African turned on African. Mobs looted shops, threatened lives and smashed anything they could get their hands on. There were languages from across Africa shouted through the streets of the capital of Pretoria on this confusing afternoon – one language was heard above the rest; the language of the boot.
By 11AM, in Atteridgeville, west of Pretoria, angry youths stood by the side of Townlands Road – rocks in hand. Earlier they had thrown rocks, witnesses said, at any vehicle entering where the so-called foreigners live. A police van stood by, just out of rock range.
For the mob, getting rid of fellow Africans, they call foreigners, was their aim; bigotry their game.
“All those who are selling drugs, nyaope (South African street drug), doing prostitution and human trafficking should voetsek (go away in Afrikaans). Would Robert Mugabe allow me to sell drugs in Zimbabwe? No, never! So why is our government failing us. This is war that’s not going to end. As you can see, it started slowly but let me tell you it’s going to get huge,” says Thembi Skhosana, a South African protester in Marabastad.
In many ways Skhosana epitomized the ugly threat on the streets.
“If our government doesn’t tell these people to go, people are going to die. [The government] is used to killing people, like they did in Marikana, so even now blood will be spilt,” she says.
Skhosana criticized the authorities for failing to clamp down on foreigners without permits.
“It’s best that we take the matter into our own hands. Police have failed. When they take bribes that means they’re also taking things into their own hands; we might as well deal with this our own way.”
On the other side, people also prepared to deal with things in their own way.
In Marabastad, Somali immigrants took up machetes, sticks‚ rocks and knives.
A Somalian shop owner, who sells groceries, Ali Abdul Hasen, came to South Africa as a refugee in 2006 to escape terrorist attacks.
“I came to South Africa for peace, stability and to provide for my family. When I came here I believed I would forget the sound of bullets, and killing each other. In Somalia there are terrorist attacks; you can get injured and die, but not from knives and axes to cut you into pieces,” says Hasen.
“They’re attacking us so we have no choice but to fight back. We have closed all our shops in the townships and came to this area, and now they’re attacking us here, again. We have to counter attack; it’s just tit for tat,” he says.
A woman wearing a peach-colored dress emerged waving a machete and shouting in her mother tongue. I couldn’t make out what she was saying but she wasn’t stopping for anyone.
Then we heard screams and shouting of enraged Somalians, everyone running to the left, chasing a young man in his twenties. When they caught him, the Somalis beat him up. We thought they were going to kill him. Police fired stun grenades to disperse the attackers. A journalist in the crowd was hit in the back by a rubber bullet.
Protesters looted the clothing and home appliance shop of Pakistani Muhammed Yaqoob. The floor was strewn with broken glass and debris. A dismayed Yaqoob walked gingerly over the broken glass, counting the cost of his empty shelves.
“I was at home when I received a call that my shop has been broken into. They took mattresses, shoes and blankets which amount to R50,000 (around $3,800),” he says.
“Life is better when there is peace. We are here to work for our families. And I believe that we are providing jobs, in this shop alone we have three ladies we hired. I’m also involved in feeding schemes providing food to local churches and giving blankets to street kids. But these are the same people who were among the group that stole our stuff,” says Zahid Afzal, chairperson of the area’s business forum.
In 2003, Afzal traveled 7,617 kilometers from Pakistan to Pretoria for business. He makes about R5,000 ($380) a week and sends half of it to his wife and two children. He’s contemplating going home, even if it’s not that safe there.
“Most of us are here because we are under threat of terrorism in Pakistan. There’s lots of bomb blasts happening in every part of the country. If this continues we have no choice but to go back home,” says Afzal.
About 40 shops have closed in Mamelodi and Atteridgeville, in Pretoria, and 12 houses were burned in Rosettenville, south of Johannesburg. According to Brigadier Sally De Beer of the South African Police Service, about 136 people were arrested for looting and being in possessing firearms and drugs.
“I’m actually not willing to stay in South Africa as I can see the situation is like this now, I’d rather go back to Somalia. I’m sure if I’d be killed in my country I would be killed by a terrorist, not by civilians,” says Hasen.
While we were in Atteridgeville, police arrested South African protesters, confiscating a firearm as well as needles and drugs wrapped in a black shopping bag. By this time it was chaos.
“I was born to die. If I die today, it’s fine. But your mother will be killed first. F**k you,” shouted a man, believed to be a Nigerian, raising a middle finger to the mob.
“The dislike of foreigners in the use of foreign labor from Africa, India, and Europe to undermine black economic and political power during the apartheid period… this has conditioned people to see foreigners – particularly Africans, but also those from other regions – as a threat. This sense of threat has been exacerbated by public statements and actions from officials in all parties, police, and people in society at large,” says Loren Landau, from the African Centre for Migration &amp; Society at the University of the Witwatersrand.
Inequality and unemployment make it worse.
“Unless the conditions leading to these attacks change, violence will continue,” he says.
“Public education is a start, but this will not counter the incentives and benefits of violence for those who lead it. We will need the police to hold organizers responsible; to reconsider how we plan and manage our cities and to hold politicians to task when they demonize any group in our society, including refugees and other immigrants.”
According to the Nigerian Union South Africa spokesperson, Eneka Ezinteje, about 800,000 Nigerians are currently in South Africa.   According to reports, about 116 Nigerians were attacked in South Africa in the last two years. In 2016, 20 were killed.
How many Africans have to die before something is done?

There Will Be Blood, Brother

<h2> Migrant businesses have become an integral part of the economic ecosystem.</h2>
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In the bustling heart of Johannesburg’s Central Business District (CBD) lie a stretch of migrant economies. Microcosms of China, India, Egypt, Turkey, Somalia and Ethiopia have popped up with the smell, sound and feel of home.
As you walk down Commissioner Street, under the highway and past columns of graffiti, The Oriental Plaza comes into view. Designed like a souq, the traditional meandering Arabic market, the plaza sells everything from saris and suits to curtains, pots and incense. The aroma of piping hot samosas hits you as you walk through the gates, the sizzle of hot oil permeates the walkways and there are stains of bright red chilli sauce on the al fresco tables. The savouries are the best in town and the perfect start before you bargain your way through the stalls.
Out of the gates and a street away, Mint Road is an informal extension of the plaza. Stalls selling hot chilli bites and fresh juice border the market. Bollywood heartthrob Shah Rukh Khan and his latest swooning heroine play on small television sets. It’s like stepping into a market in Mumbai or Delhi where Hindi, Urdu and Bengali converge.
The last census conducted in 2011 put the number of immigrants, both documented and undocumented, in South Africa, at just over two million. While some acquired citizenship on arrival, over one million were not citizens in 2011. Immigrants made up 4.2% of the entire population, which stood at roughly 51 million at the time. Of the 4.2%, 71% of the immigrants were from other African countries. Immigrants have created economic hubs across the country.
In a study conducted by the African Centre for Cities (ACC) at the University of Cape Town in 2015, migrants and refugees in Cape Town and Johannesburg have pinpointed the gap in the informal market. By providing cheaper goods and services for the poorer segments of the population and monopolizing niche demands, migrants have made a significant contribution to the population. Most of these migrant businesses also support South African factories, wholesalers and supermarkets and are subject to value added tax. They have become an integral part of the economic ecosystem.
From Shanghai to Mogadishu via Mumbai, it’s an economy built on the search for the African dream in the City of Gold, but it may soon become a nightmare.
Early 2016, Home Affairs Minister Malusi Gigaba proposed a host of new policies to clamp down on economic migrants. The proposed policy would see those like the Somali traders in Mayfair or the Pakistani shop owners in Fordsburg lose the right to work, trade and study in the country. If it all goes through, asylum-seekers could be confined to processing centers near the border, where “their basic needs will be catered for” while they are kept from “integrating into communities”.
For the traders along Johannesburg’s migrant mile, the future is somewhat dim and uncertain. In the pages that follow, FORBES WOMAN AFRICA focuses on the migrants who became entrepreneurs despite all the odds they faced.
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<h2>The Chaudry Women</h2>
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The once lively market on Mint Road in Johannesburg now houses stalls selling DVDs and sunglasses stacked next to each other like clones. The smell of fried corn in butter wafts through the streets even as competing Bollywood beats drown each other out. In a small corner of the market, the Chaudry family are an unusual sight. Aisha Chaudry and her sisters Asimah and Amina own one of the only stalls run by women.
Kaniz-Fatima and her husband Yawar-Abbas Chaudry came to South Africa in 1991 on their honeymoon and decided to stay for good. The couple from Karachi, Pakistan, started their business in Fordsburg 15 years ago as one of the first stalls in the square.
“My parents would come here at five after work. It was full and crowded, it was just like a playground for us,” recalls Aisha.
With rows of Basmati rice, snacks from India and Pakistan and spicy corn, the Chaudry family set themselves apart from the rest. After starting as an informal market, the City of Johannesburg decided to build a structure around the market in the late 2000s. For a year, business was impossible. The stress of trying to make ends meet took its toll and Yawar-Abbas died before the business could bounce back.
“Before, we didn’t have to work hard, business just came. Now we work twice as hard for half the money. Things changed and all the stall owners weren’t a family anymore,” says Aisha.
For the daughters on Mint Road, things are changing and everyday life has become a struggle.
“We’re here every day and every evening. My sisters are still in school and I want to be a teacher. Who knows how long we’ll be here,” says Aisha.
It’s not uncommon in migrant economies for children to man stalls.
For these families, it’s all about survival and making it to the end of each month.
They maintain a cheery disposition but business has certainly taken a dive in the last decade. What once were great economic hubs are now plagued by crime and urban decay. On either side of the square, people are closing up shop.
“Business is okay,” says Aisha, unconvincingly.
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<h2>The Last Brothers On Commissioner Street</h2>
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Commissioner Street is the former China Town. As you walk down the deserted street with locked doors and bright red signs, there are two shops at the end. The Pon family has run a supermarket for 73 years and a firework shop for 20. The brothers, Walter and King, work across the road from each other. For a fleeting moment, until a taxi blasting the latest Cassper Nyovest song zooms by, you’re transported out of Johannesburg.
You’re in Mainland China adorned with Chinese lanterns, families chatting in fast-paced Mandarin, aisles lined with noodles and dried oyster mushrooms, and shelves stacked with fireworks and laughing Buddhas.
Steel bars cover the windows and security guards man the doors.
One ring of the bell gets you past the first gate, another ring gets you past the second. But the business’ longevity is a big question mark.
“I’m the oldest man to live and work here,” says Walter Pon with a cheeky smile. In its peak days, Chinatown was bustling. Births, deaths and everything in between would be discussed over jasmine tea and prawn crackers. Shops would stay open long into the evening before the men would retreat upstairs to play poker into the wee hours.
“We were the biggest gamblers. We would start these gambling joints every night and play until we were called to bed. Everything was here with some Chinese muti [medicine] for luck,” says Walter.
In the throes of apartheid, the Chinese were in no man’s land.
“Not black enough, not white enough, we were in limbo,” says Walter.
The Group Areas Act passed by the apartheid government in 1950 placed different racial groups in certain residential and business areas. With a tiny population of 10,000, the act didn’t account for the Chinese.
“The Chinese were in small numbers so they didn’t know where to send us. Landlords wouldn’t rent to us so we would get white nominees to rent the shops and we would work for them,” says Walter.
During the 1980s and 1990s, the economy opened up for the Chinese and they were allowed to buy property.
“Apartheid did a lot of damage to the country but what it did was hold the Chinese together,” says Walter.
At the helm of the brothers’ stores is their 103-year-old mother, Shue Chee Pon, who rules with an iron fist and keeps a watchful eye on Walter, 76, and King, 66. Her picture lies above their desks and she checks in with her sons every morning.
They’re the last of their family on Commissioner Street but they have an impressive track record. They boast big names like Winnie Mandela and Jessie Duarte as regulars.
“My kids left. Getting degrees, going overseas – that’s how you make your money now. My mother phones me and asks me ‘who’s going to take over’ and the truth is that there is nobody,” says Walter.
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<h2>The Little Coffee Shop In Little Mogadishu</h2>
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Further up from Johannesburg’s CBD towards Mayfair, a once predominantly Indian area, a new economy is just beginning to take shape.
The women man the stalls, taking time out to chat amongst themselves or to kneel on mats and recite from the Holy Quran. Questions are met with cold stares unless you’re asking for the price of their goods. Rows of shawls and handicrafts are stacked alongside traditional garments in every color with bejeweled scarves to match.
Just past the Shoprite supermarket is Little Mogadishu, three roads of Somali-owned shops and flats. It’s late on a Saturday afternoon and the azan, the call to mosque, fills the air as people hastily finish the rest of their coffee before rushing to pray.
The men convene daily over coffee at Ebrahim Ali’s Qaxwo Coffee Shop. His shop is named after the Somali word for coffee. Heated discussions about sport are conducted in Arabic and Somali over steaming cups of the dark and bitter qaxwo and sickly-sweet coconut biscuits.
In 1991, the Somali central government collapsed when the capital Mogadishu was captured by the rival militia. A power battle began, plunging the country into a 20-year civil war. More than half a million Somalis were forced to leave their country and live as refugees in others.
The Ali brothers ran a panel-beating business in Kismaayo in Somalia. When the civil war hit, they fled to Tanzania.
“I came through the border 16 years ago. My brother and I left Tanzania for a better life when Somalis were being attacked,” says Ali.
With a large local Muslim population and a human rights-based constitution, South Africa seemed like the best option.
“Somalis came here three times. First there was a small community of 400, then more came in 1992 and the rest of us came in 2000,” says Ali.
There are now around 80,000 Somalis in South Africa. It took the brothers four years to get their panel-beating business off the ground again. Although they had made Johannesburg their home, the spate of xenophobic attacks in 2008 hit hard.
Early on a Monday morning that year, Ali returned to his workshop and found everything still locked up.
Frantically, he banged on his brother’s door. There was no reply. When he eventually broke through, he found his brother’s body. He had been strangled and the business looted. With a loss of $57,500 and a heavy heart, he walked away and laid charges against a homeless community who lived near the building.
“Eight years later, the case is still pending. I’m still waiting,” says Ali.
Ali decided to start over but opening another panel-beating shop proved too expensive on his own. Instead, he started small, selling one flask of coffee every morning on the side of the road.
“People were coming here just for my coffee. One flask turned into a big shop,” says Ali. His shop is an ode to Somalia. The walls are covered in traditional artefacts and Somali shillings. Business is a struggle but Ali keeps reminders of home close.
“You must never forget the path you’ve walked,” he says.

Tag: Shops

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There Will Be Blood, Brother

The Migrant Mile