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
Corridors of Freedom rains new hope on Johannesburg’s Tar Nile by offering renewal and new investment for the once economic hub.
Lonley petrol pumps stand with employees settled on the sidelines outside the manager’s office, waiting for the midday rush of motor vehicles to flow through the petrol station to wet their beaks.
In front of the office sits a stern man, engaging with his young protégés. His quiet dominance is felt by his younger peers as they talk about their lives.
ABOVE: The ongoing Rea Vaya construction Louis Botha Avenue in Wynburg Photo: Tsholanang Rapoo
He listens silently and cracks a slight smirk as the young protégés crack jokes. His intimidating demeanour is shed with the slightest sign of a smile, bringing light to a fatherly demeanour as he offers advice about the younger men’s problems.
Ndaba Mahlangu (46) is manager at Ener-Gi garage located on Louis Botha Avenue, Orange Grove. For the past four years he has witnessed the construction of what is meant to be the economic revival of Louis Botha.
It is meant to be the restoration of Johannesburg’s Tar Nile by carving out new transportation hubs through Rea Vaya, which will feed the economy of the suburbs it flows through. This is extensively explained in the Corridors of Freedom (COD) document.
However, the 46-year-old manager describes this as a “death roll” on his business.
“The development of the Corridors of Freedom, based on an effective public transport system and high-density neighbourhoods closer to the places of economic opportunity, giving rise to sustainable human settlements”: This is how it is stated in the Static Framework.
Breathing new life into the tar Nile
The COF framework further explains: “The majority of working class and poor citizens are still living on the fringes of the city, commuting daily, often at considerable cost, long distances to access work and economic opportunities.”
It aims to reduce these costs by feeding into the economic restoration of Louis Botha through a transport-centred plan that will function as an economic activation to bring back the vibrancy of this once legendary avenue.
“The intention of the current initiative is to optimise development in and around high- intensity corridors, to create more opportunities for residents of Johannesburg and create economies of scale that are attractive to investors.”
The sun rises with the sound of taxi horns heralding passengers to and from Louis Botha. It is a busy road with quiet pavements, swallowed by the grunts, groans, growls, wheezes and chuffs of different motor engines rippling through the surface of Johannesburg’s Tar Nile.
This is accompanied by the burble of tires rippling over the tar of Louis Botha. The energy is chaotic but controlled by the stop-and-go traffic and honks, which are enough to wash away one’s urge for five more minutes of sleep.
Louis Botha is the Tar Nile of Johannesburg, providing fertile land for development opportunity in the economy of more than nine varying suburbs.
The Tar Nile connects Johannesburg’s Fife Avenue, beginning at the edge of Hillbrow, with Bramley and transforms into Pretoria Main Road.
It facilitates multiple business transactions through the busy-ness of the road, assisting in the mixing of the different economic spices – the Rea Vaya becoming the emerging crocodile of the 9km Tar Nile.
RIGHT: Louis Botha is the tar Nile of Johannesburg. The 9km stretch serves to connect people through varying transportation. Future plans to revive the once booming economic hub involved an injection of people through construction, with major development into the Rea Vaya. Residents and commuters of Louis Botha share their thoughts on the stalled construction, particularly those close to Ener-Gi petrol garage.
The cost of renewal
“This Rea Vaya construction has cost us a lot. Some big trucks now cannot even drive in,” said Mahlangu.
In front of the distressed orange, white and black fill-up station, in the middle of the narrow road, is a large newly painted glass blue-red Island barricaded by concrete blocks.
The terminal prevents access by incoming traffic from Pretoria Main Road to Fife Avenue, a phenomenon that does not happen in front of big-name garages only a few hundred metres away from Ener-Gi.
The metal brocade is surrounded by an overwhelming combination: the drilling of nearby construction mixed with desperate hooting from taxis scavenging passengers.
“So far we have lost a lot of business, because since some roads are closed off already the customers from the other side can’t drive this side, so they just go to BP or Caltex,” said Mahlangu.
ABOVE: Across Ener-Gi garage stands a newly constructed Rea Vaya station on the narrow road of Louis Botha, showing the different forms of transport on Louis Botha Avenue. Photo: Tsholanang Rapoo
Early bird Johannesburg energy gurgles through this small petrol station for approximately two hours and later flows into a relaxed morning with light ripples of traffic, taxis swimming pedantically through the street.
The wave of activity rises again at lunch time and knocking-off peaks, with the sounds of motor vehicle engines gurgling as they continue to flow past the banks of the Tar Nile.
Rebuilding the economy of Louis Botha begins with the COF framework, which states: “The majority of working class and poor citizens are still living on the fringes of the city, commuting daily, often at considerable cost, long distances to access work and economic opportunities.”
The City of Johannesburg’s action plan to resolve economic issues along Louis Botha includes resolving inequality, unemployment and poverty.
This road has lent itself as a microcosm of Johannesburg’s greater economy. Like reflections on the river, the surrounding structures mirror a greater South African history.
Economic inequality waves through the Tar Nile, with a political, social and economic history entrenched in its buildings and demographics.
History gives breathes life to a new economy
Lining the banks of this Tar Nile are Victorian-styled buildings covered in dried, freckled, peeling paint on one side of the pavement characterised by curved lines and monochromatic colours.
The opposite banks of the avenue are filled with freshly painted developing upmarket real-estate with clean lines, modern-style architecture housing corporate businesses, and ongoing construction for key South African supermarkets.
Inserted on the horizon of Orange Grove are green hills filled with blooming jacaranda trees and a scattering of modern high-rise homes with wide-open windows and high brick walls.
But the heart of Louis Botha is formed by the tumble-down hotels turned into apartments covered with withering paint and dull glass windows buckled with butler doors.
The Tar Nile still holds its reputation as a migrant nucleus, transforming Orange Grove’s little Italy into an African migrant pivot.
This presented an influx of business opportunity stemming from capitalising on the busy-ness and energy of the road, one that carries its own flash-flood reputation with its notorious “Death Bend”.
The Death Bend is located on the Upper Houghton section of the Tar Nile marked by S-Bend wall, covered in a mural of art marking the different changes of Louis Botha.
A slide show of the storefront of Joel Autospare located on 119 Louis Botha, framed with car bumpers and a tire-tower topped with the rim and some of the products in the store. Photo: Tsholanang Rapoo
The S-Bend, which in its history is infamous for a high accident rate in Upper Houghton, has in the past been difficult to navigate; thus its notorious history of fatal accidents, which earned it the name Death Bend.
“I think accidents are not predetermined. I have witnessed one once or twice. I wouldn’t say accidents help the business,” said Odinaka Ugwumba, a co-owner of and administrator at Kingsley Auto Motor Parts on 207 Louis Botha Avenue.
This reputation has produced a unique type of transaction, creating a micro auto parts economy evident in several shops on the pavement banks of Louis Botha, whose services transfer through its neighbouring suburbs.
“I think what helps the business is the busy road and the cars passing, and the people living in the community,” says the Nigerian native.
Ugwumba has been working on Louis Botha for three years, but the store has been open for only two months.
The tall, broad-shouldered, light-skinned, blue-eyed young adult is stationed at the back of the spare parts auto body shop scattered with car hoodsm with an administration desk in the back, stationed in front of a single window.
The 36-year-old recalls pleasant interactions with the transformation of Louis Botha, saying in part: “I remember when I started working here in 2015, towards the end of December. I used to take public transport from Ghandi Square, the Metro bus down to Louis Botha. It has been awesome, I think.”
Despite the booming business for auto body parts on the Tar Nile, the installation and towing are done away from the gushing street.
Not too far from Kingsley Auto Motor Parts stands Joel Auto Spares, a similar store and a familiar sight as the Nile is sprouting these types of stores.
Joel Auto Spares has been open for approximately a month. The quaint store is cluttered with car parts, with relatively no space in the front of the business to interact with its workers.
Sitting behind the entrance are three employees on their laptops and phones, conversing about synchronising price points.
The young business uses an online advertising model to set itself apart from the competition through advertising on several social media sites.
This transports the economy of Louis Botha away from traditional walk-in interaction, introducing the Tar Nile to a new type of consumer.
“Most of the customers we get are other people that also deal with auto body parts – shops and individuals,” said Brighton Chitekero, an employee of the shop.
“Some of the customers are mechanics, panel beaters, those people that fix cars,” added the 25-year-old, most of whom come from the surrounding neighbourhoods.
“Online is more effective because nowadays someone does not need to be driving around stop by stop, but he wants to be on his machine or his phone once.
“After he finds what he wants, he makes a call so that if he is leaving his place he just goes direct,” echoed Chitekero.
Their most expensive item, depending on the model of the car, is headlights, which can range in price up to R9 500, which would be a Range Rover headlight.
“We buy [these goods] from insurance companies,” said Bradley Dziva.
Dziva (26), another employee of Joel Auto Spares, echoed the business’s attraction to the busy-ness of the road, adding “the rates this side are affordable, the building itself”.
Bicycle ornament hanging from the entrance inside Viml Daya’s store, Bhanis Bicycle, located on Louis Botha. Photo: Tsholanang RapooViml Daya completing early morning admin in his store on 280 Louis Botha Ave in Orange Grove. Photo: Tsholanang RapooBicycles on display inside Bhanis Bicycle, a store on Louis Botha Avenue in Orange Grove. Photo: Tsholanang Rapoo
The current of the tar Nile
A continuous theme for the Tar Nile: The continuous flow of movement is what drives the economy, drawing investment from local business owners, old and new.
“Louis Botha is an important road, it’s a very busy road. When the highway, N1, has traffic, this road becomes the next nearest through road,” said Viml Daya, (45) a bicycle repair shop owner on Louis Botha.
“That is a bad thing because sometimes you need a bit of quiet and there is always this drumming noise of cars passing by and taxis hooting, so that creates a bit of noise.
“We have become accustomed to it. When there is no traffic or no noise, that worries us. When there is peace and quiet we worry, ‘now what’s happening outside, is there a problem,” he added.
“The busy road does play an important role in attracting customers,” said Daya.
“If I was on a quiet road, inside a quiet residential road, then there is no traffic, no one will know about my place.”
The shop tangled with bicycle parts has been there since 1992 and has been witness to the transformation of its industry on the Nile.
A common thread in the transportation economy of Louis Botha is the transit of commuters moving from one place to another. The flow of movement is the last remaining aspect of the once booming economic giant.
The COD aims to finesse this to attract investors.
“In their present form, the corridors already act as a significant spine on which diverse sectors of the city move and interact,” states the official document.
“Well [the location] it’s not ideal. For a bicycle shop you need parking and Louis Botha doesn’t offer parking, it doesn’t exist… and that is a challenge and has been a challenge since day one,” said Daya.
The COD aims to feed back to the economy of Louis Botha by placing more people on the streets. Through initiatives that include high-density housing, the COD wants to increase foot traffic, introducing human interaction along Louis Botha.
Through Rea Vaya, the residents will be able to sail further distances and return at little effort and cost to them. The increased use of public transport instead of private motor use is aimed at reducing traffic on the road, allowing for a clean flow for Louis Botha.
The bustle and noise on the road will also include the murmurs of human interaction along with the occasional taxi hoot.
FEATURED IMAGE: A slide show of the storefront of Joel Autospare located on 119 Louis Botha, framed with car bumpers and a tire-tower topped with the rim and some of the products in the store. Photo: Tsholanang Rapoo
In this episode, we explore the feasibility of social housing for students, and the advantages and disadvantages that the inner city offers to the development of a student precinct.
