The closure of borders and implementation of lockdown regulations to combat covid-19 in South Africa have had consequences for the wellbeing of foreign nationals, many of whomwrestled with the separation of their families and uncertainty over their migration status.
During level 2 -5 lockdown, Home Affairs offices across South Africa only operated for limited services, making it difficult for foreign nationals to apply for the necessary documentation to remain in the country. Photo: Zinhle Belle
Asuitcase packed for England seven months previously obstructs the walkway as it occupies twothirds of the entrance to the Umeala household.
Its owner, Chioma Umeala (23), has no intention of unpacking her baggage. Her family do not question when she will remove it, despite it causing mild chest congestion, as it packs dust.
What you can still smell when you approach it, is the cologne of her father, who had helped her carry the bag down the stairs.
A father’s final send-off, disrupted by the travel ban
Unlike other students, Umeala’s decision to suspend her academic year abroad was not influenced by the outbreak of covid-19, but induced by her father’s deteriorating health.
Samuel ‘Sonny’ Umeala (61), a Nigerian–born architect who had lived in South Africa for more than 25 years, lost his battle with an illness on Father’s Day, June 21, in his home in Johannesburg during level–three lockdown.
Like many, the spread of covid-19 had scared Baba Umeala. Thus, his avoidance of a hospital to evade contracting the virus proved as deadly, as he did not receive due treatment for the illness he was fighting.
The father’s day present anticipated for Baba Umeala has been placed next to a portrait of his family as a tribute to him after his death on June 21. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
For his last Father’s Day, his four girls and last-born son created collages and cards to honour him. Tragedy apprehended their family in the early hours of Sunday morning, however, as condolence messages poured in for the loss of their father.
The reality the Umealas now faced included the logistical weight of planning a funeral under lockdown, which could accommodate their transnational identity.
A home usually filled with the posture of a father guiding his family, transitioned overnight into a battlefield where two nationalities would butt heads for the legitimacy of funeral practices.
In Nigerian culture, a person is meant to be buried in the land where they originated. As a result, his family in Nigeria expected his body to be sent home, for themto carry out the related customs.
Chioma Umeala explains that a burial in Nigeria can take up to six months to plan, as it is described as “the biggest event of a person’s life”.
Putting pressure on their father’s funeral was the policy of procedures for burial under lockdown, which stated that a mortuary may not keep a body for longer than 10 days from the date of death.
Another hurdle they faced during level–three lockdown was the travel ban, which had only been relaxed for the mild commencement of interprovincial travel for business purposes.
Funeral arrangements were impossible to deploy not only due to the limited travel methods, but also by the inflated price of flights caused by the pandemic’s meltdown of the economy.
This meant Baba Umeala’s Nigerian family were not able to come to South Africa to bury their relative.
The family wereburdenednot only with the emotional trauma of this significant loss, but also the moral considerations of the possible customary consequences for not carrying out certain traditions accordingly. Umeala said, “With my father, knowing his culture, he knew that Nigeria is where he would have ended up.”
The situation resulted in major conflict and anger between the two sides of the family as the borders seemed to become a physical barrier that solidified their detachment.
“This was the hardest part of burying my father, as we knew we had an obligation to send him back, but as a family who grew up in South Africa, we could only carry out the customs we were familiar with, that would give us the best closure,” said Umeala.
Three months after his death, the ban has now been lifted, which has triggered disagreement and resentment as his Nigerian family seek the same closureafforded his immediate family.
Similar circumstances followed for foreign nationals who saw themselves experiencing family displacement caused by the travel ban.
The separation of families across borders
AlouiseMatekenya (51) sits in an empty office, still set with work-from-home regulations. He positions himself at his desk, eyes glued to a calendar indicating the arrival of October, which to him can only represent the seventh month of the lockdown. What occupies his mind is when he will be reunited with his wife and children, who he has not seen since December 2019.
Many foreign nationals like him, with employment in South Africa, faced insecurity of their mobility as movement across borders was restricted. Regulations such as the travel ban were initiated from March 18, in preparation for the lockdown strategy known as the National State of Disaster Management Act.
Separated by only a border, the wife of Alouise, MaMatekenya, remained in Zimbabwe, where she ran their business. The two parents used their phones to regularly negotiate their parenting plan, as she took guard of their twin boys,who attend school in Zimbabwe.
During this period, Matekenya navigated involuntary single parenthood in South Africa as he became the primary caregiver for his three other children, who remained with him.
“It was very difficult to manage the kids on my own. They were used to their mother coming periodically to check on them as well. Making the kids stay in the house was the most difficult thing to do,’’ said Matekenya.
Outside of the emotional and socio-economic deprivation caused by the lockdown, Matekenya expressed how the risk of poor health was a lingering thought during the pandemic.
his association with the virus was set to its “worst possible outcome being death”
Like others, Matekenya experienced the dread of contracting the disease. During this week of level–two lockdown, infections in South Africa had reached a stark 650 000 cases, with deaths sitting at 15 500. After witnessing the decline of a colleague’s condition, it alarmed Matekenya to know that of the 495 deaths recorded that week, one was that of his colleague.
From this point onwards, Matekenya said, his association with the virus was set to its “worst possible outcome being death”.
Without direct access to his wife for support, a petrified Matekenya described himself as “the most vulnerable member of the family this side”, as he entered self-isolation.
Due to the level of responsibility on his shoulders to care and provide for his family, he had to put on a brave face for his children, while attempting to suppress thoughts of what would happen without his presence, or inability to stand in good health.
To him, his three children in South Africa, all under the age of 12, bore the risk of vulnerability, if left alone in an environment where separation for “health and safety were the government’s first priority.”
Throughout the global lockdown, countries have offered repatriation flights to people who wish to return to their country. To some people, this gesture served as an outlet to reunite families. However, such flights to South Africa were exclusive to citizens and those with residency, thus limiting the ability of those with working or tourist visas to return to the country.
The implementation of the travel ban on March 18, as one of the first lockdown policies in South Africa restricted non-citizen and residential travel into and out of the country as a means to control the spread of covid-19. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
During the scramble of countries closing their borders to manage the spread of the novel virus, many expatriates had to make the decision of remaining in the area they were in or returning home.
In South Africa, decisions for migrants to remain were factored on “considering South Africa as their home,others felt the covid-19 pandemic was global and could be contracted anywhere, while some indicated that they feared they’d be unable to re-enter South Africa,” according to the “Social impact of COVID-19” research conducted by Stats SA on July 27.
Speaking to the Cape Argus newspaper, the dean of socialscience at the University of KwaZulu-Natal, Vivian BesemOjong said, “The primary response [by the government] is to usually focus on its citizens, and when the borders closed governments mainly put focus on their own residents.”
The ramifications of lockdown policies, aimed at guarding the wellbeing of citizens, create a window of vulnerability for foreign nationals as they are not identified as beneficiaries of that protection. Consequently, they must submit to policies that do not safeguard their welfare.
Yet in instances where one returned home, like MaMatekenya, the only option was to sit steadily in Zimbabwe for months, without clarity on when she would be reunited with her family. What was initially estimated as a 21-day lockdown in South Africa has extended past seven months, with no clear endpoint.
“Like any other person, she felt cut off from the physical family union for a very long time. Naturally, her freedom of movement to see family was prohibited,” said Matekenya.
With the financial instability caused by the pandemic, Matekenyasaid the earliest arrangement for his wife to visit, with the reopening of borders, has been made for November 2020 – a year after their separation.
Not only did lockdown policy affect movement, but it also had an impact on the renewal of visas and residency applications, which foreign nationals rely on to maintain legitimacy in South Africa.
The limited services offered by home affairs caused uncertainty for foreign nationals
Connor Sim (24), a Scottish citizen working as a private wealth banker in Cape Town, returned to Scotland in February 2020, due to a change of employment in South Africathat required a visa renewal.
In his statement on “Measures to combat the covid-19 epidemic” on March 15, President Ramaphosa announced a travel ban on foreign nationals from high-risk countries, effective from March 18. On that list was the United Kingdom.
As a result, Sim was prevented from returning to South Africa. Such measures by the government did not make exceptions for foreign nationals who had affairs in the country.
When the lockdown came into operation on March 23, the Department of Home Affairs announced it would be offering limited essential services, restricted to the issuing of “temporary IDs, birth and death certificates”.
This caused distress for foreign nationals who remained in the country past the expiry date of their permits or visas, as they risk being labelled as “undesirable people”.
Section 30(1)(h) of the Immigration Act 13 of 2002, as amended by Act 13 of 2011, states the consequences of overstaying in South Africa asdeportation and a ban for a period of five years or more.
Permit holders whose documents expired no earlier than February 2020 were granted validity until an amended date, which has been extended to January 31, 2021.
Foreign Nationals with visas that expired during the South African lockdown are permitted to remain in the country until January 31, 2021, under the ‘extension of visa’ measures issued by the Department of Home Affairs. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
This grace afforded them bears the emotional stigma carried by undocumented foreign nationals as they often face discrimination from citizens and intimidation by the police.
“The Bill of Rights was not suspended by the initiation of the Disaster Management Act, however, there was a lack of consideration on the means of survival for foreign nationals”
“South Africa’s Immigration and Refugee Act is inclusive and progressive but there is no political will to ensure that there is the equal implementation of the law,” said Sharon Ekambaram, Head of Refugee and Migrant Rights Programme at Lawyers for Human Rights, Johannesburg.
“The Bill of Rights was not suspended by the initiation of the Disaster Management Act, however, there was a lack of consideration on the means of survival for foreign nationals,” said Ekambaram.
With the closure of embassies, foreign nationals had limited avenues to enquire about the terms of their stay or requests for aid from South Africa.
Sim described the preliminary period of lockdown as “walking through the unknown.”As he fought to withhold adjusting to the possibility of relocating back to Scotland. This deliberation was caused by the growing uncertainty of when he would return to South Africa.
Speaking on the lack of resources for foreign nationals to remain informed, Ekambaram said, “there was no effort for the government to share these messages on a community level.”
A clueless Sim, desperate for information on when travel would open, grew tired of typing variations of the same question, on his laptop, one of the few possessions, which he had not left in South Africa.
His rigorous efforts were not met with the same urgency as President Ramaphosa would only give South Africa updates every three to four weeks.
“Around June, July [three months into lockdown], the thoughts started creeping in, I struggled to visualise my future in South Africa and felt like I had little possibility of returning to South Africa,” said Sim.
The upliftment of the international travel ban, in October, under lockdown level one permitted Sim to return to South Africa to resume his employment.
However, the future of many other migrants in the country remains ambiguous as they camp outside an open Home Affairs department waiting for their visas to be processed.
Although the initiation of lockdown level one has facilitated a form of normality with the relaxation of policies, for many foreign nationals a constant negotiation of their agency was the fight they endured for remaining in a foreign country during the lockdown.
FEATURED IMAGE: The Alexandra Home Affairs office remains crowded since its resumption of full services at the beginning of level one lockdown on October 1, as people have been inquiring about the status of their documents. Photo: Zinhle Belle.
Three migrant tailors play tug-of-war with the unrelenting Chinese clothing industry to assert their own economic dominance on a snoozing avenue they call home.
Daniel “Legend” Osakwe is a Nigerian tailor who has been sewing on Louis Botha Avenue for over fifteen years. He primarily creates outfits which reflect the diversity of the African continent’s culture and traditions. Photo: Ntombi Mkandhla
Seated in his dark shop that bears his name, Daniel “Legend” Osakwe, a tailor anchored on the corner of Louis Botha Avenue and 2nd Street in Johannesburg, let out a defeated sigh. It was 9am and load-shedding had hit, drawing the life from his electric sewing machine.
“Obviously my work flow is now affected,” said Osakwe, pushing the coral silk cloth he was working on to the side of his large metal workspace. It cascaded onto the adjacent table, which held a colourful pool of fabric cuttings swimming together.
Parts of the avenue surrounding him were also in a slump. The steely sound from the nearby motor repair shop, synonymous with the Hillbrow-Sandton corridor, had ground to a halt. Trudging cars honked as if trying to will the dead traffic lights to come alive again.
Although visibly annoyed, Osakwe exuberantly greeted everyone who passed his shop. His liveliness mirrored the energy of his active wear. Osakwe wore grey sweatpants and, over a blue t-shirt, a black gym jacket. His camouflage cap almost covered his eyes, drawing attention to his white-speckled beard which gave away his 44 years of age.
A sleeping avenue smothered by the Sleeping Giant
Louis Botha Avenue sleeps – even when it is powered by Eskom. The economy is in need of a revival, due to plodding construction projects, the changing demographics of the area and the scourge of crime, which has driven many traders to safer, more prosperous areas. For those who choose to stay, such as Osakwe, it is a fight for survival.
A tailor meticulously follows every dart from their machine to ensure a quality result. Theirs is a profession to be handled with precision and care. Photo: Ntombi Mkandhla
“I named myself Daniel Legend back home in Nigeria when I started designing clothes. I loved John Legend’s music, so I also gave myself that name,” he said.
Osakwe moved to South Africa over 18 years ago and opened Daniel Legend in 2004.
In his shop, Europe rubs against Africa through the beaded lace outfits hanging next to the bold Ankara wax-print garments. Ankara is batik-inspired material with Indonesian roots adopted in West African fashion, giving the colourful material a hard, glossy finish which disappears after the first wash.
“The material mostly comes from China,” Osakwe said, with a hint of exasperation.
China’s clothing and textile industry slyly provides tailors with quality material to make outfits, but beats them to the customer line with its own clothing production.
Simon Eppel, a researcher at the Southern African Clothing and Textile Workers’ Union, said about 40% of all imported Chinese clothing is smuggled in, avoiding import duties. This allows retailers to sell the contraband cheaply.
“Compare Chinese export data to that of local customs revenue import data. There is a huge gap,” Eppel said.
In 2017 almost half of all South African imported textiles and clothes came from China and was valued at more than R19 billion, said a report released by Cotton South Africa, a cotton industry organisation.
Osakwe said business plummeted in 2010 when the Chinese clothing industry caught up with Afrocentric fashion trends.
“Before then, only a few South African design houses such as Sun Goddess had commercialised traditional prints,” Osakwe said, adding that he would sew about 15 garments a week.
When he got multiple orders, he would hire help to meet his customers’ desired outfit deadlines.
“Nowadays I sometimes see about five customers. Sometimes no one comes through my doors for a whole week.
“Now I am not just fighting the Chinese market for African designs, I am competing against tailors who have popped up on the avenue as a result of the demand,” Osakwe said.
A thirteen-minute walk down Louis Botha Avenue from Osakwe’s shop sat another tailor, Paul Mphando, carefully hemming a side of a voile curtain. He was tucked up in Adom Clothing, close to 8th Street, a shop with a variety of clothes, many of which were light and semi-transparent, with fraying threads visible on closer inspection.
Mphando spoke with measured precision, his speech squeezed out of his stiff, clean-shaved face. His small eyes, however, opened wide while speaking about his garment making journey.
“My time as a tailor has been number one. My customers come here from all over, including Spruitview and Pretoria,” Mphando, a Malawian migrant, said.
Mphando said he was inspired to seek greener pastures in a foreign country by his now late stepfather, a tailor working in Botswana several years ago.
“Louis Botha Avenue was the first place I arrived in South Africa when I came in 2013,” he said, adding that his brothers who lived on 14th Street pushed him to migrate to Johannesburg.
Mphando said he was in the “right place”, but admitted his location gave him unwanted competition with cheap clothing.
“That dress is R250. I sell my dresses for R600. If a customer walks in, which one are they more likely to buy?” Mphando asked, pointing at a blue dress hanging from the open entrance security door.
A stifling crime blanket covers the Hillbrow to Sandton corridor
While China has a vice grip on the tailors of Louis Botha Avenue, the avenue’s own socio-economic fabric also threatens to suffocate the livelihood of the corridor’s businesses.
Osakwe keeps his wrought-iron gate closed as a precautionary measure against the lawlessness that exists in the area.
“People are afraid to park their cars to come into my shop, so they rather just drive past me every day.
“There are a lot of street boys who mug people of their possessions and spend their time smoking dope,” he said.
Osakwe, an Orange Grove resident, said many street boys live along Louis Botha Avenue, a high-density housing area lined with high-rise apartments.
Osakwe and Mphando are part of the community of African migrants who moved into the area. About 25% of the flat dwellers in the area are migrants, according to a research paper by Wits University spatial analysis and city planning researcher Alexandra Appelbaum.
Appelbaum said this had been an ongoing effect of the decline in the Johannesburg inner city which began in the 1970s. As a result, rental prices became more affordable for African people to move into neighbourhoods along Louis Botha Avenue close to the city centre, such as Orange Grove.
Back at Daniel Legend, Osakwe rocked slightly in a maroon mesh-covered chair while looking out into the street through his barred entrance.
“You know, whenever African people move in, the white people move out,” Osakwe said, marking white cotton fabric with a pencil. He would regularly slot it behind his left ear as he smoothed the material with his hands.
Garment-making on Louis Botha Avenue is an unpredictable business and tailors have to measure their steps to stay ahead in an upside down economy. Photo: Ntombi Mkandhla
Osakwe said he shops around Amalgam’s China Mall and the Johannesburg CBD for fabric for good deals to make sure he gets a third profit off a garment sewn.
When quoting a customer, he includes a return taxi trip to the Johannesburg CBD from Orange Grove, which costs him R22.
“To make a lady’s top, I can buy material and other necessities for about R190, and in the end sell the garment for R300,” Osakwe said.
Mphando, on the other hand, said he makes sure of 50% profit on every garment. He said he buys from cross-border traders who bring back material from other countries.
“I can get it as cheap as R150 for 6m of material,” Mphando said. To maximise even further, he often resells the material he would have bought with a R100 mark-up for himself.
While China exports cheaper fabric, Osakwe said he would never compromise on buying poor quality fabric to lower costs.
“When people see my work, it must show my excellent workmanship,” he said.
Daniel “Legend” Osakwe is a Nigerian tailor who has been working on Louis Botha Avenue for over fifteen years. He speaks on how paying attention to detail allows him to effectively work on an a crime-riddled and sleeping avenue.
Customer service: The personal assistance not even the smartest robot could offer
As Osakwe sat alone in his shop, a petite woman seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She stood outside the entrance, next to a mannequin of similar stature. The life-sized doll was dressed in a Ndebele print-inspired A-line dress sneakily adjusted with a wooden peg at its back to hide the garment’s actual size. The visitor’s body was motionless, eyes moving slightly, as if unsure whether she could window-shop through the wrought iron bars.
Osakwe quickly welcomed her in with a sense of familiarity. Felicia Mlangeni had paid him a visit to potentially get a dress sewn.
What’s up? Osakwe often receives Whatsapp messages of outfits he has been tasked to recreate, like this Pedi-inspired traditional wedding dress. Photo: Ntombi Mkandhla.
“It is for my sister’s umembeso. She is getting married next month,” Mlangeni said, perched over Osakwe’s shoulder as she showed him the dress she had in mind on her phone. “Do you have your own material?” Osakwe asked. Mlangeni took a moment to ponder, as if asked a trick question, before sheepishly shaking her head in response. While giving her a quick look at and feel of the fabric options available to her, Osakwe explained that a cotton and polyester mix dress would cost her R600, while if she opted for a pure cotton outfit he would charge her R850 for the design and material.
What started as an awkward business encounter turned into a friendly chat between Osakwe and Mlangeni, as if they were old friends.
“If you are going to be dancing, wear a low heel. What will you do with your hair?” Osakwe asked as Mlangeni bounced off her tippy toes, as if wearing imaginary stilettos.
Clothing alterations: A way to bite back and feed off the Chinese clothing industry
Next door to the shop Mphando was stationed in sat Misheck Mponda in Heartland Boutique, entertaining friends. He was formally dressed with the top button of his blue shirt open, spreading his collar over the white tape measure hanging from his neck like a loose tie.
An elderly man popped his head through the open glass door and shouted “How much?”
His right index and middle fingers mimicked a pair of scissors snipping through the baggy lower left sleeve of his stiff blue overalls.
“R30,” Mponda responded to the man’s price inquiry about alteration. The man disappeared quickly after he heard the figure.
Unbothered by the man’s abrupt departure, Mponda kept his eyes on the darting needle before him.
“People always shop for the best deal,” the 34-year-old said. Mponda, who had been a Louis Botha Avenue tailor for five years, said he thought he had offered the “old man” a good price for alteration.
“For you,” he said, pausing his work to let his eyes run over my face, “I would say R40”.
Mponda said he had no fixed price for altering or sewing garments and would often form a price by judging a customer’s appearance.
Misheck Mponda, an Orange Grove tailor on Louis Botha Avenue, says a method he uses to attract and retain customers is to be willing to be flexible with his const of service. Photo: Ntombi Mkandhla
“But it is not a problem, they can reduce the price,” he said, adding that he was open to price negotiation, a competitive small business element that allows entrepreneurs to rope in customers by adjusting prices.
Mponda said altering people’s clothing was a “good” source of income for him, as customers came out of boutiques having bought incorrectly sized clothes.
“Chinese clothes are sometimes too big or too small. When people buy clothing from the shop which they can’t fit into, they come to me,” Mponda said, highlighting his satisfaction with working on the avenue.
“I am just a blind man; God will be my eyes,”
Osakwe, a husband and father-of-two, said he sometimes wishes he could leave Louis Botha Avenue completely.
When he set up shop on the avenue he had hoped the transport node would expose him to many potential customers.
“I just don’t have enough resources to move to places like Sandton,” he said, resting both his hands on the work station in front of him.
Osakwe said he had often been at the mercy of his landlord, struggling to meet the R3 000 rent and utility bills for his shop.
A red bible peeked through folded material near his hands, belonging amid his clutter just as much as the spools of thread and pairs of scissors scattered over the table.
“Living as an immigrant in a country so far away, I need to have strong faith and ambition,” he said.
Far back in his shop hung a painting of White Jesus, draped in red cloth, straddling a lamb while his fair bare feet led a flock of sheep through the wilderness.
“I am just a blind man; God will be my eyes,” Osakwe said, his hands briefly held open in surrender as if reaching to heaven to shine its light on him.
FEATURED IMAGE:Garment-making on Louis Botha Avenue is an unpredictable business and tailors have to measure their steps to stay ahead in an upside down economy. Photo: Ntombi Mkandhla
Finding the perfect dish that will fill your belly, along with a pinch of nostalgia, is no longer too difficult a task on Louis Botha Avenue with ‘the Place of Help’.
“LIJO tsa hao li lokile, o je masutsa a hao ha monate!” exclaims Madame Maggy. These are just the right words to make any hungry person happy. They are the words heard regularly by customers of Thusong Place Restaurant, a local eatery on Johannesburg’s famous Louis Botha Avenue. They are Basotho for ‘bon appetit’.
Thusong Place is the only restaurant on Louis Botha Avenue for Basotho (Sesotho, Setswana and Sepedi speaking) people. It is deep in the belly of an avenue full of businesses including auto spare suppliers, upholsterers and pawn shops.
Mme Maggy serves her customers at Thusong Place Restaurant on Louis Botha Avenue on a daily basis, not of a smie on her face and she caters for every customer. Photo: Lineo Leteba
Deeper into the place of help
Condiments accompany every meal that is served at restaurants. These are the condiments placed on a vintage plate at Thusong Place Restaurant on Louis Botha Avenue. Photo: Lineo Leteba
The street is also crammed with salons and beauty shops for diverse options when customers are looking for that fresh cut or new braids. Among more than 10 international African cuisine restaurants on the avenue, Thusong stands out with a sign written in a local language on the outside and images of local dishes on the glass windows around the entrance.
Along the avenue leading from the famed Hillbrow, a mural one can describe only as an artistic summary of Louis Botha Avenue stands out. It stretches through different suburbs with images of vehicles, street vendors, African women in traditional regalia – and food.
The meeting place for Basotho on “Louis Basotho Avenue”, and one of only two known restaurants in Johannesburg that sell lijo tsa setsu (a traditional Basotho cuisine), Thusong’s name means “the place of help” in Sesotho.
The mother of Louis Botha Avenue
The restaurants on Louis Botha Avenue come in a wide variety to suit the different palates of different cultures: Nigerian, Ethiopian, Zimbabwean, Italian, Jewish and many others.
Finding a restaurant catering to any of these cultures is like finding a needle in a tailor’s shop: It is not difficult at all. Finding local South African traditional food, on the other hand, is really like looking for a needle in a haystack – but for Thusong Place.
Mme Margaret Oganne (also known as Mme Maggy) is a 62-year-old Motswana woman who moved in the early 2000s from North West to Louis Botha Avenue, where she stayed for about five years before transferring to Houghton Estate Observatory, where she is now living with her family.
Mme Maggy is always behind the counter with a wide smile on her face as she waits to take orders from her customers.
“Your food is ready, enjoy your delicious food” are the words she says to her customers when she hands them warm plates of delicacies prepared by her with the help of her shop assistant, Emmanuel Maphanga, and occasionally her husband, Mr Oganne.
The traditional keeper of Louis Botha Avenue
Louis Botha Avenue is condensed with many restaurants that sell international cuisine dishes. A few shops stand out on the avenue for selling local South African food, though still encorporating international dishes to unite the different communities on the avenue. Amapelepele Spices for Africa and Thusong Place Restaurant bring us into their kitchens to learn more about culture and tradition. Produced and Edited: Lineo Leteba Sound: Rose Shayo and Sisanda Mbolekwa
Occasionally Mme Maggy will walk into the seating area and speak to her customers, asking them about the food and their wellbeing. In a low tone she will ask, “ho joang (how are you)?” and the usual response from most of her customers is, “I am okay mama.”
“I opened up the restaurant in 2017 when I noticed the lack of local South African cuisine restaurants in the area,” says Mme Maggy. “I made sure to include delicacies such as mala mogodu (tripe), papa le sechu and other traditional Basotho dishes on the menu. I also added some western flavour to the menu with dishes such as french fries and fried chicken. We serve sphatlo (kota), which is a local township dish, as well as magwinya (fat cakes).
“I want my restaurant to be inclusive of all people, although it mainly serves the palates of our Basotho people. I want everyone to feel as if they are at home, because that is how we are as Basotho and I want to bring that spirit to Louis Botha through my food,” she said.
I walked into the pungent smell of vinegar over French fries as the 23-year-old Maphanga was cleaning the restaurant. He is a shy young man who stays behind the counter on most days, hardly interacting with his surroundings or with customers unless he is offering his waiting skills. Soft kwaito music comes from a phone on the service counter. The TV, hanging from the ceiling at the corner as you enter the door, is tuned to Supersport 4.
Africa united through food on Louis Botha Avenue
Sister Sonto sells food at Amapelepele Spices for Africa on Louis Botha Avenue and she is holding a bucket of chakalaka that she prepares for her customers everyday using amapelepele. Photo: Lineo Leteba
According to Maphanga, who is originally from Zimbabwe, “a lot of people come here, but it is usually Tswana, Sotho and Pedi speaking people who come. Other people from other cultures do also come to enjoy the food we serve. We have everyone walk into the restaurant. I myself am Zimbabwean, but I enjoy working here because I get to learn more about Basotho culture and I improve my dialogue by interacting with the customers.”
A man, seemingly the only customer this morning as cleaning continues, sips water from a glass which he refills from a yellow vintage jug while he attentively watches the programme on TV. He moves around the restaurant as Maphanga is cleaning, so that he can get a better view of the TV. He does not order any food or speak to anyone, just sits there with no emotion on his face, adding more water to his cup as he watches TV.
During the peak lunch hour Thusong is packed with people from different walks of life, communicating in the language that is food, with a hint of Sesotho, Setswana and Sepedi. A man, presumably Mosotho as he is clothed in a formal brown Seshoeshoe shirt with green denim pants and brown leather sandals, walks silently into the restaurant while Mme Maggy is at the counter serving other customers. The man joins the queue.
When it is the man’s turn to order his food, Mme Maggy asks with a warm smile, “nka o thusa joang papa (how can I help you, sir)?” as he approaches the counter with a hop in his step.
“Ke kopa papa ka li salad le nama ea khomo (may I please have pap with salad and beef),” replies the man. Mme Maggy takes a clean white plate from the rack below the counter, wipes it with a damp cloth and walks over to the warm silver pots to dish up a serving.
Lunch hour traffic in the hot Louis Botha Avenue kitchen
A cloud of steam billows out as she lifts the lid off the hot pot of papa ea Batswana (a soft, porridge-like pap cooked with water and no additives). She adds coleslaw and chakalaka to the plate. Mme Maggy opens the pot of meat, and within seconds the mouth-watering aroma of beef is diffused through the whole restaurant as she spoons it onto a separate dish.
A plate of beef stew and pap served with salads at Amapelepele Spices for Africa as the special dish for Tuesdays on Louis Botha Avenue. Photo: Lineo Leteba
“Emmanuel, tlisa metsi (bring)!” exclaims Mme Maggy as Maphanga rushes from the kitchen with a bowl of water to offer the man to wash his hands before he digs into the food. The man washes his hands and Mme Maggy presents him with the food.
He slowly buttons up his shirt by the arms “kapa o shena matsoho” and takes a handful of pap, rolls it a few times around his hand, dips it into the meat broth and takes the first bite. With a look of satisfaction on his face he sighs deeply as he continues to eat.
“There are a lot of Batswana people that come here. I come here because I have known Mme Maggy for over 30 years now. We are both Batswana and I come here almost every day because I can relate to most of the people who come here through speaking the same language and enjoying the same food,” said 66-year-old Thabo Stephen Sereme.
With a cooling fan connected at the corner near an ice cream machine, the other customers walk in and occupy tables on the left hand side of the restaurant, as if in a separate room, drinking alcoholic beverages from the bottle as they wait to take away their food while others sit and enjoy their food.
A battle of convenience and tradition
Bernet Tau, a Mosotho originally from Ficksburg in the Free State, said, “I always eat here. It is like my home now. I do not remember when I came to Louis Botha because it was a very long time ago.
“Mme Maggy practically raised me because I have known her since I moved here. I always eat fried chicken and pap and watch the news on the TV when I come alone.”
The culture of food is derived not only from the traditions we grew up with or from how we were nurtured through our tender ages.
Lincoln Nyoni, originally from Zimbabwe, works at Legese Upholstery on 109 Louis Botha Avenue, and said he eats at Thusong every day.
“I buy breakfast and lunch there every day,” he said. “I buy there because it is nearby and the food is clean. I have been living on Louis Botha Avenue for about five months now. I started working here almost eight months ago and this is the only place I buy food.
“For me it is not about culture; it is just because the restaurant is close to my work and it is hygienic. Almost all the other restaurants on our block closed down, including Food Express, which was located between our shop and Thusong, because people were not buying food from them,” said Nyoni.
ABOVE: Tswarelo Moboreketla makes and sells kotas on Louis Botha Avenue for a living when he is not selling atchaar in Pretoria in his local city, Soshanguve. Photo: Lineo LetebaABOVE: Kotas being prepared in what Tswarelo Moboreketla calls the ‘spitori’ influenced way on Louis Botha Avenue. Photo: Lineo Leteba
Enter the African chef’s traditional kitchen
According to 22-year-old international chef Thabo “The Chef with an Accent” Phake, “culture influences food in a big respect, whether it be through techniques such as slow cooking, which is pivotal to our African cuisine, or the Dutch influence from the Afrikaans culture, the British wine influence, Indian spices that have seeped into Zulu culture, and more.
“In my point of view all 11 [South African] cultures intertwine and influence each other when it comes to bringing nostalgia and good food experience.”
Etward Lebona, originally from Leribe in Lesotho, said he does not know any other place that sells Basotho cuisine on Louis Botha Avenue.
“I see only one place that sells ‘lijo tsa setsu’ (traditional Basotho food) in [Johannesburg Central Business District] and it is called Lijong (the place of food). If I knew of a restaurant that sells our food I would buy from it because I love our traditional food.
“I would love to eat the food I was eating throughout my childhood. It is very important because I grew up eating it and now I cannot find it anywhere on Louis Botha Avenue. I would love to eat seketsa, papa ea mabele and likhobe again,” said Lebona.
Chef Phake, who specialises in African avant-garde cuisine, said he is not focused on changing the past but on “bringing the past into the present. My cooking is not centred on how I can manipulate ingredients or how I can play around with techniques, but rather on old traditions my grandmother taught me that are relevant to the new generation.”
The Place makes Louis Botha Avenue your home away from home, as it did for Tau. And it is also a place for convenience for many international and local residents, including Nyoni. It is the place that makes you feel at ease, like many of the residents of Louis Botha Avenue including Mme Maggy, by bringing your home delicacies closer to you in the big city.
FEATURED IMAGE: Mme Maggy serves her customers at Thusong Place Restaurant on Louis Botha Avenue on a daily basis, not of a smie on her face and she caters for every customer. Photo: Lineo Leteba
South Africa has invested over R60 billion in its transport infrastructure over the last 30 years! While you can certainly see some of that investment, major modes of transport are just not keeping up with how urbanised Johannesburg and its surrounding areas are becoming. Here on The Next Stop, I am joined by Olga Mashilo […]
