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1. My parents had the first black owned shop in my village,competing against established white businesses which came with Christian missionaries. Dad’s admirers called him ‘umlung’omnyama’, the same moniker they gave to his father before him. His detractors said ‘uzenz’umlungu’.
2. St Mark’s was a big missionary station. There was a small enclave of white businesses, ‘European culture’ - an equestrian club, tennis courts, town hall, where classical music concerts were held, swimming pool and etc.
3. White owned shops were dotted all around. In 1972, my parents left Cape Town and built a business in our village. It was unheard of. It was uphill. They didn’t have trade contacts. Wholesalers sold them goods at ‘shelf prices’. Mr. Puttergil and others had special prices.
4. It was hard. After 1976 (Transkei Independence), many white owners left Transkei. Their shops were taken over by black traders. This is a chapter on its own. Similarly, white farmers left & those farms were taken over. This was an agreement between T’kei govt & the Nats.
5. Throughout that period,my parents struggled to raise us and to build their business. We worked in the shop and ploughing fields before school, after school and weekends. Whenever we complained, ‘so and so doesn’t work hard at their home’ mom retorted ‘go and join that family’.
6. My father taught us to look at competition as insipiration. I didn’t understand him. I often complained about disloyalty whenever I saw people from my village buying from other stores. Don’t complain, do something to attract them, my father always replied.
7. One day, a group of women sat rested in the shade of the shop. They had big bundles which they’d carried on their heads, supplies from another shop. They called me and asked for water. My father said ‘please bring a big pitcher and mugs’.
8. I did as I was told. Some of these people had a running tab in the shop. They owed money. My parents chatted with these women, laughed and exchanged news. I thought my parents were stupid.
9. After these people left, I told my parents they were idiots. Mama laughed and shook her head. Tata asked me ‘what those people buy from us today?’ Me: Ag. Packets of sweets, tobacco, pints of milk and bread...small things.
10. If we gave them attitude, do you think they’d have bought those things? Me:No. Dad: These are our people. They will come back. They are taken with the new shops. Until then, we should be grateful they stop by. If they don’t buy and leave only dirt on the door, say thank you.
11. Keep the door open. Give people cold water to quench their thirst. Stop complaining.
12. All these people and others from neighboring villages returned to our shop. Of course, our struggles didn’t end there. Our story didn’t happy ever after ending. It didn’t end badly either. It changed. With each change, there were tears and laughter. New lessons & blessings.
13. My parents’ shop went bankrupt in the early 1990s. The village had changed. There were taxis which transported people from the village to Cofimvaba & to the ‘hiking spot’ to Queenstown where people bought supplies cheaper.
14. In the village there was also new money. A few men had cashed their pensions and left government, especially Transkei Defense Force. Some had returned from the mines with their pensions. What did they do? They built shops, of course.
15. My parents did the unthinkable. They rented their shop to a wealthy man who had a huge supermarket in his village. This man and others like him, kept their business booming from sales of alcohol. My parents did not want to sell booze.
15. When that business man proposed to sell booze in my parents’ shop, my parents decided to terminate the contract. Eventually, they stopped the business. It was time anyway, all their children were grown and my brother and I were working.
16. My Dad’s cousin was one of the soldiers who cashed his pension and open a shop. His shop didn’t grow, it remained a spa shop. He opened another one elsewhere. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the time. Villagers were still going to town.
17. In the end, my uncle rented his shop to Somalis. He was buried last weekend. If he hadn’t rented his shop, he probably wouldn’t have been able to send his kids to school. He definitely wouldn’t have had the burial he wanted with unveiling of his tombstone.
18. How do the Somalis manage? For now, it suffices to say they don’t sell expired products. They don’t do anything illegal. They too, compete with big shops in town. Like my parents, they too give their clients to debt. They don’t challenge clients when they buy elsewhere.
19. They have networks through which they buy in bulk. Their prices are competitive. Do they pay tax? I don’t think so. But that’s not their fault. Government should regulate.
20. I’ll write a decent piece and publish it.
