CHAPTER 1

A CONSTANT CURIOSITY

The Johannesburg CBD thrums with urban activity. Hawkers, hooting cars, hurrying pedestrians. On Market Street a man stands shouting, "Empty... empty... empty... empty cassette, two for five rand." His calls ring out from morning to evening.

I'm standing, alone, in the middle of it all. I'm just ten years old, but I'm not at all scared. Far from it - I love the feeling of independence as I walk the city streets. I love the challenge of finding my way, I love being able to indulge my considerable curiosity, and I love the responsibility of my chore: I'm off to deposit the money my mother has earned from her latest assignment as an interior designer.

I didn't know it then, but those moments on Johannesburg's streets were formative. Not only did they shape my personality, giving me an unshakeable belief in myself; but taking on responsibility at such an early age, and being trusted to handle money while I was still so young, primed me to become a business owner.

My learnings as an entrepreneur started early. I grew up with my grandmother in Mofolo North, a region in Soweto best known for its train station - which, I think, indicates how little went on there. My grandmother was a lot of fun but strict too; a larger than life, matriarchal character who was extremely loving towards me and my cousins, who also lived with her. I loved my cousin Zwelakhe, very deeply. We were besties; if ever we fought, the argument would last only a minute or two before we made amends. For a long time, I didn't realise that we were only cousins; I thought that he was my brother. Zwelakhe was my uncle's son - my mother's younger brother - and, according to our culture, as a newlywed, his wife was expected to spend some time with her husband's mother so that she could be trained to be a proper wife.

I was very happy at that time. In my mind, my grandmother was my second mother, just as connected to me as my real mother, Lindiwe Mkhwanazi, who stayed in Molapo with my brother and sister. The enclosed structure of her house, which featured a massive carport that kept the inside of the house hidden from view, meant that it was frequently used by struggle comrades seeking a safe place for meetings. I remember them planning activities against the police, who came to the house from time to time. To this day I am not actually sure whether my mother was a secret member of the ANC - which, at the time, was a banned organisation - although I highly doubt it. She was always more spiritually inclined than political. In any event, it was mostly because of this political activity, as well as the violence that plagued this part of Soweto, that my mother eventually decided we siblings would be safer if we lived elsewhere. I was sent to my grandmother's house with my brother, Sabelo, while my sister Malindi was sent to boarding school. I'm not too sure exactly how old I was when all of this happened, which shows that it wasn't a big deal for me. I didn't even miss my mother much because she came to visit every two weeks.

It was my grandmother who gave me my first taste of entrepreneurship, because she sold cold drinks from her house. She used to keep her earnings in a money bag, and one of my earliest memories is of my brother, Sabelo, trying his luck with it: we had all gathered for prayers before bedtime, as we usually did, when Sabelo decided that he would take advantage of everyone's eyes being closed to slide his hand into the bag and take some of her money. Obviously, he hadn't thought about the jingling coins that would give him away instantly. His buttocks stung for the next two days.

If my grandmother was strict, my mother was more of a go-with-the-flow kind of person. She had stern moments, but she was very open-minded and happy to let us be. My father doesn't feature in my early memories at all. I have a vague recollection of driving through the Johannesburg CBD in a Mercedes with a smartly dressed man, but I can't be sure he was my dad.

My mother's sewing business had a special focus on making curtains. She'd learnt her skills from my grandmother, who used to sew beautifully. Her talent is a family inheritance - I can also sew and knit, and she taught me how to make curtains too. As testimony to her abilities, her clients included the likes of Winnie Mandela, Rebecca Malope, and the owner of the Kaizer Chiefs soccer team. Lindi's Curtain Boutique was enormously successful: not only did my mother support all of us as a single mother, she also employed ten people.

I got to see her business skills in action often: sometimes, when she came to visit, she'd take me along to her factory in President Street. I loved going with her. When I was a little older, in Grade 5, she'd send me to the Oriental Plaza, where I'd buy ribbons and other things she needed. It was a long walk for a skinny boy, and most people who saw me probably thought I was lost and maybe needed help, but I knew exactly where I was going, and I relished those moments. At the back of my mind, I knew that it was unusual for a boy my age to be given so much responsibility, but the way I saw it, my early independence and freedom were a gift from my mom.

I also learnt a lot from these excursions. Those walks to the bank came about because one of my duties was to fill out deposit slips at the bank, which meant that by the time I was eight years old I was long past the stage of piggy banks. I'd been transacting with significant amounts of money - sometimes up to R4 000 - for some time. I didn't get nervous dealing with money, nor did I see it as a chore. I had an innate sense of obedience, so I was happy to do anything I was asked to do, but more than that, I saw these outings as an adventure. Any anxiety I may have had was negated by the methodical way I approached the task. I followed a strict thought process in my head: first I will wait for green, then I will look both ways and only then will I cross the street.

This independence served me well in other areas. By the time I was in Grade 3, I thought nothing of catching a train from my school in Molapo to Park Station, then catching a bus to Gandhi Square and another to Rosettenville.

That's just one way I was different to my peers. My total lack of interest in sports was another. I guess this is one of the only areas where I felt the lack of a father, because there was no one to orient me in that direction. I didn't play sports at school, and when the other kids in Molapo discussed their favourite soccer teams - which they did often - I just didn't know what to say, even though there were really only two to choose from, Chiefs or Pirates. I'll say that I'm a Chiefs supporter if I'm asked, but to this day, I can't name a single player.

I wasn't all that interested in academics, either. In fact, I was made to repeat Grade 1 because of my attitude. I wasn't a rebellious child - as I've said, I had a very compliant nature - but I simply believed that my way of doing things was superior to anything the teachers tried to show me. They decided that I wouldn't be able to move forward unless I changed my outlook.

I wasn't particularly perturbed by this development; mostly because that year I was forced to change schools after my grandmother passed away and I went to live with my mother.

This was a very happy event for me. As much as I had loved living with my grandmother, there were times when I found it very difficult. My earliest memory of my mother is from one of her visits: she was about to leave my grandmother's house, and I was begging her to let me come with her. She told me to pack my bags while she went to the car, and when I went outside to meet her at the car, she had already gone.

All the same, I missed my cousins terribly when I moved away from my grandmother's house. I'd been extremely close to them; I still am. As far as I was concerned, they were just as close to me as my siblings.

Changing schools was also tough. I'm an introvert by nature and coming out of my shell or allowing people into my life is difficult to the point of being painful - it feels like I'm being invaded. As I've grown older, I've learnt how to manage this. I think that, if you met me, you would never be able to tell that I'm introverted, because I'm open and friendly. As a kid, though, I hadn't yet mastered this aspect of my personality, and I battled to make connections with others. This is where my independence was a gift - because I was happy in my own company, I didn't worry about friends. I just didn't see the point in trying to be a cool kid. Although I had one or two close mates, I didn't want to be part of a big crowd - I was quite antisocial. I was happy to stay in my corner. I guess I was a misunderstood kid. I wasn't naughty, but I definitely had a rebellious streak, and most people felt that I was quite left field. I guess I just carried myself differently, and I had absolutely no interest in fitting in. I was a rebel with no real reason, but I believe that's served me throughout my life. Rebelliousness is in my blood, and is still very much a part of my character. I think that's what enabled me to come up with my business ideas and find solutions to problems. Rebelliousness is what makes me look at the way we do things and wonder why we do it like that; it makes me determined to find a better way.

My rebelliousness may be a trait I cherish now, but it was something of a problem while I was at school. If a teacher told me that this was how you write a letter, I'd tell her that she was wrong...