PHAKAMISA MAYABA / The kasi economy, currently a glib selling point in government dispatches, has been bleeping on eParkeni’s radar for a while. For two years in fact, ever since the octogenarian farmer Maeder Osler e-mailed a small-fry wannabe writer in the throes of a mild depression and too many bad habits to shake off. ‘If you still want to write,’ wrote the old man, ‘I beg you, do so.’
It wasn’t much to go on. But when you’re hemmed in in a town where employment is scarce and your peers watch the years roll by at the watering hole, or play ludo when – in a just world – they ought to be clocking in for a shift, it’s like being smuggled a cigarette in a holding cell. It keeps the head above water, and affords a respite from frustration, self-pity, and the tendency of taking it out on others. You buy the Sunday paper, renew the library membership, keep abreast of what’s happening and – residing in the kasi – wonder what this economy might eventually look like as it unfolds on your doorstep.
The tavern has hardly opened, but here we are, able-bodied men getting stuck into the grog. A female patron is enjoying the free Wi-Fi connection. Image: eParkeni.
At face value, the term suggests a niche economic sector — an economic ecosystem meticulously tailored around the former labour barracks of segregated South Africa. But from the inside looking in, one wonders whether there is formal planning in place to facilitate how we envision this sector to flourish? For the most part, the infrastructure required for the economic development of the townships is still wanting. Potholes in the few tarred roads and sewerage seeping out into the streets is a common township ailment.
The current narrative foresees an organic entity mostly left to its own devices that will navigate itself in an unplanned sort of a way, determined by its ordained custodians – the residents of these spaces who pool their resources and have a go at it. Historically, the backbone of this economy was the taxi, shebeen, spaza shop, stokvel, burial society and loan shark. Indeed, given the format limits on economic activities in the townships, these were the pioneering, self-made entrepreneurial hustlers of the kasi in earlier years.
That said, the workings of the township have undergone immense reconstruction since, which have drastically altered the sector in both promising and adverse ways. The spaza trade has almost entirely slipped into foreign hands, and despite the authoritative G.G. Alcock’s views to the contrary, the paving on the ground indicates that the liquor industry is rapidly heading in the same direction.
Even the hair/barber business has been taken over by outside people. Were it not for its mafia-type make up, often synonymous with violence and iinkabi – hired hitmen – the taxi industry might soon be facing similar challenges.
So what does this hold for would-be local entrepreneurs, particularly those in small towns like Colesberg? The reversal – or redress – of spatial inequalities that are a by-product of historical injustices forms the modus operandi around this type of economy. The goal is to reconfigure the township into an accessible economic hub, creating a conducive environment for businesses to stand a fighting chance. Although the term is often used interchangeably with the ‘informal economy,’ this is incorrect, as the latter refers to unregulated economic activity in general, and the kasi derivative fashions itself as a formalised entity with its base firmly in the townships. However, in practical terms, the township economy is merely black businesses mostly operating in ‘town.’
Social media romanticise this sector with kota and atchaar merchants, backyard farmers, restauranteurs and shisanyamas that animate the slew of groups dedicated to this outcrop. Imileqwa or ‘hardbody chickens,’ grain-fed and highly prized chickens in the township are an instant hit. The name umleqwa is derived from isiXhosa and is loosely translated as ‘chase down’, denoting how one must chase after these chickens if one hopes to put them to slaughter. In Colesberg, these are a popular means to subsist as well as to earn a small surplus.
However, the question persists: Is the township almost exclusively dependent on these types of archetypal kasi businesses? What about education centres, media outlets, non-profits dealing with those issues directly affecting these spaces, and educational / skills development programmes for youths operating from the township? According to at least one expert, ‘the township will not mirror the established mainstream economy due to infrastructural, spatial and network separation. It will need to develop on its own specific and particular terms.’ What will those terms be in reality, and is the government really trying to get this sector off the ground?
Estimates of the size of the kasi economy vary wildly, from R200 million to a mind-bending R900 million. But what exactly this measures, and over what period, remains a bit of a mystery. At the same time, the World Bank Group has found that South African townships have a ‘low rate of entrepreneurial activities’ compared with other countries in Latin America, Asia and the rest of Africa. The group also found that only 25% of money generated in the townships is spent therein those areas. ‘With 60% of the nation’s unemployed found in the townships, the country’s ‘staggeringly high unemployment rate will likely be won (or lost) in these places.’
All over South Africa, Colesberg being no exception, are a significant number of unemployed graduates, particularly from TVET colleges, many of whom wind up in unskilled, low-paying jobs or with no jobs at all. There is an inherent need to ensure that these individuals are given an opportunity to utilise these acquired skills; the ones they went to school for. However, the majority of local entrepreneurs remain confined to the fast food sector. And almost all of them operate in ‘town’, ostensibly because the townships haven’t reached the status of a vibrant economic hub.
Mrs Sandi and her daughter at work. Image: eParkeni.
Another street food vendor in Colesberg’s Church Street. Image: eParkeni.
Local ladies selling traditional herbs in Colesberg. Image: eParkeni.
Surely not everyone aspires to clip hair or peddle grub. People like Mbulelo Kafi have gone into the less explored business of selling services. As a qualified tour guide, his choice of vukuzenzele – ‘do it for yourself’ (one of government’s favourite throwarounds) – has seen him grinding it out in the tourism sector. Not exactly the sort of trade with a reliable income, but Kafi has persisted and, in the lead-up to World Tourism Day (27 September) Kafi received the Northern Cape Tourism Services Excellence Award for best tourism experience, smiling right next to the Minister of Tourism, Patricia de Lille.
Colesbergian Mbulelo Kafi with his Northern Cape Tourism Service Excellence Award next to the Minister of Tourism, Patricia de Lille. Image: Supplied.
With the unmitigated jobs bloodbath affecting the country, the township economy must, out of necessity, shed its one-dimensional disposition. Long overlooked in assessments of economic potential, the Northern Cape is now frequently mentioned in government communiques, especially in respect of renewable energy and astro tourism.
With Heritage Day a celebrated date on the local African calendar, there are groups who hope to document the scarcely known histories of Kuyasa and Lowryville townships. The project hopes to create legacy initiatives that will benefit the locals. Despite the tough times, there are small miracles cropping up all around. A mechanic here, a shoe repairs there and in between, a small team of people who bring it to your fingertips.
This is an edited version of an article that first appeared on Phakamisa Mayaba’s website, eParkeni. Used with permission.
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FEATURED IMAGE: Clothes, especially school uniforms, are a popular business in Colesberg’s informal economy. Image: eParkeni.