Brenda Howden wears her eminence and her gold medal lightly.
“I don’t blow my own trumpet. A lot of children here do not know I have won an Olympic gold medal,” she smiles.
Howden is a picture of fitness and understatement, on this cool winter’s afternoon at Auckland Park Preparatory School in Johannesburg, where she is headmistress. As well as her eminence, she also wears lightly her blue 1980 Olympics jacket. It fits like a glove and you can easily imagine she could still tear down the wing, hockey stick in hand.
It is ironic that, 32 years ago, Howden, then known as Brenda Phillips, was considered too weak to make the grade at the Olympics. She was one of the Bulawayo contingent, which included striker Pat McKillop, goalkeeper Sarah English and Helen Volk.
Howden, then 22, was teaching at her old school in Bulawayo, Townsend High School, when the call to Moscow came. The excitement was tempered by doubt over whether she was strong enough.
“For the next six weeks I had to get up at 4am and got for weightlifting in the gym. Then I had to go to school to teach and during break time I would practise goal shooting. Then, after school, I would go over the road to the nearby race track and run until 9pm at night,” she says.
Howden made it to Moscow and was surprised by what she found. The streets were drab, the shop windows were empty and there were queues for food.
“It seemed that everything was in black, white or grey. We could go into our cafeteria at the Olympic village and order whatever we wanted, but outside people were suffering,” she says.
Security was tight at the Games, but for the team, who were all very young, it was a golden excursion, as well as a sporting event. Howden kept a scrapbook that tells the story of the entire trip; from the good luck cards before they went; to a program from the ballet; pictures of the Kremlin and even a photograph of Britain’s Steve Ovett on his victory lap, after winning his only Olympic gold medal in the 800 meters.
“We even bunked one night to go and see the Moscow underground. It is beautiful and the stations had chandeliers in them,”she says.
There was a huge crowd when the team touched down in Harare. Drum majorettes were on the tarmac and people packed the airport. In the crowd was 11-year-old Lindsey Carlisle on her father’s shoulders.
“The plane was late, but that didn’t dampen our enthusiasm. When they came out we were all looking for the gold medals around their necks,” says Carlisle.
“The arrivals hall was full. I remember seeing the captain Ann Grant and we moved closer so I could touch her medal and I knew then what I wanted to do with my life. I turned to my dad and said I want one of those one day. He said I had better start working towards it.”
True to her word, Carlisle, who grew up in Zimbabwe, but was born in Johannesburg, became captain of the South African hockey team. She went to two Olympics, Sydney and Athens, but brought back no medals and could have been forgiven for being disappointed.
“I never really thought of it that way. Just going to the Olympics and being regarded as one of the best athletes in the world is good enough for me.”
Howden flew home to Bulawayo where schoolchildren had been bussed in from miles around to clap her through arrivals. In the months that followed, she replied to fan mail and autograph hunters from around the world and attended numerous functions and speaking engagements. In 1984, she moved from Bulawayo to South Africa, where she is married with two sons, and where she trains youngsters in hockey.
“I would like to go back to Moscow one day, just to see what it looks like. I am told it has changed,” she says.
“I have no regrets. The Olympics stood me in good stead and it taught me how to fight to the top and never give up.”
Golden words from a golden girl.

The Quiet Olympian

Like many 21-year-olds, Chibundu Onuzo is nervous about her exam results. The Nigerian-born-and-bred Onuzo has just finished her final year of a history degree at King’s College, London. Her favorite place? The British Library in London.
The sense is, though, that she is not just killing time before fighting her way into the scrum of graduate jobs because Onuzo has already been recognized as one of the brightest literary talents to emerge from Africa in recent years. Her début novel, the Spider King’s Daughter, is a love story that sees the privileged, fenced-off world of Nigeria’s wealthy collide with poverty, as the teenage daughter of a rich family enters into a romance with a street hawker. In many ways it a well-worn love story, albeit one with a unique flavor.
“It’s the setting that gives every love story a context. I don’t think that can be taken away from the story. The background shapes their relationship,” says Onuzo.
That background is the teeming, sweaty, lunatic megalopolis of Lagos. Nigeria’s commercial capital, home to 20 million souls, who seem to live at a pace and density unlike anywhere else in the world. Every inch of the city, which sprawls across damp islands, heaves with life. It rises into skyscrapers and dives into battered, corrugated iron shacks. It is a place that has a unique intensity of detail, clogged with traffic and the fumes of thousands of diesel generators that take the place of a national grid.
“What I like about Lagos is the chaos,” Onuzo says. “[State Governor] Fashola would not be pleased. There’s a creativity. You just feel people are&#8230; I don’t know&#8230; You just feel people are expressing themselves.”
Onuzo has lived in Britain for the last seven years. The distance from the exhausting grind of Lagos has given Onuzo a sharper focus on her hometown.
“My Lagos is a very specific Lagos. I’m writing from memory. I went back while I was writing it but I wasn’t living there. The things I was looking for were very specific. I was writing about hawkers and that was where my eyes were trained on. It’s a specific Lagos, a slice of what I’ve seen,” she says.
The protagonist’s role, as one of the young men and women who dart between cars in the city’s gridlock to sell water, ice-creams, belts, ties and cheap plastic goods straight out of cargo containers from China, was cemented by an early experience.
As a child, Onuzo was encouraged to enter an essay competition by her mother and went to visit a young hawker.
“She was a child, 16 or 17. What struck me was that she didn’t seem to have any more prospects. She could look forward to the next five or 10 years of her life, that was what she could see herself doing. It just felt like a total waste, someone who is so young. It stayed somewhere in my mind,” says Onuzo.
Lagos’ socioeconomic inequalities form the backdrop to the romance, the great divisions between the rich and the poor—and the politics of inequity—are central to the narrative. Onuzo did not set out to write a political novel, but politics in Nigeria is unavoidable for those with education and a voice.
“Oh yeah, because politics is why you don’t have lights. It’s why you don’t have working water. I mean, here [in London] you have your basic commodities or whatever you need. When you wake up [in Nigeria] there is a constant reminder that the political system has failed you in everything you see. So that’s why it’s very close to the skin,” she says.
“I know there are a lot of other African writers who have reacted against the pressure to be the political voices of their time, like the greats—Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka, they were involved in their writing. They were engaged every day in writing polemics about Nigeria. There is a new generation of African writers who say ‘look, we want to write about other things&#8230;’ For me, I think it’s hard to avoid writing about Nigeria without talking about politics.”
Achebe and Soyinka, both defining voices of their generation and great political authors, cast long shadows on Nigerian and African literature. The pair are the yardstick by which other writers are measured, even though the context that they worked in is no longer the Africa that the current generation recognizes. The tyrannies of colonial rule, then the civil strife and military coups of the post-colonial era have given way to new disappointments and new hopes. However, the overriding pessimism and despair, that is a feature of the Nobel laureates’ canon, is hard to escape.
“They had such dreams, such high hopes after independence. You had the civil war and everybody said ‘what is this?’ Coup after coup. And then, you can understand why they just kind of give up,” Onuzo says.
“I’m 21, I’ve only been politically conscious for what— four years? And some of my peers have already given up hope in Nigeria. I can understand Achebe. After 40 years you can kind of cut him some slack for going: ‘This country!’ But yes, they were all optimistic at [the dawn of] independence in 1960. Every generation starts off with hope.”
2010 saw Nigeria celebrate the 50th anniversary of its independence with a fanfare and promises of its future greatness. The significance is muted for this young generation.
“I’ve not been alive for 50 years. “The Nigeria I know has been worse than it is now&#8230; People from my generation might be more hopeful. They are not seeing Nigeria from a 50-year period. They are seeing a 12-year period [since the transition to democratic rule in 1999]. There was a time in Lagos where there were strikes. I tell people I didn’t grow up in a war zone but I saw dead bodies on the side of the road when I was a child. Things have gotten better, slowly, and certainly not fast enough, but they have,” Onuzo says.
“There’s a different bad guy now,” she adds. “The military guys are gone, or at least they’re all wearing civilian clothes now. So you know, it’s a different fight.”
Politics, though, is her personal interest. Onuzo insists that she feels no pressure to write polemic, or to be worthy. She understands, she says, that being African, a woman and a writer means that she will become known as an ‘African female writer’—that typecasting is a necessary evil of getting published and shifting copies.
African contemporary literature does not, as a genre, have the same level of global recognition as, for example, writing from the Indian subcontinent, but that is changing as more stories from the continent become told, according to the Zimbabwean-born publisher and deputy editor of Granta Magazine, Ellah Allfrey. Much like Indian and Pakistani writing, which burst into bookshops in the West, becoming “less foreign” for consumers. The worthier, more literary authors blazed a trail for others, which allowed others to find markets for more commercial work or genre fiction.
“If you have more writers from Africa or the diaspora being published, you are going to get more stories,” Allfrey says. “You can’t solve the problem with any kind of prescriptive way. You can’t say you can’t write about child soldiers, because actually Africa has child soldiers. We have poverty. We also have these other stories. What I always say is that I’m waiting for the African sex and shopping novel because then I know that we’ve arrived. Because then we’ve moved away from that quite, highbrow literary style.”
“Publishers and editors have a large role to play,” she adds. “It means publishers being braver, and trusting the fact that the readers are smart and want more, and the readers wanting more of these stories, having access to more of these stories. But also the writers themselves saying ‘this is what I want to write, so here you are’.”
International agents are, she says, starting to recognize the potential market for African literature and are “hovering up” writers.
For the time being, the success of writers like Onuzo is an important marker.
“She was just spotted as this amazing talent and that was because nobody had read this love story set in Lagos before,” Allfrey says. “That’s the great advantage that African writers have, that there are a whole bunch of stories that readers in the English language haven’t read and so agents and publishers want to pick those up.”
Onuzo’s next book begins in the troubled Niger Delta, with its protagonists moving, of course, to Lagos—“just because Lagos is Lagos. There’s definitely enough to keep me in stories for at least five books,” she says.
For the time being, she is trying to avoid the sense of having made it as a writer.
“It sounds so terrible. I’ve made it at 21. What am I supposed to do next? I’ve written a book, and by no means a perfect book. A very first novel book. There are a lot of flaws in it. I’m just starting out.”
In the meantime, there are exam results to collect.

Young, Gifted And Angry

Trying to interview Asa took all of eight months. In that time, the French-born Nigerian singer has been practically everywhere. Confident, charismatic and self-effacing, the husky-voiced woman is adored by young and old for her eclectic Afrocentric music and her intelligent commentary on musical and socio-political issues.
At one time MTV’s ambassador for South Africa, Asa, received the 2008 Prix Constantin award and the 2011 Victoires de la Musique nomination for Female Artist of the Year.
No mean feat for someone who crashed out of a talent hunt contest in her homeland a few years ago and was turned down by her local church choir.
<div id="attachment_1036" style="width: 484px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-1036" class="wp-image-1036 size-large" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/40_Asa-1024x680.jpg" alt="" width="474" height="315" />Asa at Arts Alive, Johannesburg</div>
“They said my voice was bad, too raspy, they just thought my voice was too low, they needed a high-pitched voice; they said I could play the tambourine,” she told FORBES AFRICA coyly.
Asa speaks the way she sings—poetically, poignantly, but to the point. I met her about 10 years ago. She was a shy, soft-spoken student struggling to find meaning, unsure of what the future held. So much has happened in a decade: the homegrown Asa (‘hawk’ in Yoruba) has transformed herself into a world-famous brand.
Singing in English, Yoruba and French, she has found her musical space as Nigeria’s most famous female singer with her unique blend of music which incorporates elements of soul, folk, reggae, funk, jazz, fuji and hip-hop.
In April, Asa took a break from her whirlwind schedule to “rest for a few days, think, write, practice in my studio and recuperate” after headlining the 2012 Africa Music Academy Awards in Lagos.
I caught up with her in her tastefully furnished Lagos home one warm Tuesday evening. Interviewing her was an interesting expedition into the mind of this no longer timid woman of soulful sounds. What follows is an edited transcript of that interview.
<h4>How would you describe your childhood?</h4>
I grew up in Festac Town and I am the only girl among three boys. Growing up was a lot of training—to become a woman, a mother, take care of the house—I took care of my three-month-old baby brother because my mum had to work. I’ve always loved music even though my father could not afford to buy us musical instruments—his priority was to send us all to school.
<h4>Was there music in the house?</h4>
Oh yes, my father had so many records. He studied cinematography, so whenever he was editing, he would use music. He had lots of records from American jazz and disco to the evergreen sounds of Ebenezer Obey, Fela Kuti, King Sunny Adé, Marvin Gaye, Bob Marley, Manu Dibango and Osibisa.
<h4>When did you know it would be music or nothing else for you?</h4>
I’ve always known. I was influenced by global pop culture on television. Michael Jackson was one of my early influences; so was Fela. My parents and their friends would gather in the evenings to discuss what Fela said; and Bob Marley—there was something mystical about him. I just thought to myself, ‘Hey, he looks like a leader and people are listening’.
<h4>Can you describe the transformation from dutiful daughter to musician?</h4>
One day, I think I must have been 18; I started to think about my life. I said to myself—I don’t want to do what everybody is doing; I don’t want to go to university and then marry because that was the training we had, I had spent most of my childhood training for that, you know, to become a wife.
I was old enough to go about alone, I was of age; I was just being kept in the house to clean, wash and become a wife. I couldn’t stand it anymore. It wasn’t my life, it wasn’t the future. That wasn’t what I’d dreamt about for myself.
I saw an advert on television saying: “Can you sing? Can you dance?” So I told myself that if I didn’t do this, I’d never forgive myself.
With a bit of help from my grandma, I found my way to this audition. I didn’t sing because I was very shy, I thought they were going to laugh and make fun of me as usual so I danced and I mimicked other people. That was easy for me because I had always danced. After that, people started coming up to me to ask me to dance for them, and I said, “No way, I’m not dancing for anybody. I am only going to dance for myself.”
<h4>Your career has been kind of rapid. I know it wasn’t always smooth.</h4>
Yes, I was at LASU (Lagos State University) studying Theater Arts. I was still unsure about going into music because my parents, especially my father, didn’t like the idea of me doing music full-time then. I think I understand his point of view—he was just being protective and concerned about many things. But I wanted to stay close to the music department, we shared the same faculty. So after two years of not doing anything—because we were not doing anything, there was no originality—there was too much politics, people were just showing off, and the lecturers, oh my God!
I actually met one of them yesterday. At varsity, he was terrible to me, and yesterday he came up to me and said, ‘Do you remember me?’ and I said, ‘Oh yes I do, you were my lecturer’ and he was remorseful and said to me, ‘You know, my only regret is that I didn’t see you through’.
<h4>Hmmm, he said that?</h4>
Yes. I mean, he pushed me away! He pushed me to my success. It was so frustrating, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I had to leave. And I had to find Peter King before I left. I didn’t just want to leave and do nothing. I knew I had to learn, I knew I needed to develop, I needed to learn music, so I went to Peter King’s School of Music. It was the perfect environment—tranquility, peace, away from the abuse of the city and class study.
<h4>How long did that last?</h4>
I stayed for six months. By then, my father had stopped paying my tuition fees; I needed to be on the road to start doing my thing, to start earning money… but that was good training for me.
<h4>So what happened after Peter King’s?</h4>
Well, during my time at Peter King’s, I met Yinka Davies and she was very helpful. Whenever she had concerts and had space for me, I would open for her. Gradually I started going out and became confident on stage.
<h4>You’ve had so many positive and unintended influences but who inspires you now professionally?</h4>
Angelique Kidjo. I’ve met her. I was with her in Bahrain last week. She’s just an amazing person. She’s like a mother. I always feel enriched when I meet her. Just sitting down listening to her, her experiences and what she’s been through, is so inspiring.
Right now, I listen to all kinds of music. When I want to write or record a song, I ask myself, ‘What would Fela do in these circumstances?’ or ‘What would Bob Marley do?’
<h4>How well is African music perceived internationally?</h4>
It’s a small place for African music out there. It comes bundled, under the ‘World Music’ category. I think the place where African music needs to be celebrated is in Africa.
So, what’s missing? Our musicians are celebrated more outside than on the continent. But then, we need to push these people out there. I mean, how much can the West do? They have their own baggage, their own problems. We need to develop our own economies so that we can support our own people.
The other problems limiting African music in Africa are mediocrity, logistics, planning and management. We need to work on these things. We need to encourage talent.
<h4>How do global audiences react to your music?</h4>
It’s amazing! It’s always surprising that they want us to play our stuff; they call us because they’ve heard the music. Everywhere we go we’ve been met with love, openness, it’s very flattering to see people who don’t even know what I’m singing in Yoruba, they’re not from where I come from, total strangers, it’s amazing.
I get emails from everywhere. I got one very touching one: on his deathbed, an Australian said he wanted one of my songs played at his funeral. His wife wrote me.
I was in South Africa as well and the reception was amazing.
<h4>When are you at your happiest?</h4>
Wow, that’s a hard one. I don’t know.
<h4>What are your fears?</h4>
I never want to stop doing what I love doing most, which is music.
<h4>Your music tends to be deeply entrenched in Yoruba folklore. Why do you sing in Yoruba?</h4>
Yoruba is a beautiful language.
<h4>How did you come to sing in Yoruba?</h4>
One of the mistakes my parents made was not to let us speak Yoruba at home. When I grew up, I thought it was fun at first, but then I was faced with reality—I had to go to the market, I had to bargain, and I was laughed at. I felt that a Frenchman would never leave his French! His children, of course, they had to speak French. So Yoruba was my identity. Who was I fooling? Who was I trying to satisfy?
I had to teach myself Yoruba. It wasn’t a strategy in the beginning, not even now. When I compose, it starts with the melody, the first chords that come out of me, and then the words, and if they’re Yoruba, I just go with it. If it comes out in English, it’s a different melody. I just go with the flow.

From Housekeeper  To Life And Soul Of The Party

Turning a theater into a profitable business is a risky venture anywhere in Africa, even in Cape Town, one of the continent’s top tourist destinations, where almost four million well-heeled foreign visitors flock every year. The few new stages that open—usually backed by hefty sums of venture capital or public funding—manage to make profit; most close their doors after a few years.
That is not discouraging Richard Loring, one of South Africa’s foremost entertainers and producers. With a 50-year career in theater, film and music under his belt, if anyone can pull off turning a theater into a lucrative enterprise, it must be him. Loring, who was born in the British tax haven of the Channel Islands, started his career in London’s famous West End theater district and moved to South Africa in the 1970s where he fell in love with the country and its people. He opened Richard’s Supper Stage &amp; Bistro in mid-July, together with business partner Roland Seidel.
<div id="attachment_1028" style="width: 210px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-1028" class="wp-image-1028 size-medium" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/MG_7408final-200x300.jpg" alt="" width="200" height="300" />Richard Loring, co &#8211; founder of Richard&#8217;s Supper Stage &amp; Bistro</div>
It’s a whopping half-a-million-dollar venture in a double-storey building in Cape Town’s Sea Point suburb that the two believe will rake in profits in no time.
“It’s much more than a theater. It’s a tourism entertainment business,” explains Seidel, a German entrepreneur with expertise in the wine, tourism and shipping industries. He believes the venture will create 60 to 80 sustainable jobs.
As well as the stage, there is the restaurant downstairs, which opened its doors in January and can feed 110 diners seven days a week. From there, a staircase leads up to the supper club, which seats 184 guests who can dine to views of two landmarks: Robben Island, where South Africa’s first black president Nelson Mandela was incarcerated for 27 years and Cape Town’s World Cup soccer stadium.
The bar upstairs doubles as Loring’s hall of fame—almost like his autobiography in pictures. In a South African version of Hard Rock Café, the bar’s walls are covered in photographs and other memorabilia from five decades in musical theater, television, movies and cabaret. There is Loring arm-in-arm with British pop star Cliff Richards, with whom he once recorded an album, smiling into the camera with Grammy winning singer, Olivia Newton-John, sharing a drink with South African business magnate, Sol Kerzner, posing with trumpet legend Hugh Masekela and shaking hands with Mandela. “They are all friends and colleagues,” he says with pride.
But that’s not all. Loring also plans to use the venue to showcase young, up-and-coming South African talent by organizing additional events to the supper club shows. And lastly, the restaurant, bar and theater can be hired for different types of functions, from weddings to bar mitzvahs and product launches.
It is not the first time that Loring has tried his hand at a supper theater. For 18 long years, from 1989 to 2007, he ran the Sound Stage theater and dinner venue in Johannesburg—“South Africa’s first real supper theater”. And so the launch of Richard’s is somewhat a return to old roots, a real homecoming.
“We all look for some form of escapism in our lives. Of course, the supper club is a business, but I am an entertainer at heart,” he says, while sipping on a glass of white wine at one of his bistro tables.
Under the motto “good times, good music, good friends”, Loring and Seidel offer visitors a three-course dinner and a night of entertainment for $50, with a twist. The surprise element: the entire dining room becomes the stage. After the guests are seated at their tables, they suddenly realize they have already met most of the evening’s performers: the parking attendants, security guard, receptionist, waiters and waitresses all form part of the show. With song, dance and performance, they tell stories of Cape Town’s mixed-race community during and after the fight against the racist apartheid regime.
“Tourists want to see more than sights. They want to understand as much as possible about a place and its people,” believes Seidel, who until two years ago owned Seidelberg wine estate near Paarl, a 45-minute drive from Cape Town, where he hosted 100,000 visitors each year. While South African tourism offerings usually focus on showing foreigners the beauty of the Western Cape—from Table Mountain to the province’s pristine beaches; the Cape Winelands; Garden Route and Karoo—Richard’s will introduce visitors to the Cape’s history, people and culture.
“We hope people will take a slice of Cape Town back home with them,” says Loring.
He and Seidel have given themselves four short years to see a return on their investment.
“I realize that that’s ambitious, but we have a carefully thought-out marketing and business plan,” explains Seidel, the business brain behind the venture.
“If you’re not ambitious, you might as well not do it.”
At the core of that plan is close collaboration with the Western Cape province’s tourism department as well as with hotels, tour operators and sightseeing busses to draw large crowds. They’ve even built a bus stop right in front of the theater so that big tour busses can unload.
“Tourism is bound to grow in South Africa, even in these [economically] tough times,” Seidel is convinced.
“Once the tourism season is on again, in a couple of months, we expect to see positive cash flow.”
The latest statistics back Seidel: almost a million visitors arrived at Cape Town’s international airport in the fourth quarter of 2011 alone, according the latest Western Cape Tourism Barometer. That represents a year-on-year growth of 5.2% and is almost half of the 2.24 million tourists the entire country booked in the same time period. If Loring and Seidel manage to draw just one in 10 they are in business.

When Risk Takes Center Stage

Kirsten Goss, a Durban-born entrepreneur, jewelry designer and mother has quickly become an award-winning African brand with stores in Johannesburg and London. There’s no stopping the strong-willed, go-getting Goss who has high aspirations and wants to continue expanding her exclusive jewelry chain with Cape Town also in her sights.
Goss has agents in San Francisco and New York and was recently the new face of Bombay Sapphire in South Africa. She now plans to expand to Asia.
A qualified jewelry designer and gemologist, her first flagship store was opened in London in 2002 and she recently opened another in Johannesburg. In 2009, Goss opened a state-of-the-art goldsmith studio in Durban where six designers craft her jewelry.
The London-based Kirsten Goss gallery is based in the trendy area of South Kensington on a picturesque cobbled path. Exclusive collections are heavily embellished, simple cuts which grab your attention. The pieces appeal to the independent, sophisticated woman who wants something unique. The exquisite styles are breathtaking, the gems dazzling; silver and gold jewelry with embedded precious stones.
Being passionate about the designs is important. Goss is meticulous about her work. She makes sure that every individual piece is handcrafted and personally designed, to fulfill her pride in the Kirsten Goss brand.
It took several attempts to catch the driven jewelry entrepreneur, who we managed to track down in Hong Kong. She explains her latest plans to break into the Asian market with a “pop-up” style fair.
When starting her business she took the risk and established herself as a small boutique firm which has now gone international. “We are doing an unusual thing, most people use the wholesale route to get ahead,” says Goss.
She said that her grandmother, Erica Goss, influenced her to start her own business.
“My role model is my grandmother who was a real frontier lady. She was a well-educated, typical Irish living in Africa, very frontier-orientated. She was somebody who was well-traveled. She taught me a lot,” says Goss.
“I started my business in London when I had a small child and then moved back to South Africa and visited London every month. My grandmother taught me you could live anywhere in the world. It’s all about passion, it’s all about ambition, it’s all about you and I think she was somebody who I drew a lot of inspiration from in my life,” she adds.
The designer’s Scandinavian and Irish heritage and her South African upbringing have all played a major part in influencing her designs. The use of exuberant colors clearly shows how she is influenced by her African heritage.
Goss supports a number of charities including the Make A Difference (MAD) Foundation; Sunflower Fund (leukemia); Save the Children, Enkuliso and Ekujabuleni nursery schools and the Wildlands South Africa. Her father was active in rhino conservation.
She was recently asked to design 12 pieces for the Spirit of Liberty exhibition in London. She has designed pieces for the Royal Wedding and Prince Willliam’s special birthday party.
“My dream is to have five to six galleries around the world in different locations and everybody knows that when going to a Kirsten Goss gallery they will find a truly unique piece,” says Goss.

An African Diamond  Sparkles In London

Gone Rural was registered in 1992 but founded many years before that by a British nurse—the late Jenny Thorne. Thorne and her husband owned a farm in Swaziland that now houses the House on Fire, Malandela’s restaurant, an internet café and the Gone Rural workshop and store.
“Jenny’s vision is that she really wanted to give independence and a voice to Swazi women,” says Philippa Thorne, her daughter-in-law.
Thorne has a background in design and came to Gone Rural 11 years ago as a volunteer after hearing about it from a friend. She is now the company’s creative director.
Gone Rural is a member of the World Fair Trade Organisation and makes eco-friendly handicraft made from lutindzi—a brittle mountain grass harvested in January. The grass is colored in wood burners for up to 30 minutes using eco-certified dyes from Germany. The raw materials are then sorted and weighed onsite according to orders. Gone Rural employs over 760 workers from the rural areas, a big jump from 30 in 1992. There are 23 permanent staff members in the workshop.
<img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-large wp-image-1015" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/womanrndmats-1024x768.jpg" alt="" width="474" height="356" />
The women get the raw materials delivered to them and they decide how much work they can take on. Once the orders are finished, they are picked up and brought to the workshop. This eliminates any traveling issues the women may have. Baskets can take anywhere from two to 10 days to make and if any new products are developed, training workshops are held with selected group members, who go on to train the rest of the group.
Many of the women came to Gone Rural via neighbors and relatives. The minimum working age is 16 years. Forty-eight per cent of the wholesale price goes to the women and the prices are revised every year.
“Our women are their own businesswomen and we’re basically partners with them,” says Thorne.
There is a challenge of managing growth—the company wants to help as many women as it can but it needs to keep in mind the current workers. Having 760 artisans means nothing when the orders just aren’t large enough to spread. Trying to keep everyone busy, while increasing numbers, will lead to the supply of an expensive product exceeding demand. After all, this is a business and not a charity. Someone will, however, still visit the women in the rural areas, irrespective of whether there is an order for them to fill, to reassure them that they are not forgotten.
Gone Rural’s products are sold in Britain and Canada and for the last five years it has partnered with Woolworths, in South Africa, to create food and nut Christmas hampers. Two retail shops in Swaziland and some South African curio shops also carry the company’s range of homewares, which were launched in 2011.
Even against the chaotic backdrop of the farm’s preparation for the Bushfire Festival in May, the stock room was full as orders were being sorted and ladies were brought in to finish off an urgent order—a black chandelier made from grass and T-shirt offcuts.
Gone Rural is competing against international products that are made by companies with more resources and lower prices. Ensuring that they have the highest quality possible is imperative. There are three check points in quality control. Each product first needs to pass a production co-ordinator in the rural areas. It then gets checked in the workshop with a final inspection taking place before orders are packed. The women get paid less for work that isn’t up to standard.
Visiting designers and partners such as Swazi Ceramics ensures that fresh ideas are continuously generated. The company has also gone as far using recycled plastic and T-shirt offcuts from a factory in Matsapa, Swaziland.
Swaziland is one of 15 landlocked countries on the continent; it is Southern Africa’s poorest country and has the world’s highest HIV/AIDS prevalence rate. With an estimated population of 1.3 million, the unemployment rate is estimated at 40%. With more than half the population living below the poverty line, the women of Gone Rural are doing their part in meeting the basic needs of their families and have moved away from the large dependence on subsistence agriculture.
In 1996, Gone Rural founded the non-profit organization Gone Rural boMake. This is an extension of the community services Jenny Thorne carried out when she was alive. The organization receives a minimum of 20% of Gone Rural’s profits as well as the merchandizing income from the annual Bushfire Festival that was featured in last month’s issue of FORBES AFRICA.
The NGO’s focus on education awards 360 bursaries each year to the artisans’ children and assists preschool teachers in early childhood development. It has health initiatives focusing on the prevention, treatment and support of HIV/AIDS, as well as on reproductive health and chronic disease.
Three thousand people benefit from the Gone Rural boMake Mobile Wellness Clinic. The World Bank estimated that 65% of Swaziland’s rural population had access to running water in 2010. BoMake has, to date, secured the drilling and fixing of 10 boreholes and the installation of a solar water pump system for the Makhekhe community—80km north of Swaziland’s capital, Mbabane.
So what would the woman who started it all say now? It’s clear that her vision has become that of many. An amazing and inspirational woman, according to her son Jiggs Thorne: “It’s a powerful thought what Mom would say about something she started manifesting into something so great,” he says.

A Seed Feeding Hope

At popular beach restaurant Coconuts on Ilha de Luanda (Island of Luanda), Soraia Neto arrives with her three-month-old child and her child minder. Instantly disarming with her pretty, youthful features and soft voice, she introduces her two companions. “They join me in the office every day,” she says, smiling.
As 29-year-old Neto sits down to a glass of lemonade, conversation turns to business. Neto set up food distribution company Chimera Lda and truck company V.D.G. Lda in 2009. She now distributes five food brands to various clients, including international marine fuel logistics company Pumangol and plans to expand into Angola’s provinces.
“My prices aren’t more competitive but I try to offer excellent service,” Neto explains when asked how her relationship with Pumangol blossomed this early in her entrepreneurial career.
“I work seven days a week if necessary.”
Neto set up her businesses upon her return to Angola, fresh from France’s Sorbonne University. Her family moved to France when she was four years old. From ages 12 to 15, she attended the French school in Luanda before moving back to Paris where she studied economics and international business. She concluded her third internship at Africa-oriented French brand representative Pierson Export, which asked her to continue working with them in Angola. Soon afterwards, she set up Chimera Lda.
“For Angolans, all it takes to set up a business is three days, plus a minimum investment of $1,000. To speed up the process, you need shareholders. My brother is shareholder of V.D.G. Lda, my husband owns half of Chimera Lda. I’m hoping to build a group of companies in the future to spread my risks,” she says.
Neto invested $40,000 of her own money into her business and borrowed another $160,000.
“My annual turnover is $165,000, while annual profit is just $35,000 due to costs. Annual growth is 35%. I expect to be debt-free at the end of this year.”
Within three years, the number of products Neto sells has grown from one to five. She has eight employees. “This is why I returned to Angola. There are opportunities here that you’ll never get in Europe due to competition. If you’re intelligent, do things properly and have a few connections, you can grow fast here,” she says.
Angola’s food import industry is dominated by Lebanese and Indian importer-distributers, but competition is on the rise. Neto buys her products—McVitie’s biscuits; Grisbi biscuits; Suave toilet paper; Vanans pastries; Jota Food popcorn; Lays; Ruffles and Cheetos chips—from Lebanese importers Fratelli, AngoMex and IMT Trading. Suave, Vanans and Jota Food are Angolan brands.
“The Lebanese are the kings in the food market. No-one has managed to out-compete them. I love them, they truly understand African markets. I don’t import myself yet because of the big risks involved and the fact that you have to mobilize lots of money. I do want to import in the future. As an importer-distributer at the beginning of the distribution chain, you have more power and control over the market,” says Neto.
Neto has her eye on food products from the States.
“That’s dollars for dollars,” she explains. “The cost of euro products are very, very high. And with Chinese or Indian food products, you have to be physically present at the export site to control their quality.”
Neto’s goal is to own and distribute her own frozen food brand.
“I want to buy brandless cooked food in the US then design my own packaging in Angola. My brand name will be Comida da Sara, after my daughter.”
She estimates that it will take her up to two years to turn this dream into a reality.
“I’ve already got the place. It’s an old $400,000 soap factory on Samba road. But buying machines and refrigerators is a big investment. I have to make more money first.”
Neto aims to expand her food distribution network into Angola’s next frontier: its provinces, which are being made more accessible by the rapid rebuilding of Angola’s infrastructure after its 27-year civil war which ended in 2002.
“You can improve lives there with simple products. In Luanda, there is big competition,” she says. Neto already distributes products to MWA, a company that operates outside Luanda. Angola’s coastal provinces offer the best opportunities.
“Many people from the capital work in Lubango, Lobito and Huambo. They were very important during colonial times and are once again growing quickly,” says Neto.
Needless to say it is not all roses in Angola. “Many people here don’t have a professional conscience, even if you pay them a good salary. I’m trying to employ more people but can’t find them,” she says.
“Corruption is an element you have to integrate if you want to make millions and do big business, rather than a stumbling block,” she adds.
“I prefer not to because in African countries political contexts can change suddenly. I have connections with people in power, but prefer to remain independent and grow slowly but surely so that people don’t show up one day and say: ‘Hey, give back that money, it’s not yours’.”
According to Neto, being a woman is not an obstacle. “There are not many female entrepreneurs in Angola and the ones that do exist, are appreciated and respected by the other sex. As a woman, you have more power over men.”
Her femininity facilitated the start of her entrepreneurial adventure.
“It was easier to meet potential male clients and arrange meetings. They were more flexible, welcoming, talkative and less aggressive. The way you relate to people is the key to success in this business.” Neto prefers to work with men. “I think men are more serious,” she says. “Girls get pregnant and have too many responsibilities at home.”

Power Entrepreneur Shatters  The Glass Ceiling

If it weren’t true, it would sound too far-fetched to make up. The life of Penny Streeter, chief executive of healthcare staffing conglomerate A24 Group, is the archetypal rags-to-riches story of a woman who was left with nothing, didn’t give up, started small and made it big. She revolutionized the recruitment sector by turning it from a 9-to-5 business into a round-the-clock operation that dispatches temporary health professionals at as little as an hour’s notice.
Born in Zimbabwe to British parents and educated in South Africa, Streeter, who dropped out of school at the age of 16, ended up in recruitment by chance. After moving to London as a young adult, she trained as a beauty therapist but was soon looking for something more fulfilling.
“I decided this wasn’t going anywhere. I walked into an employment agency and told them I was looking for a job. They said, ‘Fantastic, we got one for you here’. That’s how I got into recruitment,” she says.
A go-getter by nature, Streeter was quickly promoted to branch manager. When the firm opened a second outlet, she hired her mother, Marion, to run it.
“We used to compete with each other about bringing in the most sales,” Streeter remembers. But one day, both mother and daughter were fired—they cost the firm too much in commission. They had worked themselves out of a job.
Irked by the limits of being an employee, Streeter decided to go it alone. She got a £30,000 ($46,611) bank loan. Her mother borrowed another £10,000 ($15,537). But their timing was bad. Within months of opening office recruitment company Elite Personnel in 1989, the United Kingdom (UK) went into a major recession. Demand for her services dried up almost overnight.
“It was a complete and utter disaster. The one day it was going well, the next day we had queues of people looking for jobs. We carried on and on, borrowing money, trying to dig ourselves out of this hole and eventually went bust,” she says.
By 1992, Streeter had lost every penny and was spiraling into debt. The furniture and cars belonging to her luxury offices in a posh part of London had been repossessed. But it wasn’t only bad timing that caused the firm’s failure. It was also “total lack of business experience”, Streeter admits. She had gone in, guns blazing and overspent.
To make matters worse, Streeter’s personal life suffered a tremendous setback. She went through a divorce which left her with nothing and—pregnant with her third child—was forced to move into a homeless shelter in a part of London her brother thought too dangerous to park his car. She had hit rock bottom.
Out of worry for the welfare of her children—“I thought, ‘How the hell do I ever bring up my kids in this environment? They are going to be drug dealers!’”—Streeter decided to give the recruitment industry another try in 1995, this time with only one asset: her determination. A value, she says, her parents instilled in her.
“At home, there was no such thing as can’t. I am lucky to be a confident person, so I had a strong belief that I could do it on my own. I knew I had to,” she says.
She started another venture, Ambition 24hours. This time, she took a different approach. Instead of getting a loan to kit out opulent offices, she rented a rickety desk in a corner of the office of a car parts dealership.
“I learnt everything from what happened [with Elite Personnel]. We didn’t buy anything. Every penny we earned we put back into the business,” she explains.
Streeter and her mother took turns working and minding the children. On weekends, they organized children’s discos to make cash.
“That’s how we raised income. We would literally earn some money to pay for a newspaper advert to recruit staff to our books and pay our phone bill. We knew we had to make instant money,” she remembers.
Ambition 24hours first recruited for the financial services industry, but Streeter’s big break came when she spotted a market gap in 24/7 medical staffing services.
“All the established agencies opened at 9 a.m. and closed at 5 p.m., including all weekend. But healthcare requires shifts around the clock, and you don’t know in advance that someone is going to fall sick,” she says.
Even though entering a market saturated by successful recruiters was a risk, her groundbreaking model took off fast, supplying round-the-clock services across England.
It was the business that within a few years would turn her into one of the most influential entrepreneurs of our time. Today, it has expanded into an umbrella group, the A24 Group, which houses a range of independently run staffing agencies, makes a turnover of £70 million ($109 million) and is said to have generated £5.5 million ($8.5 million) in 2011 alone. Streeter, who doesn’t like to discuss her net worth, and her mother Marion, are A24’s only shareholders.
Whoever imagines Streeter as a tough, aloof businesswoman in a tailor-made suit couldn’t be more wrong. The passion and love for life that drove the 45-year-old, back in the 1990s, radiates from her as she sits, dressed in a casual cotton top, a plastic pink watch studded with fake diamonds on her wrist, in her office in Cape Town, South Africa, where her business is now headquartered.
“It doesn’t feel any different, really I never set out to make millions and millions of pounds. I just wanted to provide for my family, run my business and do it successfully,” she says.
Despite making more profit in a year than most firms do in a lifetime, Streeter has stuck to her hard-earned motto of keeping it basic. A24’s offices are simple: functional carpets, plain beige walls, plywood tables and worn-out chairs. As pop music blasts through wall-mounted speakers, customer service staff outside Streeter’s unpretentious cubicle wear headphones in front of computer screens in an unadorned open-plan office, focused on attracting new business.
“I still live in the mindset of that first business. What happened then, could happen again. We’re going through a global downturn again. The same principles of don’t borrow, have crappy furniture, are still true in my business. We still have no borrowings at all,” she says laughing, “and we still have crappy furniture.”
Simplicity has become her philosophy.
“Think big, start small and keep things very, very plain,” is Streeter’s advice to young entrepreneurs. An original idea, a good business plan and hard work are far more important than large amounts of finance to get a business started. After all, she points out: “The majority of very successful entrepreneurs have started with virtually no money. The biggest driver has got to be you. People always look for others to motivate them. But at the end of the day, when you’re in business, you’ve got to be able to motivate yourself. And that’s hard.”
Needless to say, Streeter—who was named Confederation of British Industry (CBI) Entrepreneur of the Year in 2003 and received Britain’s highest decoration, an Order of the British Empire (OBE) for ‘services to enterprise’ three years later—drives the A24 Group with a keen eye for cost control.
“I have to make sure we’re not waking up tomorrow, the market has changed and we’re all out of work. It’s not just me now, it’s everyone I employ,” she says.
She likes to hold the reins tightly, so she’s set up a flat management structure, with herself as chief executive, a finance director and the management of the group’s agencies straight below.
“Flat management makes it easy to get to the heart of the business, without having to go through masses of chains of people. I want to be able to communicate directly with the person who can make the maximum impact and change on that business immediately,” she explains.
One of her most important decisions, she says, was to move the company’s headquarters to South Africa in 2004. With an £11 million ($17.1 million) investment plan, she set up sales and back-office resources on the tip of the African continent to supplement her UK facilities.
“My finance manager thought I had lost my marbles,” she laughs. But the move was much more than a romantic whim after a beautiful holiday to the country Streeter spent her teens in.
Although A24 was extremely successful in the UK—it was Britain’s fastest-growing private enterprise in 2002—the group had been suffering major staffing problems. Numerous employees had started to break away to set up their own agencies or join the competition, taking clients and databases with them.
“We were taking them to court to get injunctions. It was a very negative point for us. It cost hundreds of thousands of pounds,” says Streeter.
At the same time, Streeter struggled to find well-trained consultants, the group’s key asset.
“I realized that by moving operations to South Africa, I could protect the business from theft and regain with South African staff what I needed in terms of service. If we had remained in the UK, it would have been slowly eating away at us,” she believes.
Initially, it didn’t look like the smartest move. The business took a dip and two years to recover. But then, Streeter made her next move and acquired Nursing Services of South Africa, the country’s largest temporary staffing firm, adding another star to her shiny belt of agencies.
“When we came to South Africa, it was like going back in time. We found existing nursing agencies were arrogant, not flexible enough and had no service orientation,” Streeter recalls. Twenty-four-hour staffing also took off in South Africa.
Today, A24 is run from three centralized recruitment hubs in South Africa and the UK, plus smaller branches throughout both countries with 450 permanent employees and about 13,500 temporary personnel on its books.
But even someone as successful as Streeter makes a wrong call from time to time.
“I’m not immune to making wrong decisions. As CEO, you have to be able to make decisions really fast, right or wrong, and then you have to live with them,” she says, admitting that failing remains her biggest fear.
“If I’m wrong, I correct decisions quickly and hold my hands up to them. It’s better to make a wrong decision than no decision at all.”
That’s what happened in 2006, when Streeter decided to expand into recruiting services to the oil, gas, construction and engineering sectors, having set her eye on major emerging markets like the Arab Emirates. For almost two years, A24 invested heavily to prepare the launch of this new business arm. But when the 2008 global economic crisis began to unfold, Streeter knew she had to cut her losses: “We pulled out of the market immediately. Places like Dubai were starting to collapse. We could see we were going to run into huge payment issues. It was about knowing to get out at the right time.”
It was a hard decision to make, she says, but one that was once again based on the lessons she learnt from the failure of her first company in 1989, when she kept pouring money into a venture that had no chance of succeeding.
“You’re giving up business that is still there, which in a lot of ways seems ridiculous, but it’s about weighing the risks,” she says. She also shelved plans to expand operations into the United States.
Instead, Streeter decided to expand again on home ground. In 2010, she bought another competitor, the British Nursing Association, at one point the giant of the UK nursing industry, and its associated nursing agency brands Grosvenor Nursing and Mayfair Nurses, owned by Pinnacle Staffing, for a mere £2.75 million ($4.15 million).
“We’ve got that sick giant now, and hopefully we’ll get it back to where it was,” she says, without illusions about the complexity of rebuilding a struggling business.
“When you grow your own business, it’s your baby, you know it inside out. When you adopt other people’s children, they don’t do things the same way. It’s quite a learning curve and completely draining.”
Streeter clearly thrives on challenges, with acquisitions being her core expansion strategy. That’s not a new business strategy, but Streeter adds a twist: instead of fully merging the new acquisitions into her existing operations, she runs them in competition to each other. Each A24 agency operates independently, has different business strategies, different pricing structures and service models.
“I like starting new businesses and understanding their dynamics. I wanted to make sure we’re a bit like the soap powders in the supermarket: you have all those different brands but you end up buying the same one. I wanted the same effect for our agencies. The choice would always be one of our brands,” she explains. “I’m effectively trying to dominate and drive out competition.”
It’s also a way of keeping herself on her toes. Although she calls herself risk-averse, Streeter has a keen eye for new market trends and isn’t afraid of branching out. When she heard IT experts talk about the advent of another global tech bubble, she decided to invest in information and communication technology (ICT). She set up an IT development department to design tailor-made software for the group, giving it an advantage in speed and accuracy in the registration, management and booking of temporary staff.
Then, she took it a step further. A24 is developing management services software, which will be launched next year as a stand-alone operation within the group.
“In everyone’s business, technology is the driver now. If your technology isn’t right at the cutting edge you’ll be dead and buried,” Streeter believes. “Business is a real thing where what worked yesterday isn’t necessarily working tomorrow. I continually have to keep reinventing.”
Unsurprisingly, she has no intention of resting or retiring. Her business is like her fifth child, says Streeter, who has re-married and now has four children.
“The children see the business as their other sibling. When I told one of my daughters I was thinking about selling Ambition, she laughed at me and said, ‘You would sell me first’.”

No More Penny-Pinching  For Penny

In 2006, the Mozambican president’s youngest daughter took the leadership of the family’s company—Focus 21 Management and Development, Ltd (Gestão e Desenvolvimento, Lda). The company, which focuses on business consulting, engineering, logistics and the mining sector, is currently valued at more than $5 million.
“There is an ongoing specialized financial reassessment of assets such as buildings, land, interests in diverse areas such as agribusiness, ICT and logistics in Mozambique,” says Guebuza.
Guebuza’s involvement in the company dates back to 2001 when her father changed the company’s shareholder structure. Both her brothers, Armando Ndambi Guebuza and Mussumbuluko Armando Guebuza, also joined Focus 21.
The Guebuza family business was born almost two decades ago. In recent years, it has established partnerships with companies such as Star Times, targeting the market for cable television, and Cervejas de Moçambique (Beers of Mozambique).
At Star Times Media, in which Focus 21 holds a 15% interest, Valentina Guebuza serves as the chief executive officer. The company was launched a year ago in Mozambique with the majority shareholder being the Chinese Star Times International. With an investment of more than $88 million, the joint venture aims to become the market leader in cable television in Mozambique, a country that faces the challenge of migrating from analogue to digital by 2015.
The national and foreign press also highlights business partnerships established between Focus 21 and Mozambican state-owned enterprises, such as the Portos e Caminhos de Ferro de Moçambique (Ports and Railways of Mozambique).
The professional profile of the three young entrepreneurs and their relationship with the heads of state of Mozambique and Angola must help.
During her childhood, Guebuza liked “to play with dolls and play ball” with other kids in Maputo, where she grew up. She adds that she had an education based on the principle of responsibility and helped the family with household chores, such as washing dishes and cooking. For Guebuza, the education she received from her parents was important in the development of her personality. In her interview with FORBES AFRICA she appeared to be an extremely modest person.
“Today, I understand what my parents always told us, that the family is the foundation of our stability; emotionally and professionally,” she says, adding that she always had a “very good” relationship with all her family members.
When she graduated in civil engineering, Guebuza had no idea that she would play an active role in the business world.
“I always wanted to be independent and I fought for it. In 2001, I started working in a restaurant. I also did secretarial work and when I was in my last year of university I started an internship at a consulting firm in civil engineering, where I gained practical experience in my field,” she says.
With her ingression into the leadership of Focus 21, Guebuza had to put on hold the Masters degree she was doing as she says the family business takes up all her time. She says she works “24/7”.
“I do not know if I am an enterprising person, but surely I have to bring in results to the group I manage. So I must split myself in two, losing nights thinking about solutions and projects that add value to our market and also to bring positive results for the company,” she says.
Being the youngest daughter of the president, Guebuza is a symbol of success in a society mostly made up of young people. She was born during the period in which Mozambique was no longer under Portuguese colonial rule, yet had plunged into civil war. The 1980s were particularly striking in the life of the entrepreneur, who still remembers the trips around the country under military escort as well as the numerous power outages.
Given her youth, Guebuza has been associating with organizations that attempt to promote entrepreneurship and employment among young Mozambicans. In the social field, this is one of the major topics to which she has dedicated herself. Low-cost housing for families is another one of her passions.
“I think we are a privileged generation in a way. We did not live in the time when we were oppressed. Some of us lived throughout part of the civil war period, others have no idea what those moments were all about,” she says.
In 2010, she became involved in the Business Fair, held in Maputo. The initiative’s main objective is to promote “a space where young entrepreneurs can exchange ideas and experiences”.
That same year, Guebuza received an invitation to join the New Leaders for Tomorrow forum, held by the Swiss organization Crans-Montana. From the relationships established with the organization, she joined the Africa Foundation 2.0 in 2011, which connects young African leaders from 40 nations to design strategies for integrated social development for the continent.
Another sign of media recognition that Guebuza has gathered at the international level was her participation in the last G20 meeting, held in Paris in October. Only 15 African Foundation 2.0 members were invited.
With an annual growth of 7.5%, Mozambique seems to be one of the most promising economies in Africa. The enormous agricultural potential, in parallel with natural resources such as gas or coal, have placed the watchful eyes of investors on the young African economy.
“Over the next 10 years, I see my country being given more weight in terms of decisions to be taken globally,” she says.
As a “dissatisfied” person and one who likes to live each day in an “intense” way, Guebuza believes that these are times of “great enthusiasm” for Mozambique. She is proud of the importance that her nation is beginning to gather on an international level and expects that the country’s economic success will result in the improvement of Mozambique’s social indicators.
The Next Isabel dos Santos? 
Often, journalists compare Guebuza to the Angolan entrepreneur, Isabel dos Santos, daughter of the president of Angola José Eduardo dos Santos. According to Forbes, she is worth at least $170 million and is considered to be the most powerful and richest woman in her country and among the richest in Africa. She was described by the Portuguese newspaper Público as: “…a good business woman, extremely dynamic and intelligent, also a professional and friendly.” 
Since 2008, she has held interests in telecommunications, media, retail, finance and the energy industry, both in Angola and in Portugal. Her commercial interests include oil, diamonds and shares in the Angolan cement company, Nova Cimangola

The Millionaire Princess

Despite its problems, East Africa’s third-largest economy has enjoyed a measure of political stability. In 1986, pragmatic former guerrilla leader, Yoweri Museveni, overthrew President Milton Obote and his National Resistance Movement (NRM); he has dominated the political landscape ever since and is expected to do so for the foreseeable future.
This vestige of political stability, coupled with western-backed economic reforms, culminated in robust economic growth for the east African nation. Between 2006 and 2010, growth averaged an impressive 7.2%. Growth has been supported predominantly by coffee exports, household consumption and infrastructure development. The commencement of oil production, following the discovery of oil in 2006, will be a further boost for growth in years to come.
However over the past financial year growth has taken a knock and was the lowest it has been for several years. Official statistics show growth to have slumped to 3.2% in FY2011/12, down from 6.7% the previous financial year. Growth was weighed down by rampant inflation and weak external demand, primarily emanating from concerns surrounding the Eurozone debt crisis.
<div id="attachment_994" style="width: 484px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-994" class="size-large wp-image-994" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/iStock_000001291877Medium-683x1024.jpg" alt="" width="474" height="711" />The equator, exactly at zero degrees north or south, The line is also painted on the road.</div>
The International Monetary Fund (IMF) expects growth to improve to 6% in 2012 and rise to 7% in 2013. Growth is likely to benefit from less stringent monetary policy on the back of subdued inflation. This is likely to improve credit extension to the private sector that had been adversely affected through tight monetary policy pursued since the middle of last year.
Inflation last year spiralled out of control prompting the Bank of Uganda to raise the central bank rate from 13% in July to 23% in November. Inflation decreased to 18% in June, from 18.6% a month earlier. Declining inflation allowed the central bank some scope to ease the policy rate. The central bank rate was lowered to 19% in July, down from 20% in June. Despite falling inflation, the Bank of Uganda is likely to be cautious in its monetary policy stance in months ahead. Rightly so as core inflation still remains high at 19.5% as of June.
Fiscal policy will complement monetary policy and remain accommodative in line with the country’s infrastructural and developmental ambitions.
Macroeconomic policy will be further anchored through the IMF’s Policy Support Instrument (PSI) program currently in place. In June the IMF gave the program a thumbs up which will soothe investor concerns.
There are several risks to growth in coming years. Uncertain global growth given the lack of a comprehensive and permanent solution to the European sovereign debt crisis should keep external demand low and continue to curtail exports. About 22% of Ugandan exports are destined for Europe.
Slowed global growth should keep energy prices low. Conversely, inflation will soar in the event that oil prices rise significantly. Food inflation in particular will also be dependent on rainfall conditions. Poor rains drove food inflation higher last year and it remained sticky at 12.7%, in June.
The possibility of war between Sudan and South Sudan will also have a considerable bearing on Uganda’s growth. The two neighbors engaged in border conflicts earlier in the year and have threatened each other with full-blown war. In the unfortunate event of war, Uganda has pledged to support South Sudan. A war between the two neighbors would threaten lucrative trade between Uganda and South Sudan.
Uganda has been rocked by mass protest following the general elections last year, which threatened the county’s stability. Continued protest will disrupt production. The protests have been led by opposition leaders and aim to turn the government’s attention to rising living costs, unemployment and rising corruption levels. Worryingly though, the protests have turned violent and police heavy-handedness to quell the protests has been reported.
Investors will be watching the economy closely in months to come. Top on their radar will be how quickly President Museveni addresses protests concerns. Any escalation of the protest would be detrimental to the economy. Investors will also have an eye on the commencement of oil production slated for 2013.

Uganda — Buffeted But Breathing

The lights are off and the curtains drawn. The Africa Corner Bar in downtown Tel Aviv is a shadow of the popular night spot it once was. It jumps more in fear these days, than it ever did to the beat. It is also out of time with name of the neighborhood it is in—the Quarter of Hope.
That name fitted like a glove when Amine Tekele Zegeta opened the bar last year. The Eritrean refugee believed he’d given birth to a place that would make worthwhile the anguish of his difficult journey to Israel.
Eight months on, Tekele Zegeta sits largely by himself in his bar. It’s Thursday afternoon and the place has only three patrons, one of whom has his eyes glued to the small TV set broadcasting an Eritrean music channel that seems to be playing the same three songs in Tigrigna over and over.
The bar has been this empty since May 23, the day a protest against the influx of African migrants spun out of control. The people of the Quarter of Hope ran amok, smashing African-owned stores and terrorizing Africans. Israeli parliamentarians called African migrants infiltrators who should be cut out like cancer.
That night a rock shattered the main window in Tekele Zegeta’s bar. Looters surged in and stole his stock. Out on the street, the rioters chanted racist slogans as they blocked a car driven by a man from the Ivory Coast and smashed his windows, before attacking any Africans they could find. The string of racist demonstrations and inflammatory language worry many, especially Israel’s 120,000-strong Ethiopian community.
“Ever since that day, I don’t feel normal. I am afraid to come to work. I open at irregular hours. I don’t know what will happen next,” Tekele Zegeta says.
It wasn’t the first time Tekele Zegeta’s bar had been hit. Several months after he opened, Israeli youth attacked him outside the bar and beat him up. A few weeks later he was harassed on the street, but managed to escape. Just two days after FORBES AFRICA interviewed him; Tekele Zegeta’s bar was again attacked when a man on a motorcycle roared up to the front door and threw in firecrackers.
“People don’t want to come here. They know there is trouble. They are lying low and not going outside too much, they don’t want to be attacked,” he reflects sadly.
Since 2005, some 60,000 Africans, mostly from Sudan and Eritrea, made their way to Israel, mostly seeking refuge from war, persecution and dictatorship. Like Tekele Zegeta, they cross into Israel via its porous border with Egypt and many tell tales of vicious torture and rape at the hands of their Sinai Bedouin handlers. Once in Israel, they are picked up by the army, given basic medical treatment and taken to a prison to be processed. They are set free after 10-12 days on conditional release, a status they must renew every three months. Then they are left to fend for themselves.
Israel considers the migrants interlopers, but the country has a policy of not deporting them, especially the Sudanese and Eritreans who are given group protection because they could face persecution—or worse—if they are sent back. Because they’re not recognized as refugees, most of them are not given the rights that go with being a refugee, such as the right to housing, work and medical care. Many end up sleeping in public parks and roaming the streets by day, with no hope of making a living.
Tekele Zegeta has it tough, but he is one of the lucky ones. He is recognized as a refugee and has a work visa. He left Eritrea in 2007, leaving behind his parents and a young daughter, for a journey that took him about a month. After years of cleaning apartments and offices, he pooled his savings and borrowed from friends to open the bar. He serves coffee, tea, soft drinks and beer in Israeli and European brands as well as Asmara, a brand named after the Eritrean capital. The bar is modest; it has eight tables with plastic coverings and the walls are adorned with posters of Eritrea or Ethiopia.
“I wanted to have a place for African patrons. They can come here, drink something, talk. But I don’t know if I will stay open. How can I?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t say this is my dream but I can’t stay cleaning houses for the rest of my life. I wanted to do something to get ahead. In Eritrea, I was ok. I had a home, an income, a life. I came here as a refugee, I came here for help.”
Tekele Zegeta is highly critical of the Israeli government’s handling of the situation.
“It is clear that Israel doesn’t want us here. I have been here five years and what do I have to show for it? In other countries, after that many years, you get some sort of permanence, citizenship, a chance at a normal life. Israel keeps us in limbo. It accuses us of seeking work but is working a crime in any other country? Israel should abide by the law. It can either send us to a third country or help us.”
In a high profile campaign, Israeli authorities began a crackdown on Africans in June, arresting and deporting mainly South Sudanese nationals. Israel maintains that since South Sudan is now an independent state, with ties to Israel, no-one sent back would face danger.
Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu also lauds his government’s plans to finish the construction of a fence along the Israeli border with Egypt and a detention center that will house some 10,000 people, in the Negev desert. The government is not saying what it will do with the thousands of people who reside in the country but have no rights.
Ethiopian MK Shlomo Molla is on record as saying: “We feel very uncomfortable about what is happening&#8230; Jews talk about how we were slaves in Egypt and how we suffered because of our religion and culture outside of Israel—but now we are making others suffer.”
Back at the Africa Corner Bar, Tekele Zegeta is cynical.
“What did the government do after the demonstrations? Nothing! It cannot go on like this. Israel can’t just throw people to the dogs. It must care what happens to us. If I close, I will be left with nothing, and I will owe money. I would be back at square one.”
Tekele Zegeta may have to shut Africa Corner Bar’s doors, no longer feeling safe in the area and in Israel in general. But he knows he cannot go back to Eritrea and is now seeking asylum in a third country. “At least, if I can be accepted in another country, that would be better,” he concludes.
For Tekele Zegeta, this place of refuge has become a place to seek refuge from. It is a sign of the times in Tel Aviv that an African as battered as he is can be considered lucky.

No Quarter Or Hope

When, let’s call him Robert S, the CEO of Dutch multinational IT firm X, decides to open a branch in Kenya, he is enthusiastic about expanding into an emerging market that promises substantial return on investment. His firm teams up with a local shareholder to ease transition into the Kenyan business environment. With primary experience in developed markets, the choice of partner is largely financial, neglecting the shareholder’s political connections or ethical track record.
The local partner helps with raising finance, acquiring trading licenses, registering premises and managing the operational set-up including the supply chain. Issues like nepotism, fraud and bribery don’t cross Robert S’s mind until his company successfully tenders for a big contract and is promptly accused of corruption by the losing party. An internal investigation brings severe irregularities to light. Company X finds itself faced with reputational damage, threats from the local shareholders’ political connections and liability of hundreds of millions of dollars.
Two years later, Company X still operates successfully in Kenya, but Robert S wishes he knew back then what he knows now.
Bribery, theft, corruption and other types of fraud cost African governments and companies at least $11 billion last year, the first Africa Fraud Barometer, recently published by auditing firm KPMG, found. That’s a good 10% of the roughly $100 billion in foreign direct investment made on the continent in 2011.
The actual cost of fraud is likely to be much higher, since the barometer only takes into account cases reported in English-language media, and access to police and criminal justice statistics are unavailable in most African countries. More reliable corruption trends will emerge as KPMG updates the fraud barometer every six months.
“It’s very difficult to estimate how high corruption really is. The $11 billion might be quite understated,” admits the firm’s global forensics manager, Petrus Marais, who developed the barometer.
It’s a sobering reminder of the challenges facing the continent, which has, in recent years, attracted massive foreign investment due to impressive economic growth rates of up to 8%. Some of the continent’s largest economies—South Africa, Nigeria and Kenya—have the highest incidence of fraud, according to the barometer, showing clearly that with more economic activity and investment comes increased risk.
Everywhere on the continent, governments and the public sector were hardest hit, claiming about 40% of all fraud cases, closely followed by businesses with 17%. This shows that African business operations have practically experienced “a breakdown in the ethical and moral environment”, warns KPMG.
Investors need to be prepared for this. “It’s extremely difficult to turn the tide. If you don’t have a moral base to operate from, you will have to waste lots of money on checks and balances, on jacking up processes and systems to manage risk,” says Marais. That’s the tradeoff any company wanting to operate successfully in Africa needs to make.
The main culprit of fraud is white-collar crime. Almost every third employee commits some form of fraud, the study found, ranging from junior staff to top management. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the highest value of fraud—$3.3 billion in 2011—was committed by managers, who are generally in positions with authority to approve large transactions and override controls, followed by professional advisors.
“Fraud occurs most where money enters and exits a company or institution. At the interface of financial transactions, perpetrators tend to be most successful in defrauding funds,” says Marais, identifying procurement, recruitment and contracting as the biggest risk areas.
“We hear a lot of anecdotal evidence of corruption,” confirms Thomas Schultz, chief operating officer at Sanlam’s investment management arm in its Africa division, which has branches throughout the continent. But if companies plan well, they can avoid being drawn into corruption, even in Africa, he believes. Choosing a trustworthy local shareholder or auditing firm with the right code of ethics is therefore key.
That means expanding into Africa is not a simple step. Investors need to do a lot more homework before they decide to invest; be better connected to access inside information; consider weak infrastructure, from roads to electricity; and be aware that setting up operations, from administration to licensing, might take longer. “All those issues raise the cost of doing business. It’s not a bandwagon you can jump on,” says Schultz. “You have to be sure your profit margin is sufficient to cover those costs.”
But it’s not all doom and gloom. A 2011 Ernst &amp; Young survey predicts that Africa’s economic growth will outpace its Asian counterpart over the next five years due to increasing foreign direct investment. Africa has remained an attractive investment destination throughout the global downturn and stayed high on the agenda of global investors, with 42% of businesses considering investing further in the region and an additional 19% of executives confirming they will maintain their operations on the continent.
“Although the overall perception of Africa remains quite negative, investors recognize that the continent has a window of opportunity because of its economic growth potential,” says Marais. “Whoever wants to see good returns simply has to go to Africa. It’s a great place to invest if you have the ability to assess the risk involved.”
Another plus is that African governments have shown greater willingness to address fraud, and be more transparent and accountable by passing anti-corruption laws. But for now, this trend needs to be viewed with caution, as it remains mainly a commitment on paper, with little implementation and enforcement of those regulations. “Very few anti-corruption regimes have gone beyond rhetoric. There is lack of political will to implement them and they remain under-funded,” says Charles Goredema, a corruption expert at the Institute for Security Studies in South Africa.
Businesses should choose to invest in countries with regulatory and legal frameworks they can rely on to enforce contracts, says Goredema. That means taking a close look at a country’s real situation, not just skimming the paperwork. Rwanda, Mauritius and Nigeria, for example, have made “huge strides” in fighting corruption, he notes, while the situation in countries like the Democratic Republic of Congo and Zimbabwe remains “very bleak”.
In the end, investors must be careful not to tar the whole continent with the same brush.

The Truth About Fraud In Africa

It’s the 21st century, but countless South African women still struggle to become entrepreneurs, struggle even to open a small shop. The main culprit is the country’s deeply embedded patriarchal thinking, says Dr Mamphela Ramphele, even though this should have dissipated with its progressive post-apartheid constitution, which guarantees women equal rights.
But it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks.
“Patriarchal culture remains very strong in South Africa. Women are still regarded as minors. They are still asked if their husband has given permission, for example, if they want to access a loan, even though it is unconstitutional,” laments Ramphele.
Yet, enabling women to become entrepreneurs would have a direct, wide-reaching and often multi-generational impact on a country’s economic growth, she explains: “Successful women educate their children to ensure they escape the poverty trap, whereas with men, wealth remains with men. There are also progressive men, but they are few and far between. When you compare the return of investment in women versus men, it’s far higher for women.”
Ramphele became aware of the struggle for gender equality early on. Growing up in a traditional household in rural Limpopo, one of South Africa’s poorest provinces, she watched her mother, Rangoato Rahab, a strong, self-assured woman, standing up to her husband, father-in-law and brothers-in-law.
“My mother fought patriarchy. And I grew up to assert myself.”
Ramphele remembers how she learnt that a woman’s life did not have to be constrained by her gender. It gave her the confidence throughout her career to pursue her interests and convictions with integrity.
“Whether I’m alone or in a group of a hundred men, I’m not easily intimidated,” she says.
It’s a character trait essential for someone like Ramphele whose career has been marked by ‘firsts’ and ‘onlys’. She was one of very few black women to study medicine during apartheid; in 1996 she became the first black South African and first woman to become vice chancellor of a University—the University of Cape Town (UCT); the first African managing director at World Bank in 2000 and she is still the only black, female executive in some of the country’s boardrooms.
“Throughout my career, I had to bear this burden of being the only woman, the first woman. It’s not something to celebrate. It’s a serious commentary on a society that has not leveraged the talent of women. If anything, it energizes me to fight the battle for gender equality,” she says.
She surely did. At UCT, Ramphele regarded equity not just as affirmative action based on race, but also on gender and class and ensured women were given opportunities to pursue professorships and become academic leaders. A few years later, at the World Bank, she fought for the implementation of a gender policy that not only targeted women in developing countries but was applied to the bank’s internal structures as well.
Responsible for human development at the World Bank—the global financial institution widely criticized for its capitalist structural adjustment policy, which worsened inflation in many African countries—Ramphele tried to get the bank’s hardcore economists to understand the softer issues that make for sustainable development.
Although her task was difficult, her philosophy was simple: “Countries have to drive the partnership with the World Bank based on their own national development plans. One of the problems of African countries is that we lack the self-confidence to know that we can take ownership of these international entities that we belong to, shape them to serve our interests.”
That’s what she did.
“I didn’t apologize for being an African woman, for not being an economist. I said, ‘I know you’re good at doing economics, but I think you’re not doing well enough when it comes to human development’.”
Being non-apologetic is a red thread throughout Ramphele’s career. Already in the 1990s, when she was the first and only woman on the board of mining giant Anglo American, she lobbied for a more gender equitable management structure. Progress has been slow. Today, Anglo’s board is made up of nine men—eight of them white, one Asian—and only two women, one of whom is Ramphele, still the only black executive. Later this year, a third woman will join the board.
Since Ramphele became chair of another mining firm, Gold Fields, in 2010, she has lobbied for more gender consciousness there, too. It’s a lonely battle: “The fact is the board is still very much a male domain. One has to keep fighting. What’s important for women like me to recognize is that their success means very little unless it’s used to support and enhance the success of other women.”
Ramphele doesn’t place the blame with men alone. She stresses the fact that women who have made it in the business world have a responsibility to create networks that support other women in leadership and challenge patriarchal culture.
“There are lots of women who do that, but there are many more who don’t: the queen bees. Once they have made it, it’s only about them.”
Part of the problem is that women are struggling to position themselves, she believes, often out of fear of retribution.
“In parliament, as in boardrooms, women’s voices have been muffled. When women speak up, they are called disruptive, difficult, loud. But when men speak out, they are strong and decisive.”
It’s the gap between theory and practice. Although, theoretically, the glass ceiling that limits women’s success in business should have been lifted; in practice, it still exists. Again, Ramphele argues it has to be women who crack it, because men won’t do it on their behalf.
“The glass ceiling starts in women’s own psyche. The mindset shift has to start with women believing they are as good as anybody,” she suggests.
Women must have the humility to seek help, from other women as well as from supportive men.
“I’ve had mentors who were men—older men, white men. You’ve got to be open and recognize that there are a lot more men than women who have had the experiences you need.”
Another key to women’s success is to ensure their personal, professional and wider social values cohere, Ramphele believes: “Then you are at peace with yourself and don’t get intimidated when you’re alone in a boardroom where people make sexist or racist jokes. You just stand up and say, ‘That’s not acceptable’.”
Ramphele was lucky to grow up in a home that gave her the confidence to overcome many such hurdles. Even though she came from humble beginnings, her parents, both primary school teachers, had high expectations of her.
“They instilled the urge to excel in me. I was always number one in my class, but my father used to say, ‘That’s not good enough. You must now compete against yourself’.”
When her dream of becoming a scientist was destroyed by an apartheid ban on Africans studying mathematics and science, Ramphele enrolled for medicine and was accepted into the University of Natal’s Medical School in 1968, then the only institution that allowed black students to enlist without prior government permission.
“What medicine taught me was leadership, because in the medical profession, you have to take responsibility for every one of your actions,” she recalls, describing her student years as a time of immense personal growth.
It was here that she met anti-apartheid leader Steve Biko, with whom she co-founded the Black Consciousness Movement. She also fell in love with him and had a son by him. Together they fought for black self-worth and economic self-reliance.
Biko—who was killed by South African police 35 years ago—would be dismayed by the society South Africa’s leading African National Congress has created in the last two decades, Ramphele believes, which continues to suffer from high levels of poverty and inequity: “He’d be very disappointed that South Africa has not been able to realize its full potential.”
While the country has made strides in financial management, audited risk and governance, it has failed in areas Ramphele believes would contribute greatest to long-term economic sustainability: education, health and social development.
“We have the money, but there is no appetite within government to do the right thing,” she criticizes in her frank manner. “I can only suggest that they don’t think it’s important enough to invest in human capital.”
One of the greatest failures of South Africa’s development model was to turn 16 million people—almost a third of the population—into welfare recipients instead of promoting entrepreneurship, she argues: “That’s not sustainable and has enhanced inequity. Entrepreneurship is the only way South Africa can grow this economy fast enough, with a broad enough participation rate.” That way, the country could easily boost its economic growth from the currently meager 3.5% to 10%, she believes.
Hence, Ramphele’s latest pursuit is the Citizens Movement for Social Change, an organization she launched in April as a mechanism for citizens to hold government accountable.
“We need a mindset change, away from the notion that politics is for politicians,” she explains, likening South Africa to a business that cannot succeed if it ignores the interests of its shareholders.
“We, as citizens of South Africa, are the shareholders of South Africa Inc. The government is failing us, but the shareholder is missing in action. We need an engaged citizenry. To the extent that citizens acquiesce to the mismanagement of our state affairs, to that extent, we will fail as a country,” she says.

The Struggle Continues

Educor has been around for decades—Damelin and Intec college are household names—now the private education group is going back to school. It’s jumping into Nollywood—the vibrant, chaotic and informal film industry of Nigeria. The industry produces thirty new titles a week at $2 per DVD or VCD, which sell at traffic lights. It’s only getting bigger and better.
There is money in the madness. Nollywood is valued at $3.2 billion a year and produces around 2,400 films annually. It is the second largest film industry, next to Bollywood in India. The films are shot on location in two weeks, on average, for the cost of a stagehand on a Hollywood set: between $15,000 and $30,000. The average film sells between 25,000 and 50,000 copies worldwide; a blockbuster can sell up to 500,000.
New investment in Nollywood is on the way. With the support of the Nigerian Department of Culture, Educor Africa will open a multi-media and creative arts center to support Nollywood. The industry’s rapidly growing potential has also been recognized by Multichoice—a subscription-based South African satellite provider—is spending $300 million to produce local content within the Nigerian market, according to Julian Kannigan, CEO of Educor Africa.
<div id="attachment_968" style="width: 484px" class="wp-caption alignleft"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-968" class="size-large wp-image-968" src="/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/DSC_5663-1024x680.jpg" alt="" width="474" height="315" />Julian Kanningan, with students at the Randburg Damelin Campus</div>
“It’s going to require local skills which are scarce at best… you’re going to have trained sound engineers, lighting people, actors, actresses, 3D animators, journalists which are all world-class and it’s going to support a burgeoning community,” says Kannigan.
He acknowledges that the larger part of the population want business, information technology (IT), human resources (HR) and marketing skills, which are part of the education staple diet.
But running a business in Nigeria, isn’t always easy.
“Like everyone else who is conducting business in Nigeria, you buy your own generators. It just makes the cost of doing business more expensive but at the end of the day the numbers will bail you out if you get it right.”
It is part of expansion into the continent. In the next 18 to 24 months, Educor Africa plans to expand into Nigeria, Ghana, Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda and Ethiopia, with an investment of R100 million ($12.38 million). The education group runs classroom, correspondence and online education. There are 16 Damelin campuses in South Africa with a franchise in Botswana and a correspondence business in Namibia.
“While the company has had certain overtures in Zimbabwe, with regards to potential partners, we’re just waiting for the right climate to explore those opportunities,” he says.
Educor Africa is busy with regulatory processes to start a correspondence business in Lagos, Nigeria. The education group is also applying for a university license through the national universities commission in the capital, Abuja.
“We aim to change the hearts and minds of the young and the not so young. Our initiative and passion for our business is that we change lives. It’s really important to us,” he says.
Kannigan’s pragmatic approach to business in Africa means the profit will be reinvested into the region.
“It’ll be an investment from one business to another, the correspondence branch will support the multimedia branch and together they’ll support the establishment of the university,” he says.
While the regulatory environment in South Africa doesn’t permit the Educor brands to call themselves a university—even though they can award degrees—that’s not the case in other African countries.
“Certainly some of those governments are aware of their own incapacity to provide, and therefore they welcome players such as Educor. Government’s capacity to spend on public education, with a burgeoning population at the same time, is creating a gap that is growing larger… we are actually assisting those governments to minimize that gap,” he says.
He is witness to the demand for higher education on the continent. The wealthy of West Africa pay a fortune to educate their children in the United States or Great Britain.
“When you take a world-class university experience to them, they embrace it. Now, you’re going to see that in many other African countries, especially those with a high GDP growth. If you want to increase your GDP, you’re going to need a skilled labor force,” says Kannigan.
Educor is going after big partners: “We are approaching the World Bank, who have a mandate with regards to education for Africa. We are busy talking to international universities which require an African or South African partner for various reasons to go into the African continent together… The education sector is recession-proof. People want to upscale themselves during a recession, to make themselves more marketable,” he says.
It hasn’t been smooth-sailing. Educor South Africa bought the business from Media24—Africa’s leading media publishing company—in 2008. When Media24 and Naspers—Media24’s majority shareholder—divested, the business was in the red. Not only has the Educor group brought it back into the black but it has also managed to expand.
“If you have a conversation with me in ten years time, firstly, I’ll be too busy to see you… we would have built something phenomenal across Africa in terms of education,” says Kannigan.
“Now is the time for Africa,” he says.

Nollywood: A Longshot

The African National Congress (ANC) policy conference, held in Midrand at the end of June, has finally canned the proposed nationalization of the South African mining industry but mining executives and investors cannot relax just yet.
That’s because it remains as clear as mud: precisely what government intends doing about the far-reaching policy proposals contained in the document known as the State Intervention in the Mining Sector (Sims).
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The outcome is that the pall of uncertainty—which has hung over investors in the mining industry since nationalization was put on the ANC’s official agenda in September 2010, at its national executive meeting in Durban—is going to continue at least until the electoral conference schedule for December.
The reason for this is that Sims makes a number of proposals with far-reaching consequences for the mining industry—platinum miners in particular—with platinum group metals (PGM) being declared “strategic” along with others such as coal and iron ore.
Those proposals involve potential major changes to the way in which the mines are taxed as well as other measures aimed at increasing local beneficiation of certain minerals; greater black economic empowerment (BEE) stakes in mining companies and greater participation by the state in mining through the state-owned mining company (SMC).
The proposals include a Rent Resource Tax (RRT) targeting “windfall” profits which would be levied at a rate of 50% during times when mining companies earn more than a 15% rate of return on their investment.
“Let’s give the ANC leadership credit where it is due. My understanding is that the various fiscal proposals in Sims were not adopted at the conference and have been kicked into touch,” says Peter Leon, a Webber Wentzel legal expert.
“They will now be the subject of further debate between government and the mining industry ahead of the December conference. But the other proposals on beneficiation, the role of the state miner and the increase in BEE stakes in mining companies to 30% were all adopted and are now floating around. That creates more uncertainty which investors do not like, but I would rather have this situation than one where the conference had adopted the fiscal measures proposed in Sims.”
Such uncertainty is toxic to investment in the country’s mining business which typically requires the up-front expenditure of billions in capital projects over a period of years before any returns are made.
Government’s aim—as stated at the head of the Sims document—is to: “Maximize the developmental impact of the People’s Mineral Assets.”
But any regulations imposed which hold back mining development in South Africa will have severe negative impacts on the economy and unemployment if the all-important platinum sector is hit.
The mining industry remains a key component of the South African economy. The most important sector is platinum, which has taken over as the largest employer and biggest earner of foreign exchange, following the decline of the formerly dominant gold sector.
According to South African Chamber of Mines’ statistics, the mining sector spent R484 billion ($58.2 billion) during 2011: R430 billion ($51.7 billion) of which was spent locally with R88.7 billion ($10.67 billion) going to salaries and R47 billion ($5.65 billion) being spent on capital expenditure.
Mining corporate tax payments last year totaled R25.8 billion which amounted to 17.2% of total South African tax receipts.
In 2010, the mining industry employed 498,141 people of which 181,969 worked on platinum mines; gold mining ranking second with a workforce of 157,019.
Despite the development over the past decade of various open-pit operations as well as some shallow, mechanized mines the platinum business remains labor-intensive.
The reason for this is that, as with the country’s gold mines, attempts to apply mechanized mining to deep-level platinum mines have been unsuccessful.
The most notable example was Lonmin which—under previous CEO Brad Mills—tried to implement mechanized mining on some of its shafts. The results were disastrous as costs soared and production dropped.
Mills—who proclaimed himself to be a ‘mechanization zealot’—eventually quit. Most of the operations mechanized have been returned to “conventional” mining systems.
So any setback to the platinum industry is going to have a sharp impact on job levels which is anathema to the ANC—let alone the various unions.
According to the Chamber of Mines, the RRT is “unwelcome and insupportable” because it will impose a significant increase on the industry’s tax burden. It will also have a major detrimental impact on the ability of some mining companies to sustain their operations.
Profits earned in boom times are frequently used to invest in the expansion of existing operations and the construction of new mines.
Stuart Murray, CEO of Aquarius Platinum, spelt it out when I interviewed him last year.
“This is a boom and bust industry. The cycles are getting shorter, the volatility is getting greater and it’s getting harder to get a decent return out of new investments. A platinum mine these days starting out of the blocks probably needs to show a 40% gross margin. That kind of margin may appear obscenely high to someone who makes fridges but it’s not. You need it to cover the risks involved in a project in which you have to sink capital over a 10 year period,” he says.
Aquarius has been the worst hit by the current downturn in the platinum sector, which has forced it to close three of its mines. Other juniors such as Eastern Platinum have delayed expansion programs.
A potentially major development still pending is the outcome of the operational review being carried out at Anglo American Platinum (Amplats): the world’s biggest platinum producer.
Anglo American in its submission to the ANC over Sims said, “The Sims proposals will harm the mining industry without necessarily securing its envisaged benefits.”
In Anglo’s opinion, “with the exception of some noted proposals…the Sims report relies fundamentally on the wrong approach to achieve some laudable goals.”
Despite all the doom and gloom, various junior start-up miners—such as Lesego Platinum; Nkwe Platinum and Sable Platinum—remain intent on entering the business, on the basis that the platinum game is cyclical and the good times will return.
It remains to be seen what they will do should their perception change to one that the outcome of the Sims negotiations results in a higher risk profile because of lower returns in those good times.
Some observers believe the industry should cut production in the face of the current global oversupply of platinum, which has driven down prices but it’s clear the major producers are reluctant to do so. So far, only mid-tier producer Aquarius has been prepared to “bite the bullet”.
Apart from the industrial relations and political consequences there are major costs involved in shutting shafts as well as material financial risks if overhead costs are not removed completely but, instead, get passed onto the remaining operating shafts threatening their viability.
The other key deciding factor revolves around management’s assessment of how long the bad times may last. Lonmin management made it clear, during a recent media visit, that they were reluctant to shut down shafts if they expected the platinum downturn to last only a year.
Lonmin is currently reviewing its position with an announcement due later this year on whether it will hold back on future planned capital expansions.

Category: Focus

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