I felt as if I was walking in my sleep; it seemed unimaginable that I was standing in the great man’s tiny cell – a cell that I had never dreamt of visiting in a democratic South Africa. The iron bedframe and coarse grey blanket were Mandela’s only creature comforts during the long period he spent in that bleak island prison. This brought home to me the fact that Mandela’s humanity did not come from having or not having; it was a quality that emanated from within.
The stone quarry where Mandela chopped limestone is a cheerless place; the limestone is blinding white in the harsh sunlight, and it caused agony and damage to the prisoners who were forced to chop it up into small pieces for road gravel. I took a photograph of Connie standing in the limestone cave where the prisoners had sought shelter from seething heat, dismal cold, piercing wind and driving rain. We were surprised at the large number of rabbits that hopped about the island and scurried into holes amid the scrubby fynbos.
Mandela and his fellow prisoners had succeeded in overcoming the misery of long-term incarceration by reading and debating issues among themselves, and many of them had studied through Unisa. In this way, he and his comrades had rescued themselves from being tainted by bitterness.
Books have been constant companions in my own life. It is through the solitary pursuit of reading that I have managed to educate myself and broaden the foundations of the inferior education that I received as a boy. By reading widely, I have tried to inform myself about the world and many of its remarkable people. Through books, I am constantly exposed to ideas that have resonated with me and helped me to consider and solve specific issues in my personal and business life. I believe, therefore, that libraries are very important resources for people with limited means. While interaction with people has taught me much, focused reading such as Hearing Grasshoppers Jump: The Story of Raymond Ackerman, is invaluable. This recent biography provides useful insights into the life and experiences of an entrepreneur with exceptional energy and vision. Books like this have always been useful aids that helped me to formulate ideas, create a business model for Black Like Me and ensure the company’s future success.
Chapter 14
By 1997 Black Like Me had grown into a leading haircare company, but was not without its troubles along the way. There had been a major setback four years before. The company had entered a new phase of development on 17 November 1993 as a result of my determination to increase production. After consulting with my management board, we decided to put the company into 24-hour production. Additional staff members were hired to work the extra shift that was necessary to meet the revised production output. I held a meeting with the newly recruited staff members to confirm their duties and discuss the expectations and procedures of the company, and we were all filled with the sense that Black Like Me was on the brink of expansion.
I will never forget the events of that night. I returned home, and Connie and I enjoyed dinner together as we happily discussed the day’s events. But our joy was short-lived. At 2am the telephone rang. I picked it up, and the urgency in the security guard’s voice broke through my foggy sleep.
“There is smoke coming out of the factory,” he said.
“Are you sure it’s a fire? Is the whole factory on fire, or just a part of it?” I asked disbelievingly.
The guard repeated, “There is a fire, sir. It is a big fire.”
Connie and I dressed in silence, fumbling in the darkness, too stunned to even turn on the light.
As we drove, we asked each other inane questions; we could not – would not – believe that our dreams were going up in smoke.
The car slid along the muddy streets of Mabopane as we raced to see how bad the fire was and how much of the new facility had burnt down. Before leaving home, I had phoned the Ga-Rankuwa Fire Department, hoping that they would get there in time to prevent a complete catastrophe, but their phone was constantly engaged. I’d then phoned the Rosslyn Fire Department, and although they were quick to answer, they could not help.
“I’m sorry, the factory is out of our jurisdiction,” they said.
I was furious, and I refused to be dismissed on the grounds of legalities – I had spent my life finding ways around official protocol. On the way to the factory, I took a slight detour, hoping that a personal approach would soften their response, hoping that when they saw our desperation they would relent and help us. I pulled into the Rosslyn Fire Station, rushed inside, and explained that the company had just taken delivery of packaging material that would melt like wax if we did not stop the fire, it soon became clear that they were not going to go out of their way to prevent the destruction of our factory.
We felt helpless and angry as we got back into the car and drove on. Through the dawn sky, we saw the smoke; in a couple of devastating minutes we watched as bright flames devoured the factory. The premises were surrounded by curious spectators, and the flames lit their faces; the blazing spectacle stunned us all into silence. As the clock crept towards 6am, the newly appointed and long-standing staff members started to arrive. The questions on their faces were easy to read.
“What happened?”
“How did the fire start?”
And the most urgent question of all: “What will happen to our jobs?”
Through it all, I knew that I had to be strong for Connie and my employees, and I remember turning to my old friend, Louis.
“This fire is a challenge, but we’re going to rise above it. I won’t allow it to ruin us,” I said.
I reassured everybody that Black Like Me had not died in that fire, that we would rise out of the ashes. These were encouraging words that I am not entirely sure I felt at the time, but I knew that the only way out was forward. As the owner of the company it was my duty to guide my employees through that dark period.
In the aftermath of the fire, there were nasty rumours. These were fanned by people who insisted that the fire was not an act of God, but arson. It was hard to ignore these rumours that jealous people were spreading to try to destroy me, but this was not my first experience of this kind of rumour-mongering. A similar thing had happened in the early days of Black Like Me, when I was making enough money to be able to help other people get their businesses started.
My brother Pobane was one of those who came to me for assistance.
“I’ve got a chance to become a partner in a business,” he said to me one day with a smile of anticipation. “Some of my friends have won a contract to hang curtains and fit carpets. But they are stuck, Herman, they need money. They haven’t got proper transport for the materials. We need a bakkie, my brother.”
Pobane and I visited some motor dealerships and we test-drove a few bakkies. When Pobane felt that he had found a vehicle that suited the business’s purposes, I bought it for him. I hoped that his new business venture would at last enable him to provide for his young family.
The first of the ugly rumours about Black Like Me began when Pobane died in the accident. In the customary way, we held a vigil the night before the funeral, and it was there that vicious rumours circulated.
“They did it – Herman and his mother. Mrs Mashaba.”
“It was a witchdoctor’s muti that caused the accident.”
“E-e, it was not an accident. No, man. Pobane was killed. He was sacrificed so that they will become richer.”
The vile suggestions that my mother and I had arranged my brother’s death so that Black Like Me could flourish were based on foolish cultural beliefs that still prevail in certain communities.
As a Christian, I have never subscribed to these kinds of notions, which I regard as negative, limiting and destructive. Nevertheless, the accusation that I had in some way been responsible for Pobane’s death was extremely upsetting to my family and to me in particular. It was inconceivable to me that some people actually believed that I had engaged in murder for the benefit of my business. Or were they just fabricating rumours out of jealou
sy, trying to ruin my reputation? Whatever their motive, I made it clear that business success has nothing to do with muti or ancestral spirits; people need to focus on their own living spirit to be successful.
After the fire, I was once again faced with rumours fuelled by people’s jealousy of my success. And though I was annoyed by it all, I did have my own suspicions about a certain ex-employee. So, armed with the necessary evidence, I went to the police and asked them to investigate the person whom I suspected was involved in the fire.
I believed that the fire was a result of economic jealousy, but that the perpetrator was sharp enough to take advantage of the extreme crime and violence in the townships at the time, knowing that the overtaxed police did not have sufficient resources to devote attention to a suspected arson attack. In frustration, I consulted the company’s lawyers and we offered a substantial reward, hoping that someone would come forward with information. We never received any leads, though. For some inexplicable reason the case was never investigated, and to this day it lies gathering dust in a police basement somewhere. There is no point in dwelling on the setbacks in life, and so I moved on, turning my attention instead to delivering on my promise to rebuild the company.
Shortly before the Black Like Me fire, the shopping mall belonging to my ex-partner, Walter Dube, burnt down. At the time, I owned a butchery in the mall, which my cousin, Benny Sebopa, ran. When Walter lodged his claim with the insurance company, he got a nasty shock – the insurance company had declared bankruptcy. Outraged, Walter phoned me.
“Herman, you should change Black Like Me’s insurance company. You’d better do it right now,” he said.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“Black Like Me is insured by the company I was insured with, and it won’t pay out,” he said.
As it turned out, I would receive no compensation for damage to the butchery either. But, in the meantime, I acted on Walter’s advice and immediately changed to a different company.
I made the change just in time. After the fire that destroyed Black Like Me, I lodged a claim for fire damage, but after the insurance company’s investigation they advised that they would only pay out for damage to the building and not for its contents. This was a bad blow, as prior to the fire Black Like Me was at the height of its production, its machinery cache was extensive, and so was its stock of product and packaging materials. Without the insurance money to cover the replacement of these costly items, Black Like Me was in a financial predicament. I could not afford the time that a dispute with the insurance company would have demanded of me, and so I had no alternative but to fund the losses with my personal capital.
After Connie and I had moved to Heatherdale, we had been only mildly concerned with our safety, but subsequent to the fire, we began to have other thoughts.
“Herman, if the rumours of arson are true, maybe they’ll attack this house next. They could come here and try to kill you. Both our lives could be in danger,” Connie said to me a few days after the fire. “I can’t live with the stress of fearing for our lives; you have to do something,” she said.
It was clear to me that Connie had been traumatised by the fire, and I fully understood her concerns about our safety. After this, I employed two personal bodyguards. The men I hired were ex-British Special Forces servicemen, and their services were tagged at the exorbitantly high monthly fee of R30 000. Having bodyguards was not only expensive, it was also a strange experience, and after a few months I began to find the procedures more suffocating than reassuring. So I decided I would take my chances with anyone who wanted to challenge me.
Our first task after the fire was finding new premises. I spent a couple of days looking at sites with an agent in Pretoria, but we couldn’t afford the time it would take to build a new factory. In any case, we were now living under a new dispensation and I was no longer bound by restrictive group areas laws – I could establish a factory anywhere I liked. So instead of looking for land I inspected existing factories, and after about ten days I found suitable premises in Midrand. It was not all plain sailing, though. In spite of the company’s impressive financial growth, banks were still reluctant to give black businesses loans, so, without a loan or an insurance payout, I personally had to fund the re-establishment of Black Like Me.
Louis was a tremendous support to me during this time. He had joined Black Like Me in 1992, first as a salesman. He was really good at his job, and he was soon promoted to sales manager. I gave Louis a personal cheque to pay for the factory, which he delivered to the transferring attorneys. The location of the new factory meant a time-consuming commute from Pretoria, but I had no alternative.
The specialised machinery that we had amassed over the years could not be replaced overnight, and as I tackled the mammoth task ahead of us, it felt as though I was teaching Black Like Me to walk again. The situation forced us to go back to basics, and the company had to make some serious decisions.
Strong businesses are built by strong people, and the company employees were instrumental in rebuilding Black Like Me. Two weeks after the fire we started operating in the Midrand factory, but we could not possibly take up from where we had left off; it was not just a case of business as usual. Without the necessary machinery, we did not have the capacity to produce a full complement of Black Like Me products. So we decided to chart a strategy that was feasible, without continually looking back over our shoulders at what production had been “before the fire”.
One of the company’s most dedicated employees was Meshack Mahlangu, affectionately known as Madonsi; he was the factory manager, and he took charge of “Mission Recovery”. He organised, strategised and worked at maximum capacity to ensure that we met our targets and commitments. I have rarely experienced such dedication from an employee. While the staff gave their all to our recovery plan, we were logistically frustrated. Suppliers with standing orders to deliver chemicals and packaging had to be contacted and advised of our changed circumstances. We had to inform them where to deliver, or what supplies were no longer required; this huge task demanded co-ordination and co-operation from all the parties involved, and the Black Like Me staff proved their mettle.
At the time of the fire, Black Like Me had a range of 120 products, but we were no longer able to produce all of them. We took the decision to produce only limited lines that could be manufactured with the machinery that we were able to buy at that point. Some of these lines, in particular Step 1, which was a big seller at the time, enjoyed excellent margins and was easy to manufacture. Using a few 1 000l drums and a single stirrer, we went back into production; once again, our bottles had to be filled manually. However, this time I was not able to involve myself in the manufacturing process. I had to get out to customers and explain our situation and ensure that they were aware of our reduced capabilities. The production line was extended to its limit, but throughout this difficult time, the staff were unswerving in their support.
Before the fire, Black Like Me had enjoyed a prominent position in the market, but afterwards our sales plummeted. November and December were traditionally the best trading months of the year, but with only a single product in the market, our turnover plunged. Consumer demand was still enormous, but salons were forced to look to our competitors to satisfy their needs. Inevitably, our turnover decreased dramatically. But it was not only the fire that crippled the company; the post-1994 election saw an unprecedented increase in crime, and Black Like Me did not escape unscathed. The immediate effect of the crime wave was on our staff; three were hijacked while doing company deliveries, including Louis. Informal township salons that had no – or very limited – security were soft targets, and theft had a ripple effect that eventually reached Black Like Me. Our company policy had been to sell products to salon owners on credit, but because they were mostly uninsured, they were unable to pay their suppliers for stock that had been stolen. In the Black Like Me boardroom management discussed this problem at
length, but we were eventually forced to take the tough decision not to extend credit. As a result, we found ourselves in a catch-22 situation: we could not afford to extend credit, and some customers could not buy without terms of credit. At times, it felt as if the company was taking one step forward and two steps back.
The original hopes I’d had of expanding Black Like Me were shelved. The company was only just hanging on to its reduced market share – and so we were forced to focus on survival rather than expansion.
After 1994, with the new ANC government in power, attempts were made to address racial disparities in business advancement. Whites had enjoyed the monopoly in business, and the new government was eager to show its commitment to change. Black Economic Empowerment (BEE) became the buzzword, and my peers and friends were approaching me with business ideas to take advantage of the situation. But no matter how frustrated I was with our company’s slow creep back to its former dominant position in the haircare industry, I had little inclination to investigate BEE.
I was constantly being approached by companies to sell Black Like Me and to retain a BEE position within the company, but I was not at all interested in doing so. To be honest, I felt insulted at times when I watched as some of my peers allowed themselves to be wooed by corporates, only to end up occupying the corner office with nothing to keep them busy other than the view from their office window. I have always had a strong work ethic and I had no inclination to be a ja-broer on a corporate board; if I were ever to decide to join the BEE bandwagon, I’d make sure I was the person driving it, and not one of the people reclining on the back of the vehicle.
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