser, a Somali dressmaker, sits on a once-white plastic chair, now smeared with brown paint, and sighs heavily.
The small room with chipped, lime green paint has seen better days.
Naser, sweating in the scorching sun, stands up from his sewing machine to get a customer’s garment from a yellow and red plastic bag riddled with holes hanging on a wire string.
Naser says he is closing down his shop soon.
Abdul Naser, a Somali dressmaker in Little Mogadishu, has been in business for nine years. He has hopes of becoming a dressmaker at Oriental Plaza but does not have the papers or money to do so. Photo: Litaletu Zidepa
Abdul Naser, a Somali dressmaker in Little Mogadishu, has been in business for nine years. He has hopes of becoming a dressmaker at Oriental Plaza but does not have the papers or money to do so. Photo: Litaletu Zidepa
“The business is going down, it’s not like before. Everything is going up and the women don’t come anymore.”
When asked why he doesn’t go to Oriental Plaza, Naser says: “I don’t have the papers and the money is too much there.”
A woman wearing a navy abaya complemented with a faded blue hijab interrupts Naser as he is about to speak.
He looks at the R200 note she presents him with hunger and desperation in his eyes.
“I am sorry, business needs to go on now. Interview over, you can go now,” he says, dismissively waving his hands.
FEATURED IMAGE: Pakistani-born Khajara Firoz at his sewing studio in the Oriental Plaza. Firoz makes African traditional men’s suits using African fabrics and he says he appreciates African cultures and fabrics. Photo: Litaletu Zidepa
There are many hair salons in Fordsburg that are all competing for customers, but with the increase in foreign-owned businesses and the changes seen in Fordsburg all the old barbershops have closed, except for one.
Every day Chhagan Cgopal takes the familiar 30-minute journey from his bus stop at the heart of Johannesburg’s city centre to his barbershop in Fordsburg, a trip he has taken for over 40 years. He unlocks the security gate and swaps his beige raincoat and faded black fez hat for his still pristine, white cutting coat on the hook in the corner of his tiny shop. Then, like every other day, he reads the daily paper on the unsteady plastic chairs at the door, waiting for customers. On most days no customers will come, no one will visit except for the local car guards who ask to use his taps.
Cgopal, who is now in his late 70s, is the last traditional men’s barbershop left in a Fordsburg that was once bustling with people going to the Majestic bioscope or children playing marbles in the dirt road. But now, time and competition from newer foreign hair salons have closed the doors on others like him.
WAITING FOR CUSTOMERS: Chhagan Cgopal spends most of his time paging through the local newspapers that he piles up on the chair next to him, while waiting for customers to come to his now quiet barbershop in Fordsburg. Photo: Tanisha Heiberg
The old Fordsburg hangout
Fordsburg has undergone many changes from the time when it was home to notorious gangsters, and classic, slicked-back hair was the style. Many of its old residents have moved away and hopeful foreigners have moved in to establish themselves in an area whose locals share a similar culture.
The over 40-year-old Majestic barbershop, named after the old bioscope, is now lost between worn brick buildings. The faint sound of the radio playing in the background and the squeaking of the corner fan break the silence in the cluttered shop.
Despite it being discarded, the Majestic barbershop has become an icon in the area that many people have never forgotten through stories from their fathers and grandfathers.
Zunaid Varachia, a long-time South African resident and business owner, recalled the streets in front of the hairdressers in town being lined with children and their anxious mothers a few days before Eid celebrations. “People used to go [to the barber] at three o’clock in the afternoon and wait in the queue and sometimes finish at 6 o’clock,” said Varachia.
MAJESTIC MEMENTOS: The small yellowing cupboards in his shop hold not only his scissors and straight blades, but also act as display cases for old photographs and newspaper clippings. Cgopal speaks fondly of pictures showing the gangsters whose hair he used to cut or the other barbers who worked in the shop with him. ‘More than 20 years they worked for me, now they all late,’ said Cgopal. Photo: Tanisha Heiberg
Varachia explained how the barbershops were always a part of the community atmosphere in Fordsburg. “The barbershop was the hangout spot … In my time you would always see people you know at the hairdresser waiting for a haircut,” said Varachia.
These barbershop hangout spots were home to many of the local men who came not only for a cut and shave but also to catch up on the news in the area. The Majestic barbershop even cut the hair of some of Fordsburg’s notorious gangsters who would charge people in the area a fee for their protection.
“All these gangsters they know us very well … they don’t trouble us … they were good gangsters, you had to pay protection fee like American style,” said Cgopal. But now in an area rife with crime, security gates and burglar bars are all that protect the old barbershop.
With a burst of laugher, the barber speaks fondly of the time when he himself still had hair.
“You know, Elvis style,” said a balding Cgopal, gesturing to the height of his once-full hair. Even in the 1990s, Fordsburg’s hair salons were crammed with young men eager to maintain their image and get the very popular bleached highlights.
“Those hairdressers used to stay open till eight o’clock at night … that time, eight o’clock was late,” said Varachia. Now in Fordsburg you might even be able to find a hair salon open at 11 o’clock at night just to make the most out of the last few hours of the day.
‘Retiring his cutting scissors’
GREEN BACKS: The Majestic Barber in Fordsburg is home to many photographs and antiques such as the worn leather green cutting chairs. The tiny shop once held five barbers chairs, but now only two remain after they were sold to antique collectors. Photo: Tanisha Heiberg
For Cgopal, who needs to close his shop with enough time for him to walk into town and catch the last bus home, this is just another way his old barbershop no longer makes the cut.
“I can’t compete with those guys there, I close five o’clock, they close late evening,” said Cgopal. Despite the impact that the barbershops had on the sense of community in the area, they are still dwindling and taking a piece of the era’s history with them.
Like many businesses that have witnessed the evolution of Fordsburg, the Majestic Barber is a family business that goes back three generations. It had its first beginnings in the Oriental Plaza which was built to relocate the shops that were demolished after the apartheid government tore down the market in the nearby suburb of Fietas. The shabby, black waiting bench and the yellowing, old photographs of Elvis hairstyles and newspaper clippings stand the risk of being lost as the next generation loses interest in the relics of the past.
“I tried to teach [my children] but they want to do something else, you know computers, accounting, things like that,” explained Cgopal.
This last gentlemen’s barbershop with its empty green leather chairs stands in stark contrast to the many modern Indian, Pakistani and Somali hair salons that continue to spring up in the area.
This hasn’t been an isolated case, with old restaurants, cafes and theatres running dry without customers and the influx of new foreign business. “It was full, you could never get any bookings at any restaurant and now it is just completely dead,” said Varachia.
Hair salon turf wars
“There is too much competition … old clients come around and support me, that’s why I’m surviving; new guys came here and spoil my business,” said Cgopal. With only a few older customers left who still support him, after many have died or moved away, it has become a struggle to pay for rising rental costs. This has left Cgopal thinking about retiring his cutting scissors and straight blade.
BUSTLE: Mint Street in Fordsburg in lined with hair salons and clothing stores mostly owned by foreign immigrants, as well as informal traders. Photo: Tanisha Heiberg.
With salons on almost every street, their territories have begun to overlap and competition is no longer just having an impact on the old shops but it is also causing the newer salons to make changes to differentiate themselves and survive.
“In Fordsburg there is too much competition,” said Javd Khalifa, a hairdresser with a modern salon who has experienced rivalry with the stores located on the same street as him.
Once the shop doors have been rolled up at the busy Five Star Hair Salon, the customers are greeted at a reception area before they are seated in any one of the four chrome and black leather chairs in front of the glass and granite cutting stations.
Shilpa Vala, a beautician and ladies’ hairdresser at the salon, said that there are three to four salons on every street. “It’s difficult, in 2009 it wasn’t the same as now, it was OK … now there’s more salons, maybe a hundred,” said Vala sitting on one of the large, leather waiting couches.
Five Star, like many other salons, had to adapt and find ways to “out-cut” their competitors by incorporating beauty treatments and henna tattooing into their stores.
Vala explained that in order to prevent her customers from going next door, she needs to charge different prices in the Fordsburg salon than she does 1in her other salon.
“In Norwood you can charge full price and they pay, but here you can’t, else they go next door.”
SMOOTH: Thishen Pillay receiving a close shave by the owner Mahesh Maisuriyu in the busy Five Star unisex hair salon on Mint Street. Five Star is one of the many foreign-owned hair salons in the area Photo: Tanisha Heiberg.
Samir Khelife, a salon owner in a particularly busy street, went as far as opening up his own salon across from the one where he used to be employed as a hairdresser. He hit upon an innovation, which Cgopal never would have tried; dressing women’s hair for R70 more than he would charge a man. “For ladies I can get R120,” said Khelife.
The increased competition has not gone unnoticed by customers. “The only thing which is cheaper now than what it was 10 years ago is … a haircut,” said Varachia with a grin.
With the decrease in price more people are now able to go to the hairdresser more often. “I’ve got some friends who don’t shave themselves at all, every week they go to one of these shops and get a haircut and a shave,” said Varachia.
But even if the Majestic barbershop could implement strategies like lower prices, Cgopal still could not compete with its older customer base, because of the changing styles and the growth of a younger clientele who go to more modern salons that are known for shaving designs into the customer’s hair.
“All the foreigners they do stylish things, but I’m old school, so all the youngsters don’t support me anymore, they go to the foreigners,” said Cgopal.
A home away from home
However, there are often many employment problems faced by foreigners who are in search of a better life. Many South African employers favour local workers and immigration legislation is often burdensome for migrant workers.
This results in many migrants starting their own businesses. According to a study by the Migrating for Work Research Consortium (MiWORC), 21% of foreigners are classified as self-employed. The study used results from data collected by Statistics South Africa in 2012 to analyse the effect migrants have on business.
The study also found that foreign-born workers are more likely to work in the service and sales industry, such as hair salons and shops. “It’s better here than in India … because here you can find job or work easily,” explained one hairdresser who has been in South Africa for six years.
With so many foreigners starting businesses, many migrants chose Fordsburg for its cultural familiarity that reminds them of home. “I feel like I’m in my country,” said Vala who has been in Fordsburg since 2009.
Many have described Fordsburg as being unique and having “a certain heartbeat” but despite this many of the original Fordsburg residents are moving away in search of other areas that have that same sense of community.
“Previously it was a very community based area … that has changed in recent years … Fordsburg is now very diverse,” explained Varachia while sipping a pressed juice from an Egyptian café and hookah lounge.
Many of the small businesses are owned by Pakistanis who come here to make money to send back home. He explained that they have little responsibilities and expenses compared to South African shop owners who are established with families and bigger expenses.
“They don’t need as much to make it … whatever little money they make is a profit,” said Varachia.
CLOSE SHAVE: Thishen Pillay receiving a shave and hair cut by the owner Mahesh Maisuriyu (from left) in the busy Five Star unisex hairsalon on Mint Street. Customers sit on the green leather couches waiting to have their hair cut by Maisuriyu who has been a hairdresser for 15 years. Photo: Tanisha Heiberg.
It’s not just the barbershops that have been affected by the influx of foreigners, many other shops are increasingly being owned by non-South Africans. “If you look at Mint Road, it used to be all restaurants, now it’s a huge group of Egyptians that sell Muslim dress cloths,” said Varachia, who grew up in the area.
Many of these stores however are very successful with foreign nationals now taking the place of South African consumers who have moved out of Fordsburg. In these communities the shop owners have come to know each other and generally sell their goods at a similar price to allow everyone the chance to survive.
“They don’t cut each other out … It’s quite common with the foreign communities, they try to support each other,” said Varachia. This also often benefits locals who travel to Fordsburg from other parts of Johannesburg because of their lower prices and wide selection of goods.
But for the Majestic barber this doesn’t bring any more customers but rather signals the end of an era. The once popular barber, whose face brightened when he told stories of the past from old photographs, has found himself alone and irrelevant in a modern and changed Fordsburg.
“Today it was slow,there was no one … one of these days I have to close,” said Cgopal as his usual smile faded as he returned to paging through his newspaper inside the empty shop.
FEATURED IMAGE:WAITING FOR CUSTOMERS: Chhagan Cgopal spends most of his time paging through the local newspapers that he piles up on the chair next to him, while waiting for customers to come to his now quiet barbershop in Fordsburg. Photo: Tanisha Heiberg
Many people who work in and around Fordsburg come from all parts of the world. It is not strange to hear cleaners, waitresses, cooks, shop assistants etc. saying they come from countries like India, Bangladesh, Zimbabwe and Malawi. But, a majority of those employed there live just above the poverty line and struggle to survive each day.
Fadzai Gonda poses outside her home in Mayfair. She has been working in Fordsburg for over a year and earns a wage that she says is not enough to support her family. Photo: Zimasa Mpemnyama
There is always a buzz on the streets of Fordsburg, Johannesburg, but the buzz is tricky to decipher for an outsider. The cars drive slowly and the residents walk with a quick urgency.
On the other hand, there are the almost invisible service workers who seem to move in the background of a scene they are not meant to occupy. This means that there are loud and quiet laughs in every corner, some comfortable while others are uneasy.
The area is mainly made up of restaurants, grocery stores, factories, textile and clothing shops that employ many foreign nationals living around Fordsburg, Mayfair and the Johannesburg Central Business District (CBD).
Fadzai Gonda and Sazini Mpala are two examples of those workers. They, like many other workers in Fordsburg, are only a small fraction of a bigger picture concerning worker conditions in Fordsburg, and South Africa. The puzzle in Fordsburg is big and complicated. The history of the place is still intricately intertwined with our present.
One of the busiest streets in Fordsburg is Mint Road. Mannequins with brightly coloured Muslim clothing and restaurant signs showing hot plates of food fill the pavements.
A couple of blocks down from Mint Road there is a bakery and pastry shop. At the front of the store, on either side of the door, there are two gas stoves, one with bubbling oil and the other with assorted desserts and pastries.
Long hours, long days
Mpala, who works in the bakery shop, is from Zimbabwe and has been living in South Africa for over 10 years. Standing behind one of the gas stoves, she casually puts raw samoosa dough into the boiling oil. She is sweating slightly and her torn shoes are testament to her long hours of standing.
“I start work at 8am and finish at 7pm, six days a week. I only rest on Tuesdays,” says Mpala. While most people would cringe at the notion of only resting one day a week, she says she is used to it; after all, she has been doing it for almost nine years.
When Mpala arrives in the morning she cleans and sweeps the store. She then starts frying and preparing the pastries and sweets. From the moment she starts preparing the food from her stall at around 8.30 or 9am, customers start buying and she has to serve them. Mpala says she spends most of her days on her feet, only sitting down for short intervals.
“You know, young kids the age of my children come here and talk in a bad language to us, and we can’t do anything about it,” she says.
Mpala is 42 years old and has four children, aged three, seven, 14 and 18, who all live in Zimbabwe with her mother-in-law. “I feel heartbroken every time I have to leave my children behind, but I have no choice,” says Mpala.
She and her husband rent a room in a three-bedroom flat in Bertrams, Johannesburg, with two other families.
The flat she stays in is one of the half-renovated flats typical of the Johannesburg CBD, painted with bright greens and reds on the outside, but with rusted plumbing and cracked walls covered in paint on the inside.
The building next to hers is covered in soot, it was probably bright and white in its heyday. The streets are much cleaner and quieter than the rest of the CBD though.
A double bed, with a brown headboard, sits on one side of their bedroom, which also functions as a lounge. On the other side sits a chest of drawers with a black 54cm television on top. Behind the bedroom door is a calendar with the 25th of December circled.
The 25th is circled because she is counting down the days till she can go home to see her children. “I always go home on Christmas. Even though I don’t have much to give my kids, I always try my best to bring them some stuff. You know, clothes and sweet things,” she smiles.
Gonda, who is exactly 10 years younger than Mpala, faces the same dilemma each year. She says she tries to go home every year but sometimes feels embarrassed because she can’t give a lot to her ailing mother and her two daughters.
Fadzai Gonda outside her house while she prepares supper for herself and her boyfriend. Photo: Zimasa Mpemnyama
She says life in South Africa has been difficult. “Where I work now, I only get paid R450 per week. We get paid in cash so the money just finishes in your hands, just like that,” says Gonda.
Gonda is loud when she speaks and has a charismatic character. She laughs frequently, even laughing at herself sometimes. She smiles even when she tells the story of the degrading way they get searched every night when they leave work.
“When the shop is closed for the day, we all go to the back, strip to our underwear and get searched by a Muslim lady who works at the store.”
When asked how she feels about this, she says: “I absolutely hate it. It means that they really don’t trust us.”
Gonda lives in Mayfair with her boyfriend and has been in South Africa since 2009. “After 2008 I decided to leave my home country [Zimbabwe],” she says, referring to the violence that erupted in Zimbabwe after the 2008 elections.
The economy of the country fell dismally after that and many Zimbabweans left the country.
Although she has been working in South Africa for close to six years, Gonda will only be getting her official work permit in November. This means she cannot find a permanent job. She says the money she gets paid is so little that she was forced to find a second job, cleaning and washing clothes in a flat in Mayfair.
Work that is uncertain
In Fordsburg, shops of various sizes employ anything from one to 10 employees. While some shop owners choose to employ their siblings and family members, most of the others employ legal and illegal foreign nationals.
Most work around Fordsburg is what labour experts classify as precarious work.
Bandile Ngidi is a master’s student at Wits University and researcher for the National Minimum Wage Research Initiative. He is also one of the directors of Rethink Africa. Ngidi says: “Precarious work is work that is temporary, short term, they don’t have fixed contracts, it’s insecure and they have very poor working conditions.”
Ngidi refers to the Basic Conditions of Employment Act (BCEA) that is meant to, but not always does, protect some of the most vulnerable workers in the formal and informal economy.
“We have a lot of legislation that is meant to protect workers but what is missing is this funny concept called political will,” says Ngidi.
Fordsburg is historically a site of informal labour.
Bandile Ngidi, a minimum wage researcher at Wits University reading in his office. Photo: Zimasa Mpemnyama
The Fordsburg and Mayfair areas formed part of the original Langlaagte farm where gold was first discovered in Johannesburg in the mid-19th century.
Fordsburg was named after Lewis P Ford, a private developer who, along with Julius Jeppe Senior, were the first developers to build around the gold-rich piece of land in 1888.
From the onset the area was designated for poor, working-class communities looking for work in the mining area. There was an area specially earmarked for Indians, coloureds, black and white people.
Those who specifically worked in the mines, both black and white men, chose to buy stalls in the Fordsburg area because it was close to the gold mines. The area soon became congested and racially diverse.
With an increasingly multi-cultural population, Fordsburg soon became a vibrant space for commercial shopping enterprises. Mint and Albertina Sisulu roads are still shopping hubs where many buy, work and play.
This legacy, of Fordsburg being a space for the poor and the working class, has continued, but in recent years the power dynamic has changed. Those who were historically employees are now employers.
What the law says
The Basic Conditions of Employment Act stipulates the law for acceptable working conditions for all South Africans in the formal and informal economy.
According to the Act, “an employer must give an employee who works continuously for more than five hours a meal interval of at least one continuous hour”.
It also stipulates: “An employer may not require or permit an employee to work more than 45 hours in any week and … eight hours in any day if the employee works on more than five days in a week.”
Gonda says this never happens at her workplace: “Our lunch break is 30 minutes and we are not allowed to go out. You have to eat inside the shop.”
Mpala shares these sentiments, saying that she has no formal lunch break: “I only eat when there are no customers. If the customers keep coming, I can stand the whole day without taking any breaks.”
‘Mina I can get fired any day, any time’
Ngidi says a huge portion of the South African economy is made up of individuals who work in the informal sector, earning wages that are barely enough to live a healthy lifestyle.
“The wages that many get, even after long strenuous hours of work, are hardly enough for a balanced diet.”
Speaking about the trend of low wages in most informal sectors, Ngidi says: “South Africa’s labour market is such that … the apartheid wage structure is roughly still intact but also we’ve got very high levels of poverty and inequality and a low social security system.”
He says: “What is driving our very low job growth is temporary work, casualisation.”
Fadzai Gonda outside the one-roomed house she shares with her boyfriend, Wiz Yusuf, in Mayfair. Photo: Zimasa Mpemnyama
Ngidi says employers can sometimes get away with gross exploitation, especially of workers who are illegal or uneducated.
Within the labour sector, a broader discussion, spearheaded by trade unions, about a standard minimum wage has been going on for a number of years. Tied to these discussions are questions of what it means to live above the poverty line and how the huge inequality gap in South Africa can be combated using a minimum wage.
Ngidi cites some international countries as examples that can be used to chart a way forward for these discussions. He mentions countries like Germany, Australia, France and Brazil that have recently implemented a minimum wage system.
South Africa is one of 186 countries that are part of the International Labour Organisation (ILO) which is a United Nations (UN) agency meant to combat worker exploitation and create a unified working environment the world over.
“Out of all the countries in the ILO, almost 90% of them have a minimum wage and South Africa is not one of those countries,” Ngidi says.
Ngidi says there are other elements and factors that are being considered in trying to figure out what the national minimum wage will be. These include the number of dependants an individual has.
“There is no answer to that question yet but … the local food poverty line is calculated by looking at how much it costs to buy a local diet that gives you 2200 calories.”
A diet of 2200 calories is estimated as enough energy and nutrition to sustain an adult per day.
Ngidi also says that one of the reasons exploitation is rampant in many informal industries is because workers are unable to organise themselves due to extremely long working hours that make it physically impossible for them to meet as a collective.
When asked whether she has ever considered joining a trade union or aligning herself with an organisation that protects worker rights, Mpala exclaims loudly in Ndebele, her home language: “Yhuuuuuuuuuu, do you want me to lose my job?
“If lababantu [these people] could see me talking to you now I would get fired. Mina, I can get fired any day, any time and nothing can happen,” Mpala says.
And that is the story of many workers in Fordsburg, and in South Africa. They walk on tiptoes hoping not to offend their only source of income.
Like Mpala’s worn-out shoes, they have no option but to carry on just another day.
FEATURED IMAGE: Fadzai Gonda poses outside her home in Mayfair. She has been working in Fordsburg for over a year and earns a wage that she says is not enough to support her family. Photo: Zimasa Mpemnyama
For the people of Little Mogadishu, life in South Africa is characterised by a constant attempt to survive the harsh realities of being “a foreigner”. They have, however, found something that can help ease the sting of that reality – football.
Bowling or football?: The Mayfair Young Stars teams use the grounds of the former bowling club to play their football. Photo: Masego Panyane
The first thing that catches your eye as you walk up to the Mayfair Bowling Club is the fence that has fallen down at one place and the heap of rubbish that lies there. Then, as you move closer, you see a few patches of grass. It’s uneven land, about the size of a normal soccer pitch, and a couple of sharp rocks stick out of the ground.
This is the place the Mayfair Young Stars Football League uses as its home ground. The league, which is made up of players of foreign nationalities, is the pride of the community of Little Mogadishu. The lives of foreign nationals in South Africa are filled with many unpleasant experiences. For this community of Somali refugees and asylum seekers, football provides them with a sense of normality.
The area is home to an estimated 6 000 refugees and asylum seekers, most of them Somali, and has long been a safe haven as well as being accused, without proof, of being a source of Islamic militancy.
I walked into the area as a black, Christian young woman and soon found myself talking about something as masculine as football to the men in the community. I was not chased out. Instead, I soon found myself in impassioned conversations about Manchester United and why they aren’t the team to beat in the English Premier League.
The passion for soccer carries off the field in Little Mogadishu, the heart of which is on 8th Avenue in Mayfair, Johannesburg.
The different faces of football
Malelo Abdool, a 24-year-old businesswoman, decided to start up an informal games arcade in Little Mogadishu after realising that there wasn’t much to do in the area for the children. She took a small shop space, installed plasma screens and PS4 consoles, put in a couple of chairs and bean bags, and the ultimate chill spot was ready.
Xtreme Fun: One of the walls of Malelo Abdool’s game shop. The shop is called Xtreme Games. Photo: Masego Panyane
Abdool’s gaming store is unlike most others. Where you would normally expect a range of gaming experiences, her store contains only football-related games, with versions of the games for every year. “The kids [here]are very inspired by soccer … I tried putting in other games like Grand Theft Auto, Call of Duty and they just didn’t play them. So I put in games like FIFA 16 because there’s a demand for them,” she said.
With the community being so football crazy, it only made sense that they would have their own football club. But how the club came about, along with its ups and downs, isn’t that simple.
Greater Mayfair Local Football Association (GMLFA or GML) is the managing body of all local football-related activities in the western and southern parts of Johannesburg. The organisation, which is affiliated to the South African Football Association (Safa), oversees six local football leagues that are divided by age.
Local Somalis began playing in the Greater Mayfair LFA in 2008. They encountered problems in the league and could not advance to higher Safa leagues because they did not have South African ID books.
“We couldn’t challenge them. We don’t have lawyers … We don’t have anybody so we left the league,” said Mohammed “Mash”, 34, a member of the Somali Football Association.
In response, the Somalis formed a league of their own, the Mayfair Young Stars, in 2009, shortly before South Africa’s Soccer World Cup. This league meant they could continue playing football in their community outside of Safa’s regulations.
Xenophobia or Safa regulations?
But the experience still left a bitter taste and the founder members believe they were kicked out of the league because they are Somali.
“In the GML we ended up being blamed for everything … If a fight broke out, ‘it’s the Somalis,’ they said, if there were any kinds of problems, it would be the Somali people causing the trouble they believed,” said Mash.
“It became unfair when they would make us stop games because we were winning. The last problem was when they didn’t want us to go to the next level because we didn’t have ID books,” he said.
Safa’s regulations, however, state that foreign players are allowed to participate in regional, inter-regional and national competitions provided they meet a number of conditions. These are that a) there cannot be more than three foreign players registered in one team; b) they must have valid documentation such as a valid asylum seeker’s permit, passport or any other international clearance certificate provided for in the Immigration Act and c) that they meet the eligibility criteria set out by Safa of different age groups.
But according to the members of the Somali community, the reason for their exclusion was simple: the Greater Mayfair LFA was motivated by a dislike for them steeped in xenophobia.
Nadia Patel, secretary of the Greater Mayfair LFA, agreed the Somalis could not advance because of documentation, but denies they were victimised because of xenophobia.
“The only reason we could not let them play is because of that Safa regulation. We even established another social league where teams that are completely foreign can play socially, for teams like Mayfair Young Stars,” said Patel.
“We had a couple of issues with discipline with Young Stars, but we have never discriminated against them because they are Somali.”
It was after this series of events that the idea to form Mayfair Young Stars was born, a team for a generation of Somalis born in South Africa.
“We said these youngsters are South Africans, they were born here, maybe when they reach there, they will have the advantage of joining the formal league,” Mash said.
Losing out on playing in the formal GML had some serious consequences for the Somali footballers. They lost some good team members and a coach but, most importantly, they lost out on a space to play their football.
“When they managed to kick us out because of that Safa rule, they also blocked us from using the grounds we used to practise and play on. So whenever we’d try to get in, the guard would tell us R200 per hour or not let us in at all,” said Aydruz Ismail, manager of the Mayfair Young Stars League.
The situation was devastating for the team. The senior team realised they would be wasting their time pursuing semi-professional football careers in South Africa. They did not have the correct documentation and, to their knowledge, this would prevent them from playing.
The senior team saw it as their duty to get the league up and running for the next generation of Somali footballers. Establishing the league happened fairly easily because the community was already very attached to football. Many of the young people in the area used to play recreationally, so bringing them together wasn’t a far-fetched idea.
The dawn of a new era: legitimate soccer stars
“When we established Young Stars, there were a few youngsters who used to play by the park by themselves. We collect them … and they formed their own teams,” said Ismail.
Huddled in front of TV screens in Abdool’s game shop are a number of young men who play for Mayfair Young Stars. They are in a particularly heated discussion about who is the best midfielder in the community league. It becomes obvious how important the space to play and polish their football skills is to these young men. For people like Mohamed Abdool, 18, and his friend and team-mate Osman Yasin, 15, having the league keeps them healthy, but they also get to try out some of the tricks they see on television.
“I love the sport, I have a passion for the sport. I’m planning to go to London … I want to play for one of the Premier League’s teams,” stammers Mohamed excitedly. His friend Osman also wants to play in Europe someday.
Focused: Mohammed Abdool playing the latest FIFA game in Malelo’s store. Photo: Masego Panyane.
For the two young men, the opportunity to play in the Mayfair Young Stars League is a step closer to these dreams.
Mohamed began his career at Young Stars playing for the senior team but he asked to return to the lower level team in his age grouping to get more game time. Osman describes him as an intelligent player who has a bit of Argentinian player Lionel Messi in him.
Osman, a central midfielder, started playing football because all his friends were playing it. He says his plan after he finishes matric is to succeed in football. If that doesn’t work out, then he’ll settle for being a computer software engineer.
For the boys, it is worrying that, even though they were born in South Africa, they may not have a stable enough future in football because of their documentation. For them, there’s nothing they would rather do than play football. As clichéd as this may sound, football is their life.
“There isn’t enough opportunity here. Even when I was playing for the Orlando Pirates Academy, they’d always ask us for documents and that is limiting us, that’s why I want to go international,” Mohamed said.
Mayfair Young Stars have their matches every weekend because they do not want to disturb the young people with their schooling. Mash added that the major purpose of having organised football in the community is to keep the boys out of trouble.
For some of the other young men like Abdullahi Mohammed, 19, the creation of this league gives them a sense of belonging and it keeps hope alive – that they could one day play professional football – despite not being able to play in the formal GML.
Defending hard: Members of the Punishers and Man City teams from Mayfair Young Stars battling it out for the ball. Photo: Masego Panyane
“The committee of the GMLFA is racist towards Somalis. Even though for most of us that played in those teams, we’ve never seen Somalia before. We were born here, this is our home,” he said.
Mohammed said they experienced injustices at the GML because of what he calls “xenophobia”. Mohammed said he never experienced xenophobia when he played for premier league teams like Bidvest Wits and Jomo Cosmos that had a number of foreign players playing for them.
The Mayfair Young Stars Football League has become an important part of the lives of the men, young men and boys of the community. It has given them hope that, even in South Africa, where it may sometimes seem almost impossible to get correct documentation or citizenship, they can still hold onto their passion for football and, for some of the younger ones, to maybe become world-renowned football players.
Where to from here?
It’s a hot morning in mid-October at the former home of the Mayfair Bowling Club. Outside in the yard, two tattered nets stand at the opposite ends of the grounds. The grounds themselves could do with a bit of TLC, maybe a new bunch of grass could be planted and watered to give the grounds a healthier feel.
The grounds are not marked like a normal football field would be but everyone seems to have an idea of where the centre of the pitch is and where the lines to mark the boundaries are.
In this particularly heated encounter between Somali teams Man City and the Punishers, the most important things at stake here are respect and bragging rights. Both teams play with skill that one does not expect from a group of teenage boys. They are determined and play with the flair and intelligence we all miss seeing in professional football matches.
Ooops!: Abdullahi Mohammed finds himself having to retrieve a lost ball after a little accident. Photo: Masego Panyane
The soccer games attract a number of men in the community, ordinary men who have a keen interest in football and want to see who the bright youngsters to look out for are.
The supporters of the Punishers are adamant that the referee has made a series of decisions against them, all because he doesn’t like them. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that they trailed for most of the match behind Man City by a single goal.
After I watch pure magic at the feet of these boys, the match draws to a close with the final score line being Man City 3-2 Punishers (Man City actually scored 4 goals because of the own goal scored in the 23rd minute). Man City walk away with the ultimate bragging rights for the upcoming week.
After watching these young men play as if they are playing to get paid, one wonders if any of them will be able to make it professionally with the number of obstacles that stand in their way. It is very clear that breaking into the professional football scene here will be difficult for the boys.
But once they do, they will be a sight to behold. For now, they work at becoming the best of the best. The boys continue to play FIFA at the game shop and practise their tackles on the uneven pitch of the Mayfair Bowling Club, one match at a time.
FEATURED IMAGE: Defending hard: Members of the Punishers and Man City teams from Mayfair Young Stars battling it out for the ball. Photo: Masego Panyane
Along the dusty road of Little Mogadishu, a blend of strong smells permeates the air, a combination of stale urine, dust and exotic spices. In the midst of that odour, there is also an aromatic smell – of coffee beans.
“This is not just any coffee, it is the original Ethiopian coffee,” Abdi Shemsu says appreciatively as he sips.
“Go inside and try it for yourself,” says the local man as he points at a little shop behind him.
The shop is dimly lit, with dark and earthy tones and smells of coffee and incense. On the wall there is a huge picture of Emperor Haile Selassie and next to it the old Ethiopian flag with its bright green, yellow and red colours.
Smells of garlic, chilli pepper, ginger, cinnamon and other herbs and spices fill the air.
The coffee shops of Little Mogadishu
Little Mogadishu, named after Somalia’s capital city, is a place in the buzzing area of Mayfair in Johannesburg. Being home to many foreign nationals makes it a multicultural place where immigrants try to recreate their home lives in South Africa.
According to anthropologist Dr Pauline Zimba from the University of South Africa: “As much as immigrants who are displaced or have fled their countries try to integrate in the society, they also stay true to their culture.”
While the place is a predominantly Somali-populated area, Ethiopians also have a little community that is cultural. Despite the differences in religion, where Somalis generally are staunch Muslims and Ethiopians are mostly Christians, the two nations often socialise together, mostly over a freshly roasted, strong cup of coffee.
Wearing Islamic clothes, a long robe-like top called a jubba, a man walks into the shop and sits next to a group of four men. They are chatting in Amharic, Ethiopia’s official language, and in Somali. They are watching the news on Addis TV when another man changes to a music channel and the man in the jubba starts to sing along.
The group seems happy to see him, as one of them calls a waiter and orders coffee for the man. His name is Fazir Mohammed and he says he comes to the coffee shop almost every day.
“I love this place, I come here every day to come and relax with my neighbours.”
Like other Somali men, Mohammed comes to the coffee shop in between his daily activities, which include selling clothes at his shop and going to the mosque.
“I like coming here not only for the coffee, but also for the news,” he says.
“We always talk about what happens in our hometowns over coffee, this is how our bond stays strong.”
Booming coffee trade
Coffee trading is very popular in Little Mogadishu. The consumers of the coffee are not only Ethiopians but Somalis and even South Africans.
According to Amir Sheikh, chairperson of the Somali Community Board in the area, Somalis are business-minded people who work all day with little play. “We do not have time for fun when we open the shop at 5am and close at 10pm,” Sheikh says.
GENIE IN THE BOTTLE: Jebena is used to boil coffee. Photo: Boipelo Boikhutso
“If we are not praying to Allah then we are having coffee at Ethiopian coffee shops.”
In several coffee shops in Little Mogadishu, there are Somalis and Ethiopians watching soccer and talking politics.
“They are our brothers, we are in this together,” Sheikh says.
A man known only as Bernard has been working as a coffee maker in the shop for the past six years. “Everyone here calls me Bernard.”
He insists on being called Bernard. “Sister, I cannot give you my full name, my papers have expired. It is too risky,” he says.
He explains that his visa expired in December and, with the current immigration laws in South Africa, he has been having trouble renewing it
“I do not understand it, I mean we are all Africans, why can’t we help each other?” he asks, while looking down.
After leaving his wife and children in Harar, a city in Ethiopia that is famous for producing most of the coffee in that country, Bernard came to South Africa and worked in a restaurant.
“My father used to be a chef, from a young age I learned how to cook.”
While working in the restaurant in Mayfair, he would send money home every month so that his wife could support the children. Bernard also managed to save enough money to buy the restaurant in Little Mogadishu from his boss after the boss went back to Ethiopia.
For most of the immigrants, their situation in Mayfair is just temporary. They still hope to go back to their motherlands in future.
“It’s not easy being away from your family, but a man prides himself in being able to provide for his family,” he says.
“One day, when God has decided, I will return home to reunite with my family.’’
Coffee brings Ethiopians together
While coffee is enjoyed by many people worldwide, the Ethiopians have a cultural attachment to coffee. For many Ethiopians, coffee is a way of bringing people together and their coffee ceremony symbolises this.
The ceremony starts off with the coffee maker washing the green coffee beans before roasting them. The beans are then put in a brazier to roast. Once they are roasted, they are ground until they are fine. The fine coffee powder is then poured into a boiling pot that looks like Aladdin’s genie bottle, with cold water, boiled and then served.
Traditionally, women serve the coffee. However, this is not always possible in Mayfair because the majority of coffee shop owners are men.
“Back at home, the tradition of the coffee ceremony is serious, it is a daily ritual for most families,” Bernard says.
“The ceremony is a sign of respect to the elders who found coffee,” he says.
In Ethiopia, it is also a norm for women to meet in each other’s homes in the morning to socialise over coffee.
Complemented by popcorn or dabo kolo, a bread made of roasted barley, Ethiopian coffee is taken with sugar and no milk three times a day. The first round, taken in the morning is called abol, the second one taken at noon is called tona, and the last one in the evening is called baraka.
SNACKS: Ethiopians complement the strong coffee with a bowl of fresh popcorn. Photo: Boipelo Boikhutso
“Baraka, the last round, is a round not to be missed, baraka grants us blessings,” says Bernard.
He explains that, according to Ethiopian mythology, the last cup of the day should be taken in the evening to receive blessings from the ancestors.
Bernard asks: “Are you in a hurry? Because the coffee ceremony is not like your instant espressos, it takes time, but once you taste it, you will appreciate the time.”
The guests are entertained while the coffee maker undertakes the ritual, roasting and brewing the beans. Once the beans have been roasted, Bernard stands up from his stool and walks around the room, spreading the aroma of the freshly roasted coffee beans.
There is a divine smell, a mixture of sweet aromas, of chocolate and spicy red wine. “Smell the original African coffee, thanks to Kaldi we can all enjoy coffee,” he says smiling.
The origins of coffee retold
According to Ethiopian folklore, coffee was discovered by a goat herder named Kaldi. He was herding his goats on a highland when the goats started behaving abnormally. They were allegedly dancing on their hind legs while bleating loudly with excitement.
He discovered that the cause of their behaviour was the coffee beans. After trying them himself and getting energised, he took them to the monastery. Upon arrival, the monks were infuriated by his actions; they believed the beans were evil.
They tossed them into a fire, and then the aroma of the beans filled the monastery, making the monks think twice about their disdain.
In Ethiopian culture, during the coffee ceremony, the host spreads the aroma across the room to entice the guests and keep them in anticipation of the coffee.
Bernard explains that the smell of coffee serves as a reminder of home because “back at home, everywhere you go, you can smell coffee”.
“Coffee is sold everywhere, in restaurants, at homes, on the streets. Ethiopians love coffee, after all, it was discovered in our country.”
He then lights the incense and explains that “when people smell the incense, it is a sign that coffee is almost ready, it is an invitation to them to join us”.
ALMOST READY: Incense plays a pivotal role in Ethiopian coffee culture. The smell of incense serves as an invitation to the ceremony. Photo: Boipelo Boikhutso.
Bernard moved to Mayfair because of the lack of opportunities in Ethiopia. “I am here because it is easier to survive in South Africa, but survival does not mean leaving one’s roots.
“Mayfair serves as a great business opportunity for many of us.”
He says that when he came to South Africa, he already knew other Ethiopians who moved to Mayfair long before him.
“Having my fellow brothers here makes things easier because we help each other with businesses and still maintain our culture.”
For only R5, customers can afford to treat themselves to strong, but not bitter, smooth Ethiopian coffee. Full-bodied and dark, with red wine and chocolate notes, the coffee’s acidity brings the coffee to life.
A few kilometres away, is a coffee shop called Father on De Beer Street in an urban space loved by hipsters. The interior of the Braamfontein shop has simple, yellow wood that brings out the light in the shop. There’s a couple in there, a bearded, white young man with a tattooed arm and a woman with multiple piercings on her face. There are sounds of Alt-J, a British alternative indie band.
On the counter, there are soft and moist-looking big chocolate muffins, next to them, croissants with mozzarella and ham.
TRENDY: Some of the snacks on the counter at Father coffee shop. Photo: Boipelo Boikhutso
While in urban areas coffee serves as a drink to fuel people’s energy, in the Ethiopian culture it goes beyond that. Coffee serves as a vehicle that lets people pause, relax and socialise.
According to Bernard, Ethiopians do not just drink coffee to be awake and energised: “We have the ceremony, to sit back and relax and enjoy the aroma while also talking about football.”
In Braamfontein, some coffee shops sell Ethiopian coffee, however, the coffee does not have the same cultural aspect to it.
According to Ori Cohen, co-manager of Doubleshot, a coffee outlet and wholesaler in Braamfontein: “The Ethiopian coffee ceremony does not really get the best out of the bean.
“Ethiopian coffees are extremely variable in flavour, processing style and quality, the Ethiopian way is not necessarily the best way,” he said.
‘There is no Ethiopia without coffee’
In Mayfair, Bernard makes an average R125 daily from coffee. “It’s not because the place is always packed, but because the same people drink about four cups each.
“On a good day, I make about R275,” he says.
Bernard says he has tourists now and then coming into his shop for the coffee and the food. “At the end of the day, it is not just about money, but our culture.”
Habesha Binya, an expert in coffee who teaches people how to make Ethiopian coffee in the CBD, believes that when she teaches people how to make coffee, “I don’t simply want them to make great coffee, but I want them to feel connected to its roots and the culture of bringing people together.
“Whenever there is a coffee ceremony, we are reminded that what we do is more than just ‘coffee’ but rather preserving and celebrating our culture.
“There is something about the smell of good Ethiopian coffee that makes one feel like they are back in Ethiopia at home.”
After she stirs the cup to make sure the sugar is mixed well she hands me the cup, smiles and says, “Buna dabo naw” which literally means “Coffee is our bread”.
According to Bernard: “There is no Ethiopia without coffee, we drink it, we produce it and we sell it. It is our pride.”
FEATURED IMAGE:GENIE IN THE BOTTLE: Jebena is used to boil coffee. Photo: Boipelo Boikhutso
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MUSICAL: Life in Fordsburg is very exciting. Photo: Dinesh Balliah.
Curabitur quis bibendum massa. Nam a semper justo, vel consectetur elit. Nullam mollis vestibulum auctor. Proin in leo sit amet libero finibus blandit. Aenean condimentum velit at nisi pharetra finibus. Nullam eu gravida odio. Etiam blandit sed orci ac commodo. Morbi laoreet faucibus tempus. Duis vestibulum aliquet faucibus. Nam at nibh quis neque pulvinar congue. Maecenas non volutpat tortor. Nulla ligula metus, bibendum in quam id, porttitor tempor ex. Proin semper mauris massa, at tempor metus porttitor vitae. Duis justo diam, interdum in ex vitae, scelerisque consectetur ipsum. Donec a ligula scelerisque, blandit elit non, pharetra ex. Donec lacinia accumsan lectus sed efficitur.
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Maecenas pharetra massa eu fringilla lacinia. Morbi ornare porta tincidunt. Donec vehicula enim eu auctor porttitor. Duis condimentum nibh leo, viverra molestie neque vulputate ut. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Proin ut dictum est. Phasellus facilisis sagittis auctor. Aenean sollicitudin erat non suscipit condimentum. Suspendisse gravida efficitur neque et elementum. Aliquam vulputate, dolor non vestibulum consectetur, odio ligula rutrum turpis, id aliquet erat ligula vitae turpis. Vestibulum purus urna, malesuada vitae quam eget, consectetur commodo turpis. Phasellus augue mi, dignissim id mollis a, convallis auctor nibh. Etiam quis libero ut dolor malesuada ullamcorper vel sed diam.
Quisque dapibus ante nibh, at dignissim dolor pellentesque vel. Ut nec dignissim libero. Aenean tristique dui arcu, vitae malesuada dui maximus eu. Ut ac nibh posuere, condimentum purus eu, scelerisque purus. Ut vulputate sem pharetra risus hendrerit, vitae egestas nulla interdum. Etiam ac molestie dolor. Morbi dictum consectetur ante, eget fermentum massa sodales eget. Morbi eget sem in turpis molestie pulvinar et sed urna.
Nulla eu fermentum eros, et gravida nisl. Pellentesque sit amet metus id nunc lobortis dapibus. Vivamus id velit et tortor consequat interdum. Vivamus sapien augue, egestas sed nunc a, dignissim ullamcorper tortor. Curabitur ipsum felis, mollis non justo vel, tempor rutrum urna. Fusce sit amet massa sit amet augue aliquam sollicitudin. Phasellus semper orci ut felis fermentum tristique. Proin dignissim consectetur augue ut faucibus. Vivamus tincidunt dignissim sapien. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Aliquam quis justo auctor, accumsan odio a, sodales est. Mauris quis ornare justo, ut gravida risus. Phasellus viverra blandit augue.
CLASS OF THEIR OWN: Homes of disctintion in Mayfair, Johannesburg. Photo: Provided.
Vivamus non augue sed elit bibendum suscipit. Aenean vitae porttitor orci, nec vestibulum nulla. Integer dictum imperdiet turpis et efficitur. Sed sit amet odio nec dui posuere tristique vitae sed libero. Pellentesque nisl nibh, condimentum quis dictum vel, commodo porttitor diam. Praesent porttitor viverra est, venenatis porta velit sodales in. Proin auctor diam et pretium posuere. Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Donec libero urna, blandit id convallis at, laoreet at magna.
Praesent vel dignissim nisl. Sed sit amet venenatis ligula. Aliquam auctor nisi eu nisi elementum, ac feugiat tortor interdum. Cras et nisi venenatis, euismod augue vel, dignissim felis. Proin quis pretium tellus, a ultricies lorem. Nullam lobortis nulla eget iaculis euismod. In in massa quis ante ullamcorper rutrum. Pellentesque tristique risus massa, a euismod sem fermentum quis. Donec pulvinar, lectus sit amet elementum sagittis, mi purus euismod nibh, quis faucibus felis turpis vel eros. Phasellus nec porta arcu, in accumsan lorem. Curabitur ultricies libero urna. Aliquam venenatis diam at pretium malesuada. Morbi in cursus enim, ut mattis sem. Proin non viverra massa, non finibus turpis.
Etiam eu mi risus. Curabitur tempor ante quis risus maximus, nec imperdiet nibh sollicitudin. Cras sit amet leo vel arcu sollicitudin porttitor ac sed ante. Suspendisse nec felis eu magna lobortis condimentum id eu tellus. Sed lorem risus, pulvinar vitae luctus quis, scelerisque eget ligula. Suspendisse eu erat fermentum, commodo metus sit amet, commodo odio. Morbi auctor nunc nisi, ac ullamcorper metus vestibulum non. Aenean odio purus, tincidunt vitae vestibulum at, volutpat vehicula purus. Proin tristique gravida convallis. Nunc vel turpis ut orci molestie vulputate ac nec erat. Suspendisse tempus ante nec interdum condimentum. Nam vel tristique nunc. Morbi tempus odio diam, vitae lacinia libero consectetur in. Ut lacinia finibus feugiat.
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In laoreet risus in pretium consequat. Nulla facilisi. Vivamus faucibus ipsum mauris, at commodo ligula posuere non. Nunc aliquet tortor dolor, quis bibendum velit tristique lobortis. Phasellus pellentesque sem sit amet cursus porta. Pellentesque a aliquam ex. Aenean quis fermentum mi. In pulvinar eget lorem ut suscipit. Praesent ullamcorper turpis at augue gravida pretium. Sed a cursus nibh, id fermentum justo. Nunc elementum dui eget odio ultricies sollicitudin. Phasellus in ultrices mi, eu posuere nibh. Nulla id felis ut lectus imperdiet hendrerit et eget libero.
Vivamus ullamcorper purus velit, sed imperdiet ligula porta et. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Proin tempus est sed vehicula finibus. Aliquam finibus blandit tempus. Suspendisse a maximus nulla, quis hendrerit ligula. Suspendisse efficitur tempor sapien sit amet tincidunt. Aliquam auctor mauris libero, ac volutpat diam tincidunt eu. Quisque sollicitudin erat sed commodo laoreet. Curabitur efficitur, neque lobortis sodales fringilla, quam metus tincidunt ipsum, in sagittis felis diam nec dolor.
CARRIED AWAY: Residents of Mayfair shop on Central Avenue. Photo: Joe Blogs.
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Curabitur placerat vestibulum sem id cursus. Nullam ac tempor ante. Integer quis gravida justo, eu pellentesque dui. Proin lobortis, purus id iaculis elementum, nisi libero consectetur magna, in sagittis orci sapien sit amet felis. Pellentesque nulla libero, egestas ut congue facilisis, bibendum nec ante. Nunc faucibus interdum aliquet. Sed luctus sed lorem nec sollicitudin. Maecenas gravida semper tellus a tincidunt. Curabitur imperdiet euismod erat, a convallis ante iaculis nec. Quisque faucibus purus a dui tincidunt interdum. Mauris eu ligula vel magna finibus tempor.
Vestibulum quis sapien id nunc rhoncus scelerisque sed imperdiet mi. Nullam iaculis sollicitudin turpis nec posuere. Ut at quam ut eros maximus rhoncus. Sed sit amet mauris fringilla orci placerat pulvinar. Vestibulum molestie tellus vel libero posuere, eu elementum mauris hendrerit. Aliquam dignissim orci a eros dignissim, sit amet consequat lorem bibendum. Fusce venenatis diam in lacus ullamcorper vestibulum. Quisque ultrices tristique nisl non vulputate. Maecenas suscipit leo in sapien scelerisque, ac venenatis tortor semper. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas.
Fusce efficitur nulla vitae lacinia porttitor. Donec condimentum elit quis massa pharetra iaculis. Mauris et felis at quam lobortis fringilla et ut enim. Praesent non mi sit amet libero porttitor tristique. Vestibulum maximus euismod scelerisque. Integer tincidunt felis tortor, eu ultrices mauris blandit non. Vivamus dapibus viverra est, ac interdum ex aliquam et. Curabitur non turpis lectus.
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Cras commodo metus at libero eleifend tempus. Nunc molestie lacus vulputate, aliquam felis eu, viverra leo. Cras fringilla enim et lectus ultricies vestibulum at sed nisl. Integer dapibus ex quis diam porta tempus. Sed convallis egestas ultricies. Sed et nunc nec lorem rutrum vehicula nec sed lectus. Cum sociis natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Etiam eu dignissim ante. Morbi vitae nisi sed velit pulvinar mollis ac cursus tortor. Duis hendrerit diam id enim volutpat iaculis. Pellentesque commodo diam ipsum.
ARTISTIC: Artwork as it appears on some of the homes in Mayfair. Photo: Spock.
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FEATURED IMAGE: MUSICAL: Life in Fordsburg is very exciting. Photo: Dinesh Balliah.
Fordsburg is a living, breathing ode to Allah. Islam is the connecting force between the many nationalities and cultures found here. It is in the food, fashions and, literally, the writing on the walls.
Nestled between the homeless sleeping on Crown Road and the panel beaters on Commercial Road is a small, unassuming art gallery beneath a black-and-white sign that reads Orient Art Gallery. This cluttered but vibrant corner shop is known as the birthplace of Islamic art in Johannesburg.
The Orient Art Gallery is a family business that started as a framing store on the rooftop of the Oriental Plaza in 1990. It was founded by Farhad Limbada in 1989 when he was given an old run-down store to start his own business. At the time, the only business Farhad knew well was framing.
Farhad learnt his trade from his father Limson Limbada, who was a sign maker for the Johannesburg municipality. After being retrenched from his job, Limson opened a framing store on Johannesburg’s West Rand called Limson’s Picture Framers: Limbada and Sons. This was the beginning of the family business that would later become South Africa’s first Islamic art gallery.
LEADING THE PACK: The first Islamic art gallery in Fordsburg, Orient Art Gallery, founded by Farhad Limbada in 1989. Photo: Sibongile Machika
According to the Khan Academy, the term Islamic art emerged after the 19th century. It was developed to describe a field of study that focused on visual artworks produced in Muslim-ruled nations after the 7th century. Islamic art is not limited to any medium, craft or religion. It includes architecture, wood and ivory carvings, calligraphy, ceramics and textiles from the Middle East, North Africa and Central Asia. Even works produced by Christian artists in such regions were considered Islamic art. Traditionally, Islamic art is defined by its craftsmanship.
Islamic art serves many purposes in the Islamic faith. It can be used for religious expression, temple decoration and as objects used during worship and other traditional ceremonies. As the Islamic faith grew, so did the spread of Islamic art. Today, Islamic art can be found in many countries where there is a Muslim population.
‘This is not the kind of business you can buy or just start. You have to be born into it. I literally grew up here. When other kids went home after school, I came here. When things were tough, I slept on these floors,’ Ridwaan says.
Leading up to the liberation of South Africa, so-called non-whites were allowed more freedom of association and movement than apartheid had previously allowed. Many bans on politicians, media publications and artists were also lifted. In 1994, “there was a shift in the art circles. People were hungry for something new,” says Ridwaan Limbada as he explains how his father’s business evolved.
Farhad saw this new-found freedom as an opportunity to grow his framing business. He started importing traditional Islamic art from Egypt, Turkey and Iran. This paved the way for Ridwaan to join the business they now run together.
Ridwaan, his father’s right-hand man
Farhad never wanted any one of his three sons to take over the business. He always said “this business is too difficult and unpredictable,” says Ridwaan, the oldest son. But for him, joining the business was inevitable. From a young age, Ridwaan was his father’s right-hand man.
“This is not the kind of business you can buy or just start. You have to be born into it. I literally grew up here. When other kids went home after school, I came here. When things were tough, I slept on these floors,” Ridwaan says.
Ridwaan’s mother is also an artist and, with both parents trying to make it work in the fickle art industry, they often had to spend several nights working at the store. His mother used some of her art pieces to help him with his homework, learning and reciting the 99 names of Allah in Arabic.
Today, Ridwaan is an award-winning interior architect who has had a few of his own successful businesses. But he says his heart is in the family business. His formal education has allowed him to bring new ideas into the business.
It was at university where he learnt the history and theory of art and how to use different elements like colours, shapes and texture in artworks and furniture to create beautiful living spaces. Some customers have called on these skills to have their homes and offices redesigned incorporating Islamic art.
DISPLAY: A factory worker at the Orient Art Gallery putting up one of their most popular installation pieces, the 99 names of Allah. Photo: Sibongile Machika
Ridwaan says it is their ability to innovate and give customers the best value for money that gives them the competitive edge over other stores.
“We are bringing products that weren’t used in art and art installations. We bank on new ideas,” he says.
The Orient Art Gallery now offers three different product categories: traditional and contemporary Islamic art, customised furniture, and framing. They have opened a store in Sandton City, called Frame Talk, and they are even exporting Islamic art to other Muslim regions on the African continent.
Although Frame Talk and the Orient Art Gallery sell similar products, the gallery is more of a studio space. At any given time one hears the buzzing sound of wood being cut at the back, where frames of all shapes and sizes are made. There is a workstation with paint brushes and murky-looking water next to some artwork still in progress.
‘Arabic calligraphy, however, is a specialised skill and an important aspect of Islamic art. Writer Umai Stambuli describes it as ‘the spiritual breath’ of Islamic art.’
Frame Talk, on the other hand, looks more like a showroom. Beautifully carved armchairs cushioned with soft, luxurious-looking fabrics like suede and velvet are the first thing one sees. The walls are decked with modern Islamic art and mirrors with detailed frames.
Different clientele at different stores
The clients at the two stores are also different. The people who shop at the Fordsburg store are usually looking for customised work whereas those who shop at the Sandton store are looking for ready-made art.
Many more Islamic art stores and galleries have opened since the Limbadas started. There is at least one Islamic art store between any two blocks in Fordsburg. Most of them sell traditional or generic Islamic art like framed Persian carpets or prayers from the Qur’an painted on canvases. For many people in this community, Islamic art is a form of religious expression.
VARIETY: Some of the Islamic artworks available at Pioneer Picture Frames, one of the Orient Art Gallery’s competitors. Photo: Sibongile Machika
Mahamoud Abdillah, a freelance artist from Pioneer Picture Framers, says: “People here don’t know the richness of this art. For them it’s just about what they believe.” He says he finds the Islamic art scene in Fordsburg “very” pretentious. He believes people buy Islamic art to keep up appearances of being a “good Muslim”.
Arabic calligraphy is the ‘the spiritual breath’ of Islamic art
Most of the artworks at Pioneer Picture Framers are canvas and ceramic pieces that have Arabic calligraphy on them. Abdillah explains that most of the texts are popular verses or prayers from the Qur’an, written in freestyle calligraphy. Freestyle calligraphy is not guided by any rules. The artist is free to manipulate the text to serve their creative purpose.
Arabic calligraphy, however, is a specialised skill and an important aspect of Islamic art. Writer Umai Stambuli describes it as “the spiritual breath” of Islamic art. To become a calligrapher for spiritual or artistic purposes, artists must not only learn how to write in Arabic but also gain a thorough understanding of the Islamic faith and Arabic history.
‘You can’t separate Islamic art from Arabic calligraphy, that is where the beauty and richness is.’
Unlike most Arab countries, South Africa does not have schools that provide formal training in Arabic calligraphy. Most artists here are self-taught through books, practice and short courses given by international artists who have held exhibitions and workshops here.
Abdillah comes from the Comoros Island, off the southeast coast of Africa, where he says “everybody can write Arabic. It doesn’t make you an artist.” Artists there write in all styles of Arabic calligraphy, including Turkish, Persian and Egyptian.
As ancient Arabs moved across Middle-Eastern regions building the Muslim Empire, their ways of writing merged with those of the nations they conquered. This resulted in slight differences in the calligraphy produced in those nations. Over time, rules were developed to regulate and standardise these various styles of calligraphy.
Abdillah’s face lights up when he says: “You can’t separate Islamic art from Arabic calligraphy, that is where the beauty and richness is.”
The intracies of Arabic calligraphy
In slightly broken English he explains the differences in the various styles of Islamic calligraphy: Egyptian calligraphy runs across, reading from side to side much like Western calligraphy. It often consists of solid vertical lines with the curvier alphabets forming the lower part of the text running horizontally. Turkish calligraphy is more congested and centralised.
The strokes are curvier and form circular text which runs across horizontal and vertical plains. Persian calligraphy is a top to bottom type of text made of sharper strokes that form diagonal lines.
Ridwaan agrees that Islamic art has become more commercialised. He says with Islamic art, Arabic calligraphy has become like Japanese or Chinese calligraphy in that most people do not know what it means but it appeals to them on an aesthetic level. But, unlike Muhammed, he does not have a problem with this. He sees it as an opportunity to widen the Islamic art market.
It is with this in mind that the Orient Art Gallery is gradually moving from using specialised calligraphers to training factory workers to reproduce popular Arabic calligraphy by tracing it, digitally reproducing it and using pre-cut stencils for some of the larger pieces.
When competition in the industry increased, Farhad developed the job card system to differentiate himself from the others. Unless the client asks for original Arabic calligraphy, a job card is developed giving one of the factory workers step-by-step instructions on how to produce a particular piece of Islamic art. This is how he has managed to produce good quality artworks, faster and at a cheaper price, for his clients.
PLANNING: The Orient Art Gallery produces some of its calligraphy digitally. Store co-owner Ridwaan Limbada, right, shows the reproduction artist, left, the job plan for his next piece of art. Photo: Sibongile Machika
This work production process has become standard practice in South Africa. Some factory workers have become very good at it and have gone on to have successful careers producing Islamic art locally.
The generic Islamic artworks at Orient Art Gallery range between R5 000 and R25 000. Depending on the scale, medium and detail, these figures can go up to R95 000. Works produced by reproduction artists are 40% cheaper than those produced by specialised calligraphers.
By industrialising the art of Arabic calligraphy, fusing it with modern abstract and glass art to introducing interior design as one of their service offerings, Orient Art Gallery aims to remain relevant not only to the Muslim community but also to the ever-changing Johannesburg art scene.
It has been 26 years and three generations since the Limbadas first opened their doors for business. It is safe to say that they have found a healthy balance between good business practices and reverence for Islamic art.
But for Abdillah, who is an orthodox Muslim and very passionate about what he does, Islamic art must go deeper than just looking beautiful. He believes that to appreciate it one must understand its historical relevance or, at the very least, have a deep religious reverence for it. For him it is not about the money.
SKILL: Arabic calligrapher Rafique Cajee is a self-taught calligrapher who was only doing Western calligraphy until he joined Orient Art Gallery two years ago. Photo: Sibongile Machika
Like Abdillah, the Limbadas are also Muslim. They too respect the religious rules and connotations of Islam when it comes to art. None of their artworks depict faces or people. With the exception of when it is being packaged or transported, all religious art is kept off the ground. Their studio space is kept clean and neat because according to the faith it is not allowed to keep sacred things in dirty places.
Farhad still tries to protect the sacredness of Islamic art. He ensures all work stops during Friday prayer time. He also keeps some reference books on Islam and Islamic art on a shelf next to his desk and encourages his workers to constantly ask questions and learn about the faith.
But Ridwaan says: “Sometimes ideas are only great in value.” He believes there is no point in investing time or reverence into something when it does translate to financial gain.
“This is a business at the end of the day; it must feed us and clothe us.”
FEATURED IMAGE: The first Islamic art gallery in Fordsburg, Orient Art Gallery, founded by Farhad Limbada in 1989. Photo: Sibongile Machika
In a part of Johannesburg, that feels like a part of Somalia, one man and his family are searching for a better life. This is the story of Ebrahim Mohammed Ali, one of thousands of Somali immigrants trying to make it in the City of Gold.
Ebrahim Mohammed Ali inside his coffee shop showing some of the pictures of Somali farms in his file. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
On the corner of Albertina Sisulu Road and Somerset Street, in the small enclave of Little Mogadishu in Mayfair, Johannesburg, the smell of dark, roasted coffee fills the air. “Qakwo!” calls a man, above the hubbub of traffic and business at the spaza shops, cellphone stores and food outlets.
It’s a Friday afternoon, and Ebrahim Mohammed Ali has just came back from mosque. He is wearing a kurta, a long-sleeved, ankle-length white robe, and a kufi, the knitted skull cap for Muslim men.
He is sitting on a chair made from old tyres, at a table hammered together from wooden crates.
Qakwo means coffee in the Somali language, but it is also the nickname by which the owner of Qakwo Coffee Shop is fondly known. Ali is a stout man, a Somali Bantu, with tightly curled hair and broad shoulders. He is 49 years old and is respected as an elder in the community.
He walks over to the table, carrying a tray of biscuits and coffee. I order a cup. It costs R5. The qakwo is bitter and smells like cooked bark. Without sugar, it could be mistaken for a traditional medicine.
Ali sitting with Am Ahmed, chairperson of the Somali Culture and Heritage Council, during his visit to Ali’s coffee shop. He is drinking a cup of qakwo. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
“You drink it when you wake up in the morning,” says Ali. “It’s the first thing you drink. It makes you strong.” I ask him how he makes the qakwo and he laughs. “It’s my secret,” he says. “Do you also want to open a business?”
Ali’s coffee shop is decorated with Somali crafts and artefacts, including a coal iron, enamel kettles and paraffin lamps. There are laminated Somali banknotes and newspaper articles on the wall.
A survivor of xenophobia in South Africa
Ali laughs as he tells the story of a Chinese man with 34 wives and 94 children.
Some of Ali’s favourite stories pasted on the wall inside his coffee shop. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
“You were shocked when I told you I married many times, but you see this man can have 34,” he chuckles.
Ali dreams of opening a franchise of his Qakwo Coffee Shop. “Me, I know how to work,” he says. “I know how to cook.” But, for now, he is struggling to rebuild his life and business in an area of the city that feels most like home.
Ali left his war-torn homeland in 1991, in search of a better life for himself and his family. He has 17 children, 11 boys and 6 girls. “When I came to Home Affairs,” he says, “I took my children, and they gave me a form to fill in. This guy called the manager, saying there is no space. There was only space for two children. That manager said I must write the others at the back.”
Ali, like many of the Somali community in Little Mogadishu, is a survivor of the xenophobic violence that erupted in South Africa in 2008. At the time, he was running a small panel-beating business in Newtown. The xenophobic attacks destroyed his business and also took the life of his brother, who lived in an apartment at the site.
Ali left his brother there at the close of business one night during the attacks. When he returned the following morning, he found his brother dead and all of his cars, his customers’ cars, and the tools, had been stolen. His entire livelihood, worth about R800 000, had gone up in smoke.
He had come in search of a better life. Instead, he found trouble, fear, and misfortune.
Family life
There are an estimated 50 000 Somalis living in South Africa. Ali is among the approximately 6 000 who live in Mayfair and surrounding communities in Johannesburg.
Ali believes his life in Somalia before the war was better than it is now in South Africa. “Here my life is so difficult,” he says. “Now I don’t have holiday and weekend. I don’t even relax, that’s why I’m getting old fast. My boys only help me when they are not at school.”
But the Qakwo Coffee Shop keeps him busy, and helps him pay the R12 000 a month for the two houses he rents for his two wives and six children in Mayfair.
One of Ali’s houses is one street away from his coffee shop. His younger wife, Khadija Masuwa Aweys, takes care of the house and children.
She sits on the sofa with three Somali women. Aweys is wearing a short, silver shirt and a long sarong. One of the woman is telling the story of why she divorced her husband. “He was taking a second wife,” she says. “I didn’t want to share him.” The other women laugh.
Ali is back at the coffee shop, with two of his sons. A third son had come to show us the house.
Ali’s son Farhaan Ebrahim Mohammed making ginger tea in the kitchen. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
Ali’s status as an elder in the Somali community gives him a responsibility beyond his family. It earns him respect, and he is often called on to give advice and resolve disputes.
He is considered the chief of Mayfair’s Somali Bantus, because his grandfather is a king of the Bantu clan in Somalia. People who need help come to him. Criminal cases are referred to the police, but when there are disputes concerning culture and religion in the community, people look to him for help.
“I have resolved a family issue between the two guys fighting over a business. I told them to sell in different places, not to share one,” Ali says.
Jordaan Musesi, the ward 58 ANC councillor, knows Ali well. “When I have some questions about the community, I go to him as one of the elders,” Musesi says.
Although no Somalis serve on the ward 58 committee, this doesn’t mean they don’t have a voice.
“When we have meetings we invite everyone in the community,” says Musesi. “We consult with the organisations that represent them. In cases where there is a language barrier we try to find translators.”
Language is among the challenges Somalis face in their process of integrating into South African society. Amir Sheikh, chairperson of the Somali Community Board of South Africa, says the board tries to help members of its community deal with challenges they face in South Africa.
“Language and religion are the key factors why it is hard for Somalis to be part of the larger South African society,” says Sheikh.
In Ali’s coffee shop, though, there are no barriers. “Everyone is welcome to my place, I love everyone,” says Ali. “When there are cultural differences, I help solve that. Even South Africans sometimes come and I show them some things about their culture.”
A group of men sitting outside Ali’s coffee shop with his son Farhaan. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
Ali is trying to make South Africa his home. He worked for six years in Tanzania, raising money for his journey, and another two years in Zambia before reaching South Africa in 2000.
Although Ali has no formal education, he arrived in South Africa with marketable skills in farming and panel beating. “Me, I never went to school, I don’t know English well,” he says. With help from two Somali men who had settled in Mayfair earlier, Ali started his first South African business.
When his businesses started to flourish, he brought his family to live with him in South Africa. He had eight children when he left Somalia. Six more were born during the years it took to reach South Africa, and three more after his family joined him here.
Zaheera Jinnah, an anthropologist and researcher at the Africa Migration Centre at Wits University, says religion and the location of Mayfair play key roles in attracting Somalis.
“Somalis were able to trade and do business when they got to Mayfair because it’s close to the city centre. When they came to South Africa they had nowhere to go, so they went to the mosques, and many of the mosques close to the city centre were in Mayfair,” says Jinnah.
“They were also able to access many faith-based NGOs, and many of them already had an engagement with the Somalis in their country.”
‘They will never touch you. They are very peaceful’
Naboweya Dollie, originally from Cape Town, has lived in Mayfair for the past 24 years. She is a Muslim and attends mosque with some Somalis.
“They are very loud when they speak and sometimes you would be scared, but they will never touch you. They are very peaceful,” says Dollie.
Dollie moved to Mayfair when her husband’s company transferred him to Johannesburg. “At that time the place had many Indians and Greeks, but now you see many people from all over Africa and the world. We even call it the United States of Africa.”
The South African Refugee Act guarantees refugees the same rights as enjoyed by South Africans citizens. And yet, refugees often suffer discrimination and life-threatening violence from South Africans.
During the xenophobic attacks in 2008, more than 60 foreign nationals died. Earlier this year, about seven died in an outbreak of violence. Somalis were often targeted in the attacks.
Jinnah says the South African Refugees Act is very progressive, but South African leaders and the private sector undermine the law with incendiary statements.
“We can’t really push more for our Refugees Act, it’s very good,” she says. “But government officials should stop saying the things they say.”
Despite the xenophobic violence, Ali says he has had few problems adjusting to his new homeland. His facial traits help him escape some of the negative attitudes to Somalis.
He says he can go to Soweto because he looks like a South African. “The only problem is that people speak their language, ‘hey madala, unjani?’ I just keep quiet and people think ‘oh madala is tired’,” he says.
Ali sitting with his son inside the coffee after they have come back from the mosque. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
Making a living in Somalia was hard after the collapse of the government in 1991 and the beginning of civil war. Homes and businesses were demolished. In 2001 there was a major drought.
But life in Somalia was doubly difficult for Somali Bantus, who form about 20% of the population. Their ancestors were captured from Bantu tribes taken to Somalia as slaves during the Arab slave trade of the 18th and 19th centuries. Even today, Somali Bantus are still discriminated against in Somalia.
Regardless of the challenges of integration into South African society, Ali works hard to pay for his children’s education.
From a daughter’s perspective
His daughter Shikru Ibrahim Mohammed, 14, says her father is highly respected in the community. “I can go in the street at night and nobody touches me because they know my dad is a very strict man.”
But Shikru does not want to tell her father about the struggles she faces, because she fears for his health. “My father is diabetic,” she says. “I don’t want to stress him. I know if he knows he would be very angry.”
Ali’s daughter Shikru Ebrahim Mohammed standing next to the chairs she made with her father in one of the rooms in the family house in Mayfair. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
Shikru goes to Salvazione Christian School, because it’s the only school that was willing to accept her without a study permit. “Teachers really hate me at the school. They have accused me of watching porn in the computer lab. They know I wouldn’t do that. But one of them that I really like went to the computer lab to check history and she saw I didn’t do anything,” she says.
She believes teachers hate her because she is Somali and Muslim. Her mother advises her to wear a scarf when she leaves home and to take it off once she is close to school, to try and blend in with the other girls, and to do the same when she comes back.
“When I go to school I wear leggings underneath my skirt and other learners would ask me if I’m not feeling hot. My friends are cool, so they defend me and tell others that I’m Muslim.”
Shikru has adopted some of the vocabulary favoured by South African teenagers, such as “cool” and “awesome”. As she smiles, talking about her father, Shikru keeps pulling her scarf down, to cover part of her chest.
“In my culture you get married around 13 or 14. When I told my father that I don’t want to get married now, he didn’t have a problem. He told me I must get education. I want to do something like design so I can help him with his business.”
Shikru’s mother, Aweys, sitting on the sofa, smiles and asks for translations of parts of our conversation.
As Shikru talks about marriage, her mother says, in Somali language, “I would be happier if she marries a Somali man.”
Three of Shikru’s sisters are married. One lives in South Africa, and the other two are in Zambia and the US. They all married around the age of 14. “My father always tells me he doesn’t want me to be down like my sisters,” says Shikru.
Ali is building a better future for his children in South Africa but, if there wasn’t war in Somalia, he would go back. “I’m in jail, I haven’t seen my family for more than 20 years.”
Ali’s dream for the moment is to expand his business, so he can afford education for his children. For now, day after day, he serves the bitter coffee that has made a name for him in Little Mogadishu.
FEATURED IMAGE: Ebrahim Mohammed Ali inside his coffee shop showing some of the pictures of Somali farms in his file. Photo: Sinikiwe Mqadi
Worried about not looking gay enough, or scared you’re serving fake bisexual? In the second episode of our limited-series focused on life and living as a twenty something, the Community Guidelines team analyzes the idea of community from a queer lens, and delving into what it means to have a “queer community” in a country […]
