A courageous Malawian woman making big life changes to ensure her own happiness, she first left her country of birth to attain financial freedom and then her husband, who tried to rape his stepdaughter. A mother, friend, mentor and sister, she lives in Orange Grove and works in a fruit and vegetable store on Louis Botha Avenue.
LEFT: Mtsunge Katola, a single mother, tightly embracing her daughter outside of her fruit and vegetable store on Louis Botha Avenue on a sunny day. Photo: Jabulile Mbatha.
UPON entering a store selling luscious fruits and vegetables on a sunny weekday, I find a young- looking woman engaged in telling a story to a man leaning close to her, with both his hands clasped tightly on his lap. From the deep stare in his eyes, I am curious to find out what this tale entails. The petite woman with brown, fuzzy hair puts her story on hold and welcomes me with a warm smile, kindly asking what assistance she can provide. I am pleased with the service, retrospectively comparing it with a recent misfortune of a cashier who scanned my products without even looking at me once, refusing to end the conversation I found her having with the cashier opposite us.
The woman, with the body and height of a 20-year-old, takes me through the different price ranges of her mouth-watering products, and instead of the weather small talk we get straight into the hardships of working and living on Louis Botha Avenue. Just like that, I was let in on the life of a single mother, abandoned by her spouse, who migrated for survival.
The planting of the seed
Mtsunge Katola is a Malawian mother who works at a fruit and vegetable store on the west side of Louis Botha Avenue and 7th street. She lives only two streets away from where she works to make a living. There are numerous walk-ins on an hourly basis on the right hand side of her store, where *Salem Kuran, a Pakistani man, owns a supermarket, allowing more people to pass by the fruit and vegetables on display outside her own store.
On the left hand side, a pot-bellied, one eyed Malawian man sells home appliances. A stray black-and-white cat keeps him company through the day as hardly any customers come into the store. Always found outside, he stares and smiles, rocking backwards and forward, and just when I think he will finally utter a word when I look back at him, he shyly walks into his store, only to come out a few minutes later to continue watching us.
Somewhere in the suburbs of Johannesburg lies one of the longest streets joining opposite ends of the city, with a century-long history. We find Louis Botha Avenue, a road that could be north of Pretoria and south of Bloemfontein.
(Left to right) Mtsunge Katola, Alex Khado and Garry Manaka, the entrepreneurs of Louis Botha Avenue hanging outside Katola’s store on a sunny day waiting for customers to help them make a living for themselves. Photo: Jabulile Mbatha
The Groove of Louis Botha Avenue
With a plethora of churches, businesses and eateries, Louis Botha in Orange Grove, Johannesburg, is a place where work and home can easily co-exist. With some describing it as “little Africa”, many have migrated to make a living for themselves.
John Smith, one of the many regular day drinkers is picking up a fresh pineapple with a beer on his left hand from the fruits on display outside Mtsunge Katola’s affordable fruit and vegetable store on Louis Botha Avenue. Photo: Jabulile Mbatha.
This is the same for David Leckison, a 27-year-old man who works at another fruit and vegetable store on Louis Botha Avenue and 6th Street. Almost always found just outside his store, with his pants sagging as he stands, an automatic bounce accompanies his walk. He looks left and right before entering, as if talking outdoors is taboo.
The Malawian-born man relocated to South Africa in 2015 to seek employment and better his family situation. Leckison is the second of three children of Joseph Leckison and Jennifer Izeck, who are back in Malawi surviving on the money sent by their children. “When we first moved to South Africa my brothers and I stayed in Pretoria CBD, but because John and I were not making money we had to move to a place where we could make money”, says Leckison as he refers to Louis Botha Avenue.
Mtsunge Katola is a fruit and vegetable store owner on Louis Botha Avenue who has found a home away from home. She takes us through a journey of her life in Orange Grove and her workplace in Louis Botha Avenue. Video: Jabulile Mbatha
Handshakes and a half embrace take place between Leckison and a tall man, who I hear say, “I really look forward to working with you, my man.” As I find the conversation ending, Leckison folds his arms, revealing a faded tattoo and simultaneously putting his chin up, eyeing me and standing with his legs far apart from each other as he says “Mhh” as a way of greeting back, as he always does.
The friend is known as Dexter Ndlovu , a resident of Orange Grove who shops regularly on Louis Botha Avenue. His relationship with Leckison began on credit. “I regard David as my own brother,” says Ndlovu. “When I did not have enough money, he would allow me to take things on credit; he never expected the money to be paid back. I knew he had a good heart.”
LEFT: (Left to right) Mtsunge Katola allows the guys (Alex Khado and Garry Manaka) to drink and operate their business outside of her fruit and vegetable store on Louis Botha Avenue as it brings in more customers for her. Photo Jabulile Mbatha
Orange Grove is an economic hub with a multiplicity of activities within what is a residential area. Although it experienced a decline in development in the late 1900s, people still find a way to make it work. There is a vast variety of nationalities, races, religions and incomes in the area. It shows even in the infrastructure, from the exclusively Ethiopian churches to the Christian schools, to the Italian eatery and through to the newly developed apartments opposite ancient, shabby ones. The streets are loud with chatter from residents walking from place to place, and from the engines of BMWs and Porsche Cayennes.
A culture of getting sloshed
One late evening in Louis Botha, streets are filled with passers-by rushing back home and many hand signs are flashed in the air by those waiting for almost broken-down taxis to take them back home. A number of uniformed old women slowly drag their feet to wherever home is, walking in silence, too tired to even speak to each other after a day of scrubbing the kitchen floors of their sir and madam.
The taverns fill up with sweaty men in safety boots and tattered PPE clothing wanting to grab one for the road, leaving behind those who have been there since the sun came up.
On a buzzing night just like any other, on the corner of Louis Botha Avenue and 7th Street, Stanley Maseko and Susan Mkhize are among numerous others drinking inpublic, with some still in uniform from their respective work places. The drenching smell of a brewery is detected from a mile away and one of the men sitting in a line shouts to me as I ask what the occasion is.
LEFT:The purchase of vegetables are essential to Mtsunge Katola because it means that she will have enough money to feed her children and take care of other financial needs. Photo: Jabulile Mbatha
“Hey sister, this is Louis Botha and we drink for a living!”
A severely scarred face approaches me with a smile of broken teeth and with deep, sad eyes. This resident of over 20 years shares that his late mother used to work at Hospice Wits and now that she is gone, he is left all alone. “I have made my fair share of mistakes in this lifetime and I do not want to blame it on being motherless, but I do think I wouldn’t have done some of the things I have done if I had a family.” In the crowd of public drinkers, Mkhize interjects, cursing Louis Botha Avenue for being rotten. “There are no jobs here,” she says. “What is the point of having family if we are going to live in poverty? I would rather be alone like you, Stanley.” She explains that Orange Grove hardly has running water, let alone electricity.
Mtsunge Katola is patiently waiting inside of her fruit and vegetable store for customers. She misses her children who are back home taking care of the house. Photo: Jabulile Mbatha
I discover that the electricity crisis is true after several visits to Katola’s store, which becomes as dark as the night when the sun has set. Katola is almost never alone in her store. A man who seems to be fixing wires in the back peeps out to see who has come in as she stands to hug and welcome me. She apologises because her little shop is lit with a single candle, and asks that we sit close to the door so we can use the street light to see each other clearly.
The man, who is constantly emerging from the back of the store, is *Thulani Khumalo. “I have stayed with ‘Mama wa Ishmael’ for years now. I am always in the store because I live in the back, guarding her store during the night. I do this because she saved my life. I can say God blessed me with another mother,” Khumalo says. Many refer to Katola as the mother of her children’s names, as a way of showing respect. She earned this respect by giving Khumalo a chance from a life of homelessness and drug use, by distracting him with maintenance work at the store and the task of guarding it at night.
With the sun setting much later in the evening, and the warm air putting people into shorts and sleeveless shirts, the fruit and vegetable business does better since the season has changed.
LEFT: *Portia Smith embraces Mtsunge Katola with a big smile on her face after Katola agrees to help her with applications for schooling so she can better her future. Photo: Jabulile Mbatha
Although there are a number of fruit and vegetable stores along Louis Botha Avenue, each one caters to a different part of the city, from Orange Grove to Alexandra. Louis Botha Avenue has the potential to generate economic growth as it did in the past; the city of Johannesburg is working on developmental programmes such as the Transit- Oriented Development Programme to alleviate inequalities in this high-density area.
Captured by the storytelling, assisted by continuous hand movements, a mother and her son pick up and analyse the vegetables, almost as if lifting weights. They bring our conversation to a halt. Katola Mtsunge stands up with her warm smile, saying, “How can I help you mama?” It may be this hospitality that makes her more than just a woman selling veggies. When the woman cannot find the last of her needs, she is referred to one of the other stores across the road. Like a mind reader, Katola takes one look at me and answers, “We help each other out. When I don’t have something in store, I refer my customers to someone else who might have it, because after all we are all trying to make a living.”
With the notion that life is better in South Africa, Katola left a country with an unemployment rate of 5.40% for a struggling South Africa with a high jobless rate of 29% to date. “The education in Malawi is good, I must admit, but after I completed high school I struggled to find employment so I moved up here in 2008.”
Xenophobia is defined as “fear or hatred of foreigners or strangers; it is embodied in discriminatory attitudes and behaviour and often culminates in violence, abuses of all types and exhibitions of hate”.
Having lived in Pretoria at first as a domestic worker earning only R800 a month, a place rife with xenophobic attacks, she moved to Louis Botha Avenue feeling underpaid and afraid for her own life. With a breaking voice, Katola says, “I watched my friend being burned to death in Pretoria, knowing there was nothing I could do to help her because I am a foreign national too. The only solution was to move.”
FEATURED IMAGE: A woman selling at an informal stall. Photo: Supplied
Amid Louis Botha Avenue’s shift in demographics, a few businesses stand out as relics of the former Italian migrant community that made the area home.
When you hear “Buongiorno!” from Samson Muvhali, you know you have arrived in Johannesburg’s slice of what was once dubbed “Little Italy”.
For many years, Italian immigrants made Louis Botha Avenue the hub to meet, shop, dine and reminisce about their motherland. Now a Tshivenḓa-speaking security guard’s workplace, Super Sconto, is among the few reminders of the area’s “Little Italy” accolade.
Super Sconto, which translates as “super discount”, sits on the bustling thoroughfare that extends from Hillbrow to the edge of Sandton. Instead of functioning as another food store it acts as a time capsule of a bygone era, filled with an importer’s paradise of goods.
LEFT: Samson Muvhali, the Super Sconto security guard who has worked at the food centre since 2010. Photo: Gemma Gatticchi
A boom in migration sparks a community
Like many Italians in the area, the store’s general manager, Roberto Casti (66), has an immigration story of his own. The man, wearing a red Lacoste shirt and watch with a strap to match, explains that he was born from Neapolitan and Sicilian parents into an Italian colony in Eritrea, northeast Africa, after which he ventured down to South Africa in 1980 to look for greener pastures.
“The only place that could give us an opportunity was South Africa; that is why I came here,” Casti says, carrying an Italian accent untouched by his life in Africa.
Louis Botha was flooded with Italian immigrants when a dynamite factory in Avigliana, a town north of Italy, hit dire straits in 1894 and subsequently closed down. Dr Anita Virga, an Italian lecturer at the University of the Witwatersrand, says the closure, coupled with the later effects of World War II and severe unemployment, led to many skilled workers being transferred to the Modderfontein Dynamite Factory on the Pretoria Main Road.
“The first person usually arrives and calls the others, saying ‘Come here, there is an opportunity’,” she says.
Virga, who moved to Johannesburg from Turin, Italy, six years ago, explains that after the war Italy remained physically and psychologically destroyed, forcing Italian citizens to venture out and find work.
A four-minute walk southeast of Super Sconto takes you to Marco Pecci (MP) Mirror & Glass. The owner and namesake ended up in the area due to similar circumstances.
Pecci tells the story of his parents who were forced to leave Marche, Italy, in the Sixties when employment in their home country hit a dismal low. Following the numerous success stories of fellow Italians they migrated to Johannesburg, eventually establishing their glass workshop on Louis Botha in 1991.
This being said, the same influx of Italian influence in the form of delicatessens, shoe shops and jewellery stores which lined the avenue has since vanished. Now Super Sconto and MP Mirror & Glass are among the only Italian-owned work spaces left on Louis Botha.
Bringing ‘Little Italy’ back to Louis Botha
A mechanical engineer by trade, general manager Casti did not realise his heritage would play such a major role in his future until he met Franco Pisapia, who established Super Sconto in 1996.
Over the past 23 years Super Sconto has changed almost as much as the avenue it calls home. The store had humble beginnings, operated by only four staff members including Casti himself. The food centre functioned humbly on a single floor, juggling a deli, coffee bar and kitchen all within an arm’s length of each other.
“We were also renting part of our premises to Standard Bank. When their lease expired, we took over and 12 years ago we revamped,” Casti says.
It is Monday morning at Super Sconto and for the general manager breakfast consists of cappuccino and small talk before the real bustle begins. He does his rounds in what still looks like a newly renovated store, passing between aisles of imported products and racks of liquor on the ground floor.
A tiled staircase separates the two storeys and leads him into the spacious restaurant, complete with a designated smoking area and a deli stacked with fresh meats.
“It’s nothing fancy. It’s all very simple, like old Italian tradition. We start with the sauces early in the morning and whatever is on the blackboard is the menu of the day,” says Casti.
Roberto Casti starts his morning at Super Sconto, his place of work for the past 23 years. Photo: Gemma Gatticchi
Come lunchtime the restaurant is packed, but a hush settles over customers who delve into their meals, engrossed in Italian goodness.
The only thing breaking the silence is muffled conversation from downstairs, starting with questions such as “Quanto costa?” meaning “How much is it?” rising from the ground floor. Upon further inspection these questions are directed not only at the staff of Italian descent, but also at the African workers like Muvhali (49) who have picked up on Italian lingo since working at Super Sconto.
“I have worked there since 2010 … so I learn new words from customers every day,” the security guard says.
A traditional component of the store that remains unchanged is its family element. Pisapia’s daughter, Chiara (20), who has left Johannesburg to pursue her studies in financial sciences, finds herself being drawn back to Super Sconto on a weekly basis. The vibrant yellow pasta and strong smell of espresso in the air do wonders to jog her memory of a place that has become more of a home than a business.
Fetching one of these recollections, a dark-haired and jovial Chiara says, “I would always sit on Roberto’s lap while he would offload the container, and once all the products were offloaded we would all play hide-and-seek in the basement between the high boxes and tins of products.”
Employees and customers take us through the history of Super Sconto, the now renowned Italian food centre with humble beginnings in the unlikeliest of places. Video: Gemma Gatticchi
Back at Pecci’s house of glass the space is not ideal for child’s play. At first glance the store seems empty of human presence, until the lean and grey-haired 47-year-old pops up from behind a desk crowded with tools and newspapers.
The self-proclaimed “one man show” explains that many Italian businesses on Louis Botha closed down because they were dependent on the same community that left “Little Italy”.
Peering into his workshop, it is difficult to avoid your reflection. Mirrors lean against almost every inch of the inner store walls, making space for a giant glass-cutting table that dominates the space.
Pecci disregards the idea of following fellow Italians out of the area.
“There were also many banks here, and when they closed due to crime many people moved, but I am pretty happy where I am. I am really not worried about the crime because I do not have anything people want to steal,” he says.
Looking at his store from the outside, it is clear that he means what he says. While others choose to plaster their transparent walls with newspapers, barricading their contents from passers-by, Pecci’s glass store acts as a glorified window into his work space and life.
Marco Pecci cuts a mirror for a customer in his workshop on Louis Botha Avenue. Photo: Gemma GatticchiMarco Pecci specialises in window repairs, sandblasting, bevelling and glass furniture. Many of his current customers once formed part of Louis Botha Avenue’s “Little Italy”. Photo: Gemma Gatticchi
While the entrances of neighbouring stores like Pecci’s sit tightly on the pavement bordering the avenue, Super Sconto is fenced off, with an adequate amount of parking to accommodate customers who no longer reside in and around Louis Botha.
Today the Italian food centre acts as a drawcard, bringing customers back into an area they have since forgotten about, but the attraction is not limited to the Italian community. The current members of Louis Botha often indulge in what the last of “Little Italy” has to offer.
Felix Mpofu, a Louis Botha worker and resident, towers above his colleagues at Skyblue Security Systems, situated conveniently next door to Super Sconto. They all huddle to share their experience of the store.
“It’s fantastic and the service is good. Everyone is always friendly, and they have so many different items. I really cannot complain because I am more than welcome when I am there,” Mpofu says.
According to its website, by 2019 and 27 staff members later, Super Sconto has grown to be the biggest Italian retail store in South Africa.
“We’ve got customers in Cape Town and Durban. Some of the retailers shop here. We’ve got restaurants that we are supplying too,” Casti says.
This being said, there is a wealth of Italian stores that failed to adapt to the avenue’s shift in economy and demographics.
LEFT: Deli assistant, Rosina Senwamadi slices and packages mortadella for a customer in the popular Super Sconto deli. Photo: Gemma Gatticchi
A mark that remains
On 226 Louis Botha Avenue, what is now a vacant building was once Ponte Vecchio Jewellers, owned by Annarita Ravenna (75). A keen Ravenna explains that in 1951 her family moved from Florence, Italy, to South Africa when her father was offered a job at what was then Iscor, a steel company now known as Mittal Steel South Africa.
The Ravenna family used the only trade they knew to start a business on Louis Botha and make a living.
“My father’s brothers were jewellers from Florence, but he was a fitter and turner and the wish of having a jewellery shop was always within him.
“We chose Orange Grove because of its Italian community. Even the Italian Consulate moved to Houghton to be closer to the community,” says Ravenna, who helped to establish Ponte Vecchio Jewellers in 1968.
The jewellery store prided itself on manufacturing, remodelling, repairing and importing jewellery from Italy, employing many locals to add their charm to the store before it closed its doors in 1996.
RIGHT: Thomas Mpfuni waits for customers next to his snack station on Louis Botha Avenue where he has been working since 2010. Photo: Gemma Gatticchi
“Some Italians moved away, but I think it was because their offspring married and moved away, mainly to Bedfordview because of the Italian Club being there. I don’t think that there is another ‘Little Italy’ anywhere else in Johannesburg,” says Ravenna, who has since moved back to Italy.
Wilson Mapheto (68) worked at the Italian jewellery store and now runs a jewellery workshop of his own on the south-east end of Louis Botha, hidden from view by a chipped white wall and two drooping trees.
“Believe it or not, Ponte Vecchio Jewellers brought me to where I am today. Even now I am still part of the Ponte Vecchio family,” says Mapheto.
Today the once glamorous home for gold, silver and pearls looks more like the garage of an abandoned house where the flashy window decorations have been traded in for random strokes of graffiti.
Thomas Mpfuni (64), another Louis Botha resident, now uses the pavement in front of the defaced building to make a living in his own way, selling an assortment of chips and popcorn.
The mute man, referred to as “uncle” by customers and passers-by, greets you with a smile as warm as the sultry Monday afternoon sun. He sits modestly, with nothing but one chair and several boxes as a makeshift table. Mpfuni packs his goods out neatly, grouping the same products together and laying them out in solitaire fashion.
BELOW: A homestyle ciabatta sandwich made with blue cheese at Super Sconto. The sandwiches are a quick and popular dish at the Italian food centre. Photo: Gemma Gatticchi
The man who proudly dons his Zion Christian Church hat and badge has been sitting at his unofficial spot every day since 2010. Mpfuni provides for his family, who live next door in the equally dilapidated Margaret Court apartment block.
He is a popular stop for many on their way to work. Those who buy from Mpfuni know how to communicate with him, often using hand gestures to make small talk and establish a price for a desired product.
The same history of determination to make a living runs rampant along the avenue through the likes of Casti, Pecci and Mpfuni too. It is this determination that brings a strange attraction to the area.
When a store becomes a personal landmark
Now, instead of functioning as a makeshift country or vessel to an Italian motherland, Louis Botha and its surrounding areas operate more as a point of reference for those who are hungry for days gone by.
“Many Italians still go to places like [Super Sconto] to have lunch … When I really need something that reminds me of Italy, then I go there, so it is more a sentimental attachment than really a need,” Virga says.
As the sliding doors open for the last customer to exit, you are sent off with a final shout of “Arrivederci!” from Muvhali, as the deafening commotion of Louis Botha consumes the solace and air-conditioning that came with entering Super Sconto.
By leaving the store, the area’s “Little Italy” is reduced once more, only now instead of four walls it is confined to a plastic bag, ready to be taken with you to the place you call home.
Dave Garlick frequents the food centre for its range of Italian coffees and chocolates. Above he inspects a box of Sperlari, an Italian chocolate brand. Photo: Gemma Gatticchi
FEATURED IMAGE: A women rolling dough for baking. Photo: Supplied
As the artsy Johannesburg suburb of Melville modernises, its rich heritage is slowly beginning to fade. Now, new efforts are being made by those who are fighting to keep Melville’s heritage alive.
It’s a warm Saturday afternoon in Melville, Johannesburg. Spring has come into full effect leaving the streets lined with pink and purple flowers. On 7th Street and 4th Street, women weave through the cars holding hand woven baskets and bags for sale while families, 30-something year old trendsetters, students, and bikers sporting two full sleeves of tattoos people-watch at an outdoor table from one of the restaurants spilling onto the pavements.
A few quaint buildings betray Melville’s age. The suburb is one of the older suburbs in Johannesburg, built in 1905 at the foot of the Melville Koppies by a developer named Edward Harker Vincent Melville, for whom the suburb was named.
Over time, many of the older buildings have been altered beyond recognition or disappeared altogether. However, some have held firm. One of these sits on the jacaranda-lined Second Avenue. A large powder blue late Victorian style home defined by a turret stands draped by pink flowers. This is the Melville Turret guesthouse.
It’s gabled roof, French windows, and original steel pressed ceilings first attracted owner Koos Heymand to the house.
“This house was built in 1906. It’s one of the oldest houses in Melville,” says Heymand. He is a warm, lively man who often stops in his tracks to engage in good-natured conversation with Patricia, one of his six employees working full time at the guesthouse, who has been working at the front desk for the past 10 years.
HERITAGE: The Melville Turret pictured today and as it stood when photographed by The Star in 1980.
For the past 13 years, Heymand has been trying to conserve the character and history of the guesthouse. He has renovated areas of it, particularly the kitchen and bathrooms. He has also remodelled each room; one is a modern black and white private loft, another is jewel-toned with graphic African prints hanging on the walls, while another is modest in understated tones of blue and grey.
At the same time, he has kept details such as the original tiled fireplace, wooden floors and private hidden courtyards and balconies for some of the rooms. He has also vowed not to change the exterior.
“There are very few houses like this left. I wanted to keep the original character of the house,” he says.
DETAILS: The Melville Turret still boasts its original steel pressed ceilings and displays chandeliers typical to those of the Victorian era.
The guesthouse is legally protected under the National Heritage Resources Act of 1999, which is a law aimed at national heritage sites. The Act defines heritage sites as “places with qualities so exceptional that they are of special national significance” and included under this are buildings that are older than 60 years.
Heymand points to 4th Street, a commercial street in Melville not too far from the guesthouse. “On 4th Street there is nothing that has retained its value. Everything is modern. I think it’s sad,” he says.
He is not the only Melville business owner who believes this. Down the road from Heymand’s guesthouse is the trendy 7th Street. A 10-minute walk up the street will take one under canopies and passed iron lattice decorations and thick columns, a mix of modern buildings with Victorian ones, and a mix of people speaking languages ranging from English and isiZulu to French and Arabic.
Most of the buildings on the street were built between 1905-1936 and were originally home to bakeries, butcheries and boutique shops.
Now the buildings house trendy restaurants, clothing stores and bars. A tattoo parlour and a thrift store share the same distressed wooden awnings.
VIDEO: Several Melville residents explain what makes 7th Street special.
However, the subtle Victorian details are fading under the clash of bright colored paint and neon signs. The pressed steel ceilings are beginning to crack and sag in some areas. In others, they have been painted over altogether so that some of the detail is lost.
New businesses close almost as fast as they open and each new business owner alters the building to suit their needs.
“You can see some buildings on this street have changed the shape and have changed their sides from wood to steel. That’s wrong; it shouldn’t be allowed. It ruins the buildings,” says Kader Bouredji a business owner of the IT Corner Cafe on 7th Street.
ORIGINAL: Victorian architectural details are still visible on 7th Street.
By law, business owners are required to obtain a permit and approach heritage consultants before making alterations on heritage buildings. However, some of the business owners had no idea that the buildings were heritage sites. As a result, some business owners have made unapproved alterations with no consequence.
“Melville is famous for its buildings, that’s one of the reasons why tourists come here, and that’s being lost,” says Bouredji.
Bouredji has owned his cafe on 7th Street for the past 10 years. Lining its soft pink walls are oil paintings for sale, distressed wood shelves containing yellowing books and the perfectly preserved original Victorian pressed ceilings.
Patrons sit at the tables working from MacBooks and sipping cups of coffee. Chairs and tables placed outside give patrons a view of the street. A regular smokes a hookah pipe while watching people walk by.
“This place was built in 1923. It used to be a boutique shoe shop,” Bouredji says.
At 95 years old, the building falls under legal protection. This limits business owners like Bouredji in a number of ways.
“When you want to fix or renovate the building you have to use the same materials that were used before. So we have window panes made of wood that we need to replace, and we can’t replace it with steel. We need to replace it with wood. It makes it harder, and takes longer. Even now, we can’t close the windows,” he says. It’s a struggle that Heymand knows only too well.
Maintaining the Melville Turret isn’t cheap; it costs him about R100 000 per year partly due to the old pipework made of galvanized steel. He says it’s worth it to preserve the house. “There are very few houses like this one left because Melville is going the Parkhurst route of converting all the houses into modern abodes,” he says. “But we’ve got to be sensitive to [heritage sites]. This is our history and the history of our city.
Heritage consultants and co-authors of the book The Johannesburg Gas Works Monika Läuferts and Judith Mavunganidze are fighting for 7th Street and other heritage sites in Melville to be further protected. In 2015 they declared 7th Street at critical risk in a heritage impact assessment they did of it.
According to their report, 7th Street was declared a “high priority” area because “most of the buildings on the street are at high risk of being altered until they are unrecognisable”.
Läuferts explained that this was because of the high rotation of owners.
“Facades get changed. They replace the original wood with aluminum or paint over the wood. Once you’ve painted over the wood it isn’t easy to restore,” she said.
Läuferts works from her stark white minimalist office in Westdene containing heavy antique furniture and models for buildings she is working on. Originally from Germany, she is the co-founder of Tsica Heritage Consultants, which has been operating since 2008.
“Heritage protection in South Africa is young,” she explained. “[Before 1999] the lack of legal standing made it difficult to preserve buildings and a lot of old buildings were demolished in the 60s and 70s to make way for modern buildings.”
This was later challenged by activists such as Flo Bird, who began protecting heritage sites in 1972 when the government planned to bulldoze eight Victorian-era buildings in Parktown in order to make room for a new motorway.
Bird has since funnelled her passion for preserving heritage sites into founding the Johannesburg Heritage Foundation which provides heritage tours, campaigns to preserve heritage sites, puts blue plaques on heritage buildings depicting their age and history and archives the history of older sites.
“Melville started as a working-class area and what we’ve found is that very rich and very poor areas tend to change very little while middle class areas tend to change a lot,” she explained.
“Most of the houses in Melville were originally builder designs and today they’re completely different.”
“There is no more picturesque or healthy spot in the vicinity of Johannesburg than Melville. Those who have gone there with a view to purchase pronounce it to be situated in the very finest position for suburban residences.
It is situated on elevated ground, with a magnificent view of the wooded country to the north, the blue Pretoria ranges stretching like lines of steel against the horizon.”
– Extract taken from a notice advertising property in Melville placed in The Critic on 23 October 1896.
This adds to the difficulty of tracing the history of heritage buildings in the area. When Heymand first bought the guesthouse from two architects in 2005, he found that the history of the house was not available. Since then he has been trying to piece it together from snippets of information found around the house and obtained from the previous owners.
“I know it was built by Erik van de Berg and he owned a bicycle shop in Braamfontein. I found the original 1906 plans with the city council. I also found an old plaque on the property showing that it was called Melville Mews and it used to be a lodging house,” he said.
However, when looking through the records at the Johannesburg Heritage Foundation, an Erik van de Berg doesn’t appear. Like many other houses in Melville, the history of the Melville Turret is one that is passed down through the memories of its owners.
According to the National Heritage Resources Act, a person who alters a heritage site without first obtaining a permit may have criminal charges brought against them. While the state has been proactive about conserving notable sites such as Robben Island, the enforcement of the act for less famous buildings has been laid largely at the feet of proactive people and the Johannesburg Heritage Foundation, which has had to step in where the state has fallen short by taking business owners who have demolished heritage buildings without proper approval to court.
“Some business owners are cowboys, they’ll just destroy knowing that the chances of being caught are minimal,” Bird explained.
SIDEWALK: Melville residents gather on the pavement outside stores and sit with friends at the bars and restaurants to people-watch.
Enforcement of the Heritage Resources Act can also bring challenges for developers. Architect and director of Melville-based Two Five Five Architects, André Krige, says there are various unique challenges that come with heritage developments. “The submission [and approval] process can and has often delayed projects for years. We have projects that have been submitted in 2015 and are still in the process of being approved,” he says.
Another issue that they often face is dealing with buildings that are so neglected that it becomes difficult to determine the actual heritage value of them. The documentation of the building that they have on hand can also differ from the documentation available off-site.
“We have had cases where original drawings show mosaic tiles to the entrance foyer and BELCom, a respected heritage committee in Cape Town, requested that we keep these tiles and incorporate them within the design. The reality however is that none of these tiles or any real heritage fabric exists anymore. We change our designs to accommodate things that no longer exist and the process of appealing these decisions is even more cumbersome,” he says.
Läuferts agrees that practical issues often make historical restoration difficult. “There’s always a massive discussion around money. Business owners come to us with elaborate plans and realise they don’t have the funding,” she says.
FIGHTING BACK: Monika Läuferts (above) is one of the people fighting for greater heritage protection in Melville and beyond.
Within Melville, Läuferts says that there needs to be a comprehensive plan to preserve the area. “The whole suburb needs a conservation management plan dictating what can be built, what style it can be built in, and how many levels a building can have,” she says.
Efforts are being made to preserve the area by giving 7th Street Hertitage Area Protection. This would mean protecting the original street facades as well as identifying specific stands that have heritage value for protection. This would make it much harder for shop owners and occupants to alter the building permanently. If approved, it will take 3-4 years to be finalised.
One of the buildings that has been identified is the Melville Mansions building that Two Five Five Architects is working on which has been identified for being one of the few clear examples of an art deco style building.
Monika Läuferts and Judith Mavunganidze are working alongside Two Five Five Architects to develop the building while still keeping the heritage elements intact. The building currently stands as a stark white, empty building on 7th Street with the geometric details characteristic of the art deco style still recognisable. Once opened, it will house a boutique hotel, apartments and offices.
“Melville still has charm. It still has the feel of a neighbourhood. You can walk around and even with students moving in and out there’s still a community and an exchange of interesting people,” Läuferts says.
She adds, “Heritage is a big thing in Europe and people always think a building has to be centuries old. You don’t necessarily have to go centuries back. You have it right here and in the most beautiful ways. Johannesburg has all decades from the 1880s and that needs to be protected.”
Walking through buildings like the Melville Turret gives one a sense of that a part of Melville’s memory lives within it. When sipping tea on one of its cozy couches on the verandah, Heymand speaks of how he once saw a picture of the original owners playing chess on the same verandah in 1906. The picture is now gone, but in the past 100 years the verandah has remained unchanged.
As Heymand describes the house, the sentiments of Bird echo through. “Heritage buildings are the landmarks of history. An area without a past is like a man without a memory. It feels unreal,” she previously said.
RENOVATION: The Melville Mansions is a building recognisable for being a clear example of art deco architecture.
FEATURED IMAGE: Melville residents gather on the pavement outside stores and sit with friends at the bars and restaurants to people-watch. Photo: Naledi Mashishi.
Wits DASO along with Witsies and community members came together to partake in the first clean-up in Braamfontein
Witsies, members of Wits Democratic Alliance Student Organisation (DASO), the City of Johannesburg and community members got down and dirty to clean up the streets of Braamfontein for the #AReSebesteng clean-up campaign on Saturday, September 30.
Volunteers and members of Johannesburg Metro Police cleaned outside Noswall Hall and around Bertha Street, picking up even the smallest items, like cigarette butts, and pulling out weeds.
First-year BA general student, Neo Makobo, who passed by during the clean-up said, “Braam is dirty and we want cleanliness, I think this concept should be encouraged broadly.” She was not aware that the clean-up was taking place around Braamfontein on Saturday, but seeing the volunteers encouraged her to join next time.
Chahracan Amod, Councillor of Ward 60 in Johannesburg, said that the volunteer campaign “strives to encourage residents to take care of the environment by promoting a culture of reducing, re-using and recycling of waste to ensure that Johannesburg becomes one of the cleanest cities in Africa”.
He added that by taking part in this initiative, Johannesburg residents can connect with one another while creating a space that they can be proud of. “Cleanliness is not next to godliness, cleanliness is godliness, and we need to encourage especially young people to take back the city collectively,” he said.
The monthly campaign was launched by Johannesburg Mayor Herman Mashaba last month. A Re Sebetseng, which means “let’s work”, is based on the African Clean Cities initiative established in Maputo, Mozambique, in April 2017.
Economic growth and increasing populations mean African cities are facing growing waste issues, one of the initiative’s partner organisations, the Japan International Cooperation Agency, said in a press statement. The African Clean Cities initiative aims to provide support in solving waste issues so that cities are able to achieve healthy living conditions and grow in an environmentally sustainable way, it added.
South Africa is not part of the 24 African signatories to the initiative.
Mashaba noted that he was also inspired by how clean Rwanda is and he said that country’s initiatives had influenced the A Re Sebetseng campaign. “I am a strong supporter of a model that promotes the city’s residents as the agents of change,” he wrote in the Daily Maverick.
Floyd Nyalungu, campaign manager for Daso Wits, encouraged more students to join the campaign to ensure a cleaner Johanneburg. “It’s an open invitation and everybody, not only Daso members should join,” he said.
The next clean-up will take place on Saturday, October 28, and the last Saturday of every month after that.
The streets of Johannesburg are bustling with activity, an intrinsic characteristic of the CBD. Women selling fresh produce sit in the sun all day, with green spinach, blood-red tomatoes and ripe cabbage enticing walkers-by. A colourful array of people can be seen lying face down on the grass in Joubert Park, the biggest public park in the CBD, an arrangement reminiscent of an artwork made of humans. Standing beside the still bodies, unaffected street photographers stand idly in the park, waiting for customers to ask them to take the perfect ID photo. And in the centre of this scene lies the Greenhouse Project, a quiet sanctuary filled with the smell of fresh herbs.
The Greenhouse Project has stood on the corner of Klein and Wolmarans streets since 1993. The space flourishes with organic vegetables, herbs and plants, and many have walked through it – from volunteers to customers who thrive on organic living. Known as the Victorian Hothouse, a conservatory stands decrepit amongst towering trees that have stood the test of time.
Below the ancient trees, their yellow flowers are scattered all around the tarred ground of the Greenhouse Project. Thabisile Mchunu, director and administrator of the GreenHouse, points out how beautiful they look. Mchunu, who is in her 60s, looks like she dressed according to the theme. She wears a lime green blouse paired with yellow loafers, a style that matches effortlessly with her dyed blonde natural ‘do.
It’s clear to see that Mchunu fits in perfectly with the surroundings, which drew her permanently in soon after her first visit in 2011. The GreenHouse Project first caught her eye while she was a co-opted board member at CBU Hub, an organisation that specialises in community projects. The corporate world veteran swapped her high heels for gardening gloves and despite the shrinking of the initial CBU Hub members that visited on a regular basis, she developed a connection with the space, which eventually got her the role as director.
“We’re [Mabule Mokhine, the executive director and Mchunu] are running this place with almost no income. We just do volunteer work and the little we get does not justify the amount of work we do,” says Mchunu. “But we’re trying to keep the space alive.”
GREEN CITY: The City of Johannesburg’s Greenhouse Project in Joubert Park. YELLOW SEASON: Fever tree flowers sprinkle the grounds of the Greenhouse Project.
Mchunu has worked hard to keep the space open, which has almost been swallowed up by the ‘concrete jungle’ characteristics of the inner city. Joubert Park and the Greenhouse Project in its entirety almost became a part of the nearby MTN taxi rank which would have seen the green pastures being exchanged for tons of concrete and blaring greenhouse gas emitters in the form of taxis.
Behind the tall trees, an abandoned grey building stands. The lack of life within it is emphasised by the pane-less windows gaping at street walkers on every floor. Hope of life is restored by the trees that unexpectedly peak off the rooftop of the building, a pleasant surprise for the onlooker. Proof that Johannesburg truly is a man-made forest, its nature making its home not only on the ground, but also on the city’s tallest buildings.
However, between the building and the trees at the Greenhouse Project stand two large fences, one with elaborate electric fencing. To have a peaceful space in one of the most dangerous areas of Johannesburg means that, unfortunately, people have to be kept out and heavy screening by 24-hour security guards must take place when any person wishes to enter.
“We would have vagrants that would come through every part of this space,” says Mchunu. “Every moment they find they would jump in and rip things apart. Three months ago we had a burglary at 3am. We’re in the middle of Hillbrow here.”
But not all the people that the Greenhouse Project attracts have a desire to destroy the space. Beyond the big metal gates designed in the form of a vine complete with flowers, a group of workers armed with sunhats and gardening tools, are responsible for keeping the garden fresh and the vegetables growing.
One pair of these green-fingered hands belongs to Sizwe Mazibuko, a volunteer hailing from the hills of KwaZulu-Natal. Mazibuko visits the Greenhouse four times a week, a requirement that forms part of the 18 months of practical work he has to do for his Farming Management Diploma at Umfolozi College in Richard’s Bay.
Despite the variety of farms that can be found in KwaZulu-Natal, Mazibuko has found himself deep in the city of Johannesburg, where he has lived for eight months. Dressed in black from head to toe, and armed with a smile that exposes his two front gold teeth, Mazibuko’s face has several scars, evidence of a difficult life lived in his 28 years.
LUSH SPACES: The green spaces of the Greenhouse Project are looked after by a dedicated team of volunteers.
However, a year-and-a-half of volunteering work in Johannesburg will not cover his rent for the place he is staying at, close by to Joubert Park. Mazibuko works part time delivering bread around the city. “It is to survive. Life is expensive. At the same time, I don’t earn anything here,” he says.
Although he is new to Johannesburg, Mazibuko has taken on the qualities of the typical city dweller: he is hardworking and determined. Goals are what are important to him, starting with the acquirement of his diploma once he has finished his practical segment. Thereafter, he would like to complete a Postgraduate Certificate in Education so he is able to teach people about his love for agriculture and organic farming.
Living in Johannesburg isn’t easy for Mazibuko. “It’s hard when you still have dreams of achieving your objectives,” he says. “I still have things to reach.”
But for him, the GreenHouse Project is a sanctuary in the rat race of a city. “I love this place. It’s a good environment for a human. It makes your mind work. I love each and everything you see here. It’s good for me because I’ve been through some times,” says Mazibuko, who grew up in the small KwaZulu-Natal town of Mtubatuba.
A stroll further into the space reveals a small building donated by the Norwegian Church Aid, complete with a finished kitchen made up of wooden cabinets and marble counters – all recycled material.
There you can find Dineo Tsoabi, a partner of the Greenhouse Project, cooking a fragrant pot of fresh spinach using the nifty biodigester, which Mchunu explains “uses food waste to generate gas that can be used for cooking, making hand creams, cough mixtures and hair products”.
Tsoabi could easily be mistaken for a teenager if one had to judge her by her height, but she has lived for a total of 37 years. “As partners with Greenhouse, we [she and a few other women] develop the space, making sure the space is green,” she says.
Like Mchunu, the Greenhouse Project first caught Tsoabi’s eye when she used to attend monthly CBU Hub meetings once a month at the space. “We came to the agreement that if the Greenhouse Project deals with admin and funding, we will train students from university and the community to start food gardens,” says the partner, who hails from Vanderbjilpark, but now lives in the township of Sebokeng, which is also close to the Vaal River.
Educating the community on organic farming is something that Tsoabi holds close to her heart. She can be found taking people on educational tours, both in the Vaal and at the Greenhouse Project and sometimes as part of the Edu Tours organisation, which specialises in school tours.
The love of organic farming is something that flows through her bloodline. “I learnt organic farming from my parents,” says Tsoabi. “My father bought the plot which my parents live on to utilise the space.”
Her 13-year-old daughter, who lives with Tsoabi’s parents, is also learning the benefits of farming. “I want to show her how important it is to grow food. Sometimes kids don’t know where things like cabbage and spinach come from, so I hope that she will pass on these lessons to the other kids,” she says.
Dressed comfortably in blue gender-neutral overalls, Tsoabi comes to Johannesburg every day to work in the gardens. However, since the Greenhouse Project struggles with funding, Tsoabi and the others like her do not get paid on a regular basis, which means they must find other ways to make money.
The streets of Johannesburg thrive with entrepreneurs on every corner, such as the women who can be seen day in and day out behind their own vegetable-selling stalls. The Greenhouse Project has embraced the entrepreneurship ways of the city, lessons that have provided Tsoabi with innovative ways to make money.
“We sell produce to informal restaurants and the ladies who sell it on the street,” said Tsoabi, who also spends her time fighting the consequences of climate change by freely educating people of its dangers on trains. She also makes and sells skincare, medicinal and hair care products made only of the natural elements found in the gardens.
Ingredients for these products include plants such as the fascinating stinging nettle with its rather contradictory characteristics. Needle-like edges of the freshly-picked plant leave a stinging sensation that lasts a few minutes if struck on the skin. However, it can also treat wounds and arthritis either by ingestion or direct application to the skin.
Tsoabi says the people of Johannesburg have shown a keen interest in the Greenhouse Project, especially those from other countries.
URBAN JUNGLE: The Greenhouse Project is the ultimate definition of the “urban jungle” with buildings peeking from the greenery.
She is often approached to cure the sicknesses of others using herbal remedies. “I can make a general herbal mix for those people because I respect people’s privacy,” says Tsoabi.
One of the go-to herbs for such a mix can be spotted in the garden in the form of blooming flowers named nasturium which acts as an antibiotic for a variety of infections.
“They [Tsoabi and the other ladies] know the herbs, they know what they cure,” says Mchunu. “Now they’re going to harvest comfrey for me because I have a friend who suffers from continuous hip pain, so I thought I should ask the ladies to give me some comfrey leaves which he can soak and consume and see if the pain goes away.”
Tsoabi’s group is not the only set of healing hands at the Greenhouse Project. A wellness centre named Conlinea Health and Wellness is visited twice a month by a homeopathic doctor, Dr James Motaung. On the days he visits, the patient waiting room is packed with a variety of patients, mostly elderly, but the odd young person can be spotted in the throng.
Masefako Matjie is at the doctor’s rooms for the first time, dressed in an attire worthy of a church Sunday – a floral dress with a pink blazer. Although the queues were disappointing for her, after she had travelled from her Alexandra home, she says she prefers herbal medicine over normal pharmaceuticals because “they lack chemicals”, she says.
In the city of Johannesburg, where concrete, skyscrapers and cars can be the only thing in sight, the Greenhouse Project is a vision for sore eyes. The fresh vegetables and plants provide an aesthetic sanctuary but with them, the ancient practice of healing can be utilised across the city.
A beautiful intersection between the economic powerhouse of South Africa and the biggest man-made forest in the world is created by the Greenhouse Project, which will hopefully remain for the benefit of Johannesburg’s urban dwellers for many years to come.
FEATURED IMAGE: A plant inside a tire. Photo: Tendani Mulaudzi
Destiny sits snuggled between two makeshift gazebos. The plastic legs of his stool bend as he rocks back and forth. To his left hang bundles of hair and to his right, packed neatly, is an array of the sneakers he sells.
Unperturbed by the blistering heat, piercing sounds and pungent smells that engulf Johannesburg’s city centre, he sits fixated on anyone who shows the slightest bit of interest in any of his items.
An elderly lady walks past hastily, clutching her purse under her arm. She gazes at Destiny’s stand, motioning towards a size two sneaker, its Puma stamp slightly peeled. Destiny is up in seconds.
“How much?” asks the bag clutcher.
“R250,” responds Destiny.
“My son is a size three,” says the bag clutcher, replacing the sneaker.
Destiny begins packaging the shoes in a black plastic bag. Placing it in his customer’s hand, he says: “This is a big size two madam. If you have problems, bring it back.”
Hesitantly, the bag clutcher fondles out a couple of notes from her bosom.
Destiny is quick to return her change, thanking her simultaneously.
SNEAKER SELLER: Destiny Ogah’s stand at the King George Street the linear market. Photo: Nadia Omar
Destiny Ogah is a 32-year-old foreign national living in Hillbrow. His dark skin and hardened hands indicate a life of long days and heavy labour. His ripped jeans and plain t-shirt barely hide his muscles that bulge through with every movement. Inconspicuously presented, the only thing that stands out are his orange Nike sneakers and bright smile.
He came to South Africa in 2012 from Lagos, Nigeria, in the hopes of finding employment. Having graduated from the University of Benin with a Bachelor of Science in Banking and Finance, he found himself without employment in a country with a vast population and very few job opportunities.
“If you don’t know someone in Nigeria who can give you a job, there is no hope for you. Graduates like me, without important friends, are left to be hooligans and beggars,” says Destiny.
Destiny operates in the linear market situated on King George Street in Johannesburg’s city centre. He is one of the many foreigners who came to South Africa for a better life, but who have resorted to trading counterfeit goods to make a living.
“Life is only a little bit better here than in Nigeria. I thought I would be able to come here and find a job as a banker or get a Master’s degree, but I have to sell these shoes to put food on my table,” says Destiny.
CBD: The entrance to Jay’s Outfitters.
A step behind Destiny’s stand is Jay’s Outfitters, a store that has been selling branded items for 37 years. Inside, the air is still, the only sound that can be heard is the occasional flip of a page by owner Yameen Mayat, who passes time by reading a daily paper.
A bell jingles, alerting him of someone entering. A young male customer enters and has a quick browse. He stumbles upon some sneakers that fit his fancy; he turns them over to view the price, replaces them and leaves the store once more. Yameen continues reading his paper.
“Business has been slow for about the last five years, ever since this linear market opened,” says Yameen.
“And, to be honest, I don’t even blame my customers. Who would be willing to pay the full price for a pair of original shoes if they can get the fake for a fraction of the price on my doorstep?” he adds.
According to a statement released by the City of Johannesburg, linear markets were first established in 2011 as a means of properly managing street trading, as well as ensuring that it did not disrupt pedestrian mobility or passing road traffic. It is an area designated for street trading in a pedestrian environment within the inner city.
After a street is chosen to host the market, the city erects a roof to indicate the presence of a linear market. Most serve as a place to purchase goods, such as clothing and electronics or as an informal area to eat for those working nearby. The linear market on King George Street is littered with stands of second-hand clothes, counterfeit goods and digital cameras. The aroma of cooked rice, spicy chicken and chakalaka camouflage the persistent smell of garbage and urine.
Yameen and his family opened Jay’s Outfitters in 1984 during the Apartheid era. Due to segregation laws, theirs was one of the very few black-owned shop in the city. At the time business was booming, the city centre was, after all, “the only place to shop”.
“Naturally, the area began to change once Apartheid laws were abolished. People of colour were allowed to come into the city and buy anything they wanted. It was an amazing time to be alive,” says Yameen.
“But things really changed when the City of Johannesburg built a linear market on the same street my store was on. We are no longer making a profit so we are shutting down at the end of the year,” he says.
“I am all for people making a living and I think the linear market helped solve a lot of the problems informal traders were experiencing, but the government has not been monitoring what is being sold in these markets. Most of the goods are fake,” says Yameen.
INFORMAL ECONOMY:The linear market on King George Street, is full of second-hand clothes, counterfeit goods and digital cameras. Photo: Nadia Omar
In a press statement released by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development in April 2016, based on international data, it was estimated that imports of counterfeit and pirated goods are worth nearly half a trillion US dollars a year, or around 2.5% of global imports.
“It is not possible from available data to determine the exact figure fake goods are worth, but there is no denying that it is a huge problem and that it affects the market in many ways,” says Professor Imraan Valodia, a senior lecturer in economics at the University of the Witwatersrand.
According to Prof Valodia, the increase in counterfeit goods in a market represents a major threat to business and is also a key barrier to trade. The distribution of cheap and poor quality pirated goods creates an obstruction to the distribution of genuine products.
“As the global trade in counterfeit goods is growing, Africa is increasingly being targeted as a market for counterfeit merchandise. Fake goods are not being produced to any significant degree in Africa. These products are mostly imported from Asia, and particularly China,” says Prof Valodia.
As such, Africa is fast becoming a “dumping ground” for knock-off goods. A very high percentage of counterfeit shipments from China are destined for Africa, either directly or via ports such as Karachi, Dubai or Hong Kong, in an effort to disguise the country of origin.
“The problem of fake goods is increasingly serious and the continent is fast becoming fair game for counterfeiters and it is hurting, not only South Africa, but the entire continent’s population and economy,” says Prof Valodia.
UNREAL: The fake sneakers Destiny sells. Photo: Nadia Omar
Wayne Minnaar, spokesperson for the Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department, says the department deploys “counterfeit operations” continuously but as quickly as the goods are confiscated, the traders manage to replace their stock.
“These operations are held by the Gauteng Law Enforcement Agency Forum (GLEAF) which consists of all law enforcement agencies in Gauteng and brand managers who are working together to try and combat this problem,” says Minnaar.
According to the spokesperson, GLEAF receives tip-offs from the community, mostly shop owners, that fake goods are being sold. The agency then goes into the market and confiscates all the items, which are then transported to warehouses to be disposed of.
“Counterfeit goods are being sold all over the country at a rapid rate,” says Minnaar. “It is difficult keep it off the street but we [JMPD] are doing our best.”
One such “Counterfeit Operation” occurred in October 2013 called “Operation Clean Sweep”. The purpose of the operation was to move towards creating a safe and habitable environment within Johannesburg’s city centre.
“We managed to impound 528 counterfeit goods, one bad building and arrested 192 illegal immigrants,” says Minnaar.
The operation, which saw thousands of legal and illegal traders without an income for weeks, received major criticism from the South African National Traders Retail Association (Santra) and the South African Informal Traders Forum (SAITF). The Socio-Economic Rights Institute of South Africa (Seri), acted on behalf of SAITF, and filed an application for an interdict in the high court against the city for “illegally and violently” removing traders.
According to a press statement released by Seri, the traders were evicted even though each had a right to trade in the area, granted through permits issued by the City of Johannesburg itself. Without warning or explanation, they were removed from the streets in a mass eviction operation. Many were assaulted and had their goods trashed. All lost large quantities of valuable stock.
Seri stated in a press statement that the municipality of Johannesburg did not seek to justify its “brutal and humiliating” eviction of the informal traders, nor had it been prepared to repair the damage it caused.
“Immediately after Operation Clean Sweep was abolished, things improved drastically but as time has gone on, it has deteriorated again. Traders are at risk of having their goods confiscated without warning and are regularly taken advantage of by officials,” says Nomzamo Zondo, Seri’s director of litigation, who acted for the traders.
Yameen remembers Operation Clean Sweep vividly.
“The city centre was in shambles! It was very sad to watch the police come in and remove so many people from the city. The linear market wasn’t cleared, but a lot of goods were confiscated,” he says.
“I didn’t agree with the way it was done but I do think the police must do something about all the fake goods. I have to pay a licence fee to sell original items, plus rent, levy, tax and so on. The guys outside aren’t paying anything,” says Yameen.
THE REAL DEAL:Jay’s Outfitters has been selling original, branded items since 1984. Photo: Nadia Omar
Yameen further adds in frustration: “I am paying the same rent as the store owners in Eastgate, R60 000 per month. Can you believe it?”
According to Yameen, the problem will be rectified once “the playing field” is equalised; when every trader is subjected to the law, liable to the same taxes, the same conditions of trade and to abide by all the bylaws regarding street vending.
“All I want is to be able to trade in a safe and fair environment, where every storekeeper is a legal entity, where rentals are fair and not subjected to a false demand allowing unscrupulous traders to manipulate rentals,” he says.
Yameen, noticeably frustrated, lowers his voice that was now filling the store, when he hears the bell ring indicating a customer coming in.
Outside, Destiny has offered his chair to a young man who has shown interest in a pair of navy blue Adidas sneakers.
While his customer paces a couple of steps away, feeling and examining the fit, Destiny says: “I know selling this stuff is not good, but what else must I do? I have been living in asylum for four years. I have been applying for citizenship since early 2013.”
Destiny makes a profit of around R1 000 per month. His earnings go towards the rent he pays for his room in a Hillbrow flat, food and the rent of R800 per month that he pays a South African citizen who owns his stand.
The owner of the stand then pays the City of Johannesburg a mere R100 for rent.
“I know I am being ripped off, but I cannot own my stand because I do not have an ID, so I have to go through a South African, who makes me pay eight times the price,” says Destiny.
Like many foreign nationals living in South Africa, Destiny does not enjoy citizenship and the benefits that come with it. He says the lack of a South African identification document means he cannot own property or open a bank account.
Thus, desperate for an income, he has resorted to selling counterfeit sneakers.
“It’s basic economics, there is a demand and I am creating a supply,” he says, pocketing money from the sale while returning to his original seated position.
“Besides, this stall is all I have,” he says, steadying himself on one of the poles as he rocks back and forth on his plastic stool.
FEATURED IMAGE: A photo of fake sneakers sold in the streets of Johannesburg. Photo: Nadia Omar
There are common sounds that tell you that you are in Johannesburg’s Central Business District. The sound of the city is characterised by an unrelenting orchestra of hooting Siyaya and Quantum taxis, and the blaring mixture of kwaito, gospel and North African music from small foreign-owned shops and charismatic churches.
Amongst this staccato of the city’s music is a choir of informal traders singing the same song from Wanderers to Klein streets – “I have what you want” … “How much you have?” … “I give you discount” … “I make you nice my sister, come I do your hair”. Each individual puts on their best performance with the hopes that their voice will be the one to capture a customer’s ear and maybe their wallet.
SILENCE: Obinaddo sits quietly infront of his stalls at the Noord Linear Market. Photo: Tebogo Tshwane
Anthony Obinaddo is one of many traders selling counterfeit clothes and shoes. In fact, right next to his protective gear, is a trader selling counterfeit clothing and again, next to his second stall, is another competitor also selling fake branded items.
Despite the heavy competition at the market, Obinaddo is more of a conductor than a chorister. While his competitors belt out their sales pitches to potential customers and even drag them by the arms in the direction of their stalls, he sits silently on a plastic chair in front of his two stalls and watches as if his business runs itself.
Obinaddo (27) a Nigerian trader sits in the front and centre of his two stalls at the Noord Linear Market. The first stall, on the left, is a table filled with protective boots and clothes hanging on the frame that surrounds it.
On the second stall, to his right, is a table filled with a mixture of fake, branded sneakers and soccer boots that are enclosed by fake, branded t-shirts and pants on the frame around them.
The nature of the business
“I don’t know if it’s my style but I see it as harassment, you not forcing someone to buy what you want. If he got eyes he know what he wants,” Obinaddo says.
His approach to business can also be attributed to his lack of experience in the market. Obinaddo only started trading eight months ago after he arrived in South Africa. “They call me ‘new boy’ or ‘fresh boy’,” he laughs.
Obinnado continues to laugh as he reveals that his approach to business often means he “is always the loser” among his competitors. Even though he says his business is not doing well, he is able to employ two assistants, at R1200 per month, to help him with sales, as well as R2000 rent every month for his two stands.
Directly across from Obinnado’s stall, Zimbabwean Sihle Dube (38), a single mother to a 13-year-old girl, struggles to make ends meet, selling omelette sandwiches and hot beverages.
Dube and her cousin, Priscilla Ndlovu (34), come to the market every day between 5am and 6am to serve fluffy omelettes speckled with bits of green pepper, tomato and onions on sliced white or brown bread. Their drinks menu includes a choice of tea, coffee or Milo.
SUNNYSIDE:Priscilla Ndlovu assists her cousin in the business of making eggs despite the fact that she sometimes doesn’t get a salary. Photo: Tebogo Tshwane
Their busiest hours are from 7am to 9am, after which they sit and wait for customers to trickle in until 6pm when they pack up and go home.
Dube has been operating from the same stall for 8 years and pays R400 monthly rent to its owner.
“Business is not working, sometimes you make between R50 and R100 per day,” says Ndlovu. Dube agrees with her and adds, “It is a good thing I am working with my sister because if it was someone else they would ask me ‘why you not pay me?’”
It turns out that Dube has not paid Ndlovu her monthly R1200 salary for two months.
Dube says she hardly sees any profit. Her monthly expenses include R500 rent at her flat, R400 rent for the stall, R1000 stokvel fee, R70 a week for storage in a building across the street, R20 per day to the boy who helps carry her items to storage and sometimes Ndlovu’s wage.
When all of that is paid, Dube says her personal expenses are settled according to how good or bad business is on the day. “I’m left out, I buy food little by little and even to send money to my daughter, I do it little by little” she says.
Operation Clean Sweep cleans out profits
Dube says the City of Johannesburg Municipality’s by-laws which are enforced by the Johannesburg Metro Police Department (JMPD) have dealt a hard blow to their business.
Three years ago over 1200 informal traders claimed victory for interim relief at the Constitutional Court over mass evictions that took place under what was called “Operation Clean Sweep”. The City indiscriminately removed over a thousand legal and illegal informal traders from the inner city, an act which was described as “startling” by the court.
The court criticised the City for infringing people’s dignity by taking away their ability to “earn money and support themselves and their families”.
“Most of our customers are the ones who sell fake CDs, but the clean-up has removed them,” says Dube.
The JMPD officials in their bright reflector jackets can be seen at almost every corner in the in the vicinity of Park Station. To a passer-by this is an image that immediately makes one feel secure, but for most hawkers, especially those trading illegally or selling fake goods, the sight of reflectors sends them packing their goods and running in a different direction.
The officials remove and impound the goods of traders who are selling counterfeit goods or are in contravention of the by-laws.
In the City’s by-laws street trading is defined as “selling goods or supplying services for reward in a public road; selling of goods in a designated area; sale of goods or services in a public place; mobile trading such as from caravans, and light motor vehicles; selling of goods in stalls or kiosks and selling of goods at special events”.
Traders are required to trade in areas that have been demarcated by the municipality.
The demarcations are made by means of a yellow paint line which indicates the area on the pavement where one can trade. Traders are only allowed to sell on these sites if they are in possession of a lease agreement that they apply for at the municipality.
Traders who operate outside of demarcated areas often have their goods confiscated and given a fine of up to R500 or a sentence of three months in prison.
This penalty also applies when traders fail to comply with the other long list of prohibitions outlined in the by-laws, from sleeping overnight at the place where a trader conducts business to making a fire and conducting trade in a way that creates a “nuisance”.
A JMPD official who asked to remain anonymous says he personally doesn’t have a problem with hawkers in the city, given that there’s “law and order”. “Our people are surviving from selling on the streets.
Some of us, even the people in top positions, they were raised by these people who are selling on the streets.”
He nonchalantly says he does not let how he feels affect his job. “On this job I work according to instruction. If I am instructed to go there and move whoever, I just do that.”
It’s not always that easy though.
“There was a time when I was supposed to impound for a pregnant lady and she was heavily pregnant and then she just left everything there and started crying. I didn’t impound,”
“I felt bad and let her go” says he says.
The JMPD carry out their inspections sporadically, which is why the hawkers have learnt to protect their livelihoods.
“In the Bible we know that there is Judas. So among them there is Judas” say Valentine Henry (27) a Nigerian trader who sells counterfeit shoes and clothing on De Villiers Street.
Henry says they often get information about a coming clean-up from a rouge JMPD official, which gives them enough time to pack their stock and leave.
SWEPT:Traders at Joubert Park say business has not been the same since the municipalities campaign to remove them from the City. Photo: Tebogo Tshwane
Tragedy leads to South Africa
It’s Sunday night and Dube and her two cousins are eating Sunday kos in the room they rent in a flat in Hillbrow. Dube eats from the double bed that she shares with her cousins while Ndlovu and Nthombelang Tshuma, the third cousin, sit and eat at the foot of the bed in front of the TV.
The cousins share the one bedroom flat with five other people. The lounge is sectioned off into rooms using curtains for walls for the five other tenants. Dube and her cousins rent the bedroom which is furnished with a fridge, bed, a two-plate stove on a stand and a TV placed on a small room divider.
Dube scrolls through her phone to share the many pictures she took of her 13-year-old daughter, during her recent trip to Bulawayo in Zimbabwe.
Her daughter is the last of her immediate family. In 2003 her husband died after suffering from a long stomach illness which he had when he was deported back to Zimbabwe after being detained at the infamous Lindela Repartriation Centre in 2002.
Dube was two months pregnant with her daughter when her husband died. Shortly after his death her two-year-old son also fell sick with a mysterious stomach illness. She says he was sick for a long time, she even gave birth while he was sick. Eventually in March, 2004 he died. Two months after her son’s death Dube’s mother passed away too.
“Mama was not sick. I think she died of heartache from seeing her only child lose so much,” says Dube.
Thereafter she stayed with her aunt who took care of her until her daughter was a year old. Her aunt then told her to go find work. She then decided to come to South Africa in 2005.
Dube says she had to move on to save her life. “I saw that the stress was going to end up killing me. Kuyafika sometimes but ngiyakhona ukuk’ignora (The pain comes back now and then but I can ignore it),” she says.
She had to send her daughter back to her aunt in Zimbabwe when she was in Grade three because the school fees were expensive.
KIDS:Infants and toddlers can be found everywhere at the market because most hawkers cannot afford childminding services. Photo: Tebogo Tshwane
The skills of the trade
Dube and her cousins do not see an alternative to their sandwiches and hot beverages business. “Uzothengisani (what are you going to sell)?” asks Ndlovu.
“AmaNigeria are everywhere, they sell shoes, buckets namahairpiece, you have to be different,” says Ndlovu.
However, the issue of a saturated market has not stopped Henry who has been selling on the streets since he arrived in South Africa in 2014.
“If I have family here and wife and children, I can take care of them,” says Henry.
He starts selling at 7am every morning and hardly takes a day off even though he has someone working with him.
Both Henry and Dube are absent on days when they have to go to church. Dube goes to church on Saturdays at 10am while Henry attends a 7am Catholic Church service on Sundays for an hour.
He is well attuned to the tricks of the trade and says it didn’t take him long to pick up on Zulu because the “gogos can’t speak English”, so he learnt to speak it.
On top of his hands-on approach, Henry has learnt to be an aggressive salesman in order to survive in this tough industry. He watches customers like a hawk, stopping anyone who even sneezes in the direction of his stall. He says the trick is to price goods with enough room to negotiate a discount.
“The minimum profit I am willing to make is R40” he says. However giving discounts is just one of his many tricks.
“I like to handle my things my own way,” he says as he shouts something in Igbo to his assistant who is struggling to convince a customer to buy a pair of red and brown Puma sneakers.
AUTHENTIC FAKES: Most street vendors buy their stock from a warehouse in Jeppe Street, only trusted customers are allowed entry. Photo: Tebogo Tshwane
“Do you know what I just said?” asks Henry. He leans forward and explains that the man wanted to know if the sneakers were real or fake.
“Customers, they can buy, you need to convince them. Look now he is putting it on because he is convinced,” he says with a smug look on his face as he pockets R250.
Henry says he has learnt to negotiate and bases his argument on what the customer says. According to him most of these counterfeit items have characteristics which make them look authentic such as stitches inside the shoe.
“You show him one without stitches and one with stitches, he will be convinced,” he says.
Most of Henry’s and Obinadda’s stock is brought in from Mozambique by second party suppliers who have a warehouse in Jeppe Street. The most authentic looking sneakers, are those brought in from Mozambique whereas the South African counterfeits look fake.
SALES:Competition is tough in these streets and often the most aggressive salesman wins. Photo:
This is not the end
Currently Dube and her cousins are hoping to raise enough money to buy a three-plate gas stove so that they can start selling “iplate”, a serving of pap/rice with meat and vegetables.
She makes her omelettes on a single plate gas stove encircled by a rectangular cardboard box with dark oil stains.
“The problem is the people [other hawkers] here, they don’t want amapapa la. They say it will make their clothes dirty,” says Dube as she points to a neighbouring stall lined with formal pants. Right behind her by her stove is a wall of travel bags and school bags belonging to another trader.
The crammed and intimate conditions of the market make it crucial for Dube to not step on people’s toes. She is aware of this. Which is why she feels her only option is to move in order to start her new business.
A three-plate stove is just a pipe dream now as Dube does not make enough money to save for it but she’s optimistic that she will get it.
“We hope that God will make things right,” she sighs.
Dube has even bigger dreams. She hopes to make enough money to build a house and a supermarket back home in Zimbabwe. “To work for another person? I can’t!” she says.
FEATURED IMAGE:Informal trading Photo: Tebogo Tshwane
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