On Friday, a day after Nelson Mandela died, Sbusiso Mlambo made R9 000 selling the late hero’s memorabilia at an impromptu shrine set outside the former president’s house in the exclusive Johannesburg suburb of Houghton.
The following day, he made R13 000, and on Sunday he had to be content with R9 070. In South Africa, an unskilled factory worker earns R500 a week. This means Mlambo has made more money than an average factory worker would make in a year – all in just three days.
“It’s incredible, what has happened. Yes, we are mourning, but I think Mandela would have been happy to see that we are not just sitting dejectedly and hoping for hand-outs, we are working hard as he taught us to contribute, in whatever way, towards growing the economy,” said the 31-year-old father of two from Orlando East, in Soweto.
Mlambo is just one of the hundreds of fast-thinking entrepreneurs who have used their skills and experience to ensure that their fellow countrymen and tourists get their slice of Mandela – in t-shirts, caps, mugs, framed portraits and other paraphernalia.
The shrines commemorating Mandela have mushroomed countrywide, and business is brisk all round. In addition to apparel, other traders are selling ice cream, bottled water and candles which the pilgrims will light and place at the shrine, to burn in celebration of the most-loved son of Africa.
Mlambo, whose stall is quite impressive in both size and variety of things on offer, gets his stock from the offices of the ANC, Mandela’s governing party. But there are other traders who are procuring their stock from other sources: many import plain t-shirts from China, and have them printed locally.
Nosizi Ngwenya, who has a rather modest stall just twenty metres from Mlambo, says she bought her stock from Indian traders in downtown Johannesburg – all printed and designed. Having made a daily take-home average of only R2 000 since the vigil started on Friday, Ngwenya has not fared as well as Mlambo.
But to this mother of three who lives in downtown Johannesburg, the money is a godsend. Under normal circumstances, she is unemployed. But when Madiba died, she decided to, as she puts it, “take a chance and use my last cents buying stock from the Indians, and see if I can’t make a profit.” Her gamble seems to be paying off.
Buoyed by her success so far, she is considering taking the t-shirt business seriously. She says she will keep her eyes and ears open for future occasions that warrant t-shirts.
Like Ngwenya, Mlambo is also, under ordinary circumstances, unemployed. He only “gets into action” when there is a huge ANC event where he would sell the party’s t-shirts, caps, jackets, and other paraphernalia. The last big assignment for him was in December, where the current president of the ANC Jacob Zuma was re-elected to his position, in the city of Bloemfontein.
He has been selling t-shirts for the past two years. He admits that the money he makes during special occasions might seem a lot at first glance – until you take into account that ANC or Mandela t-shirts are not an everyday priority for the average South African consumer.
At the shrine outside Mandela, there are no less than 20 of these stalls. Although, they are selling Mandela imagery, it comes in different packaging and varying degrees of quality.
Some of the t-shirts are of durable quality, while others are flimsy even at a glance. The framed pictures are mostly elegant, and the mugs worth keeping or buying for a friend as a memento.
One merchant, who wouldn’t give me her name, said she imports plain t-shirts from China and then have them printed in Johannesburg.
“Depending on what the occasion is, I am always ready with a template. If an important government official dies, I am ready with a template. If it’s an ANC conference, I use the organisation’s insignia accordingly – or a picture of one of the stalwarts of the movement. No one has told me I can’t use the insignia. I am a member as well!” she said when asked if she wasn’t concerned about copyright issues.
A local artist has placed, at the shrine, a huge painting which features the imposing figure of Mandela flanked by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi and John F. Kennedy to his right, and Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill and Barack Obama to his left. The painting is signed Jonathan Brews, 2009.
The sudden appearance of the traders at the corner of 12th Avenue and 4th Street – Mandela’s address – has transformed this neighbourhood which, on a normal day, is sterile to the point of being intimidating: If you happen to jog or walk in this neighbourhood, as I normally do because my gym is just a street up from Madiba’s house, you are bound to feel out of place, to feel being watched.
First the huge mansions nestling comfortably on huge plots – with tennis courts and Olympic size swimming pools – speak a language of obscene opulence. But the tall walls that are a common feature here, and the security guards stationed at the entrance of almost every house here, tells a story of insecurity, which, in turn, tells you the inhabitants do not trust anyone.
And then there are vans belonging to various private security companies patrolling the streets. Because there are no pavements here, you feel guilty if you so much as put one foot on a piece of lawn. So, you end up walking in the street. But the passing motorists give you a disapproving stare as they swish past you – making you feel even more self-conscious.
At the corner you are bound to encounter a group of domestic workers sitting flat on the grass, gossiping about their bosses, or sharing tips about the numbers game called uMshayina. When you pass the domestic aunties, there is a pause in the conversation: you can feel their eyes drilling holes into your body, the unspoken question being: what does this one want here?
All in all, Madiba, who never tired reminding all and sundry that his home was open to all, that his neighbourhood was every South Africans’ home, must be smiling wistfully at it all: the brisk trade at his doorstep, and the bonhomie that has come to characterize his neighbourhood – albeit until Sunday when he is finally laid to rest.
Fred Khumalo, formerly editor of the Sunday Times Review, is a well-renowned columnist and author of The Lighter Side of Robben Island, Bitches Brew and Seven Steps To Heaven, among other books.
He has worked in various capacities for newspapers around the world and between 2011 and 2012 he was a Nieman Fellow at Harvard University. Follow Fred on Twitter.
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