Eating jobs

Walmart recently entered SA to much fanfare and consternation. Capitalists licked their jowls and trade unionists protested. Some people celebrated cheap prices and wider range, while some worried about their jobs. 

I caught a glimpse of what Walmarts entry into SA might mean yesterday. On the way to the station, we drove past the Timbercity in Lakeside. Timbercity is a South African hardware chain store. A few years ago a Builders Wharehouse (a Walmart subsidiary) opened up about a kilometre and a half up the road. The writing was on the wall for Timbercity and all the people who worked there. My phone automatically capitalises Walmart, it doesn't recognise Timbercity. Builders Wharehouse has the support of Walmart and all that comes with. They can stay open late and on weekends and not worry about initial loses, they have a much bigger range than Timbercity and they will soon be a monopoly. Already my friends in Joburg talk about going to Builders and not the hardware store. I don't think this consolidation of the market place is good for society. The invisible hand of the market will ensure there are less jobs and the jobs there are are McJobs (compare the concept of a job to a livelihood). 

What can you do about this? Unless you're an activist, and it's your life's work, not much. Perhaps you could hit capitalism where it hurts though. Never enter a Builders shop (there are a bunch of different types) without a shopping list, and never leave with more than is on your shopping list. What do you think?

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To put a human face on all this. I was walking my dog on Zandvlei, near where I lived at the time. The dog ran into the vlei near the bridge and went after a duckling. A man saw it happen, and didn't see the duckling reappear. He told me that he thought my dog had killed it. Not in an angry way, more just sad. I saw he had a Timbercity shirt on, and recognised him from there. 

He walked off, I scolded my dog and stood looking out over the vlei in the direction of the beach and water slides where the duckling had been. Pretty soon I saw the duckling bob back to the surface and join its (my long range duckling sexing skills aren't what they used to be) parents. I was happy. 

I had to go into Timbercity later that day and saw the same guy. I told him the duckling had survived - he was really happy. I hope he has managed to find a job somewhere else now. 

Hope

It started with a conversation about a platform shop. As we pulled out of Cape Town Station he said it would be great if we could just quickly buy something from the shop, if only they had an entrance on the platform. Sweets, something to drink or a newspaper. Then they would make a killing. I said "but then the people would get free access to the train, and they'd have to control it". Silence. Me problem solving: "What about a small window. Then people could just say what they wanted, pay for it and it gets passed through the window." Satisfied silence?

As we approach De Doorns, we stop and wait for police to clear striking farm workers off the tracks. The police on board ask us to close the blinds in case people are throwing stones. For a moment, me and my camera phone feel like a member of the Bang Bang Club. Somehow sharing a tense moment gets the conversation going again. He tells me about a farmer he met who sends grapes from that area all over the world. He is angry at others eating grapes when South Africans can't. I am too.

The dry Karoo landscape silences mirror our conversation like the distant mountains. A political mountain approaches. We talk with disgust of Jacob Zuma and Nkandla. He tells me about meeting Ramaphosa "...before NUM. Before he changed his jacket. When he used to run side by side with Biko". I'm fleshing out my academic history with these gems, scattered like the sheep across the landscape. We both agree that education is the key. He tells me how he would put money into teacher training colleges if he were Zille and uplifting schools like Langa High to be more like Rondebosch Boys Prep. Langa High was the only high school for Africans in Cape Town when he was young. My dad went to "Roast Beef and Pork Sausages".

Train and electricity warning signs alert non-existent drivers that they will soon cross our path on the dusty roads. I tell him I want to mentor young people and how I think that that is so important. I don't mention her, but I'm proud of my mums work when he agrees with me that it is important in overcrowded schools. He tells me he worked for the Western Cape Government. I'm proud to explain my work, but tell it from the peoples side, not the environments. He is a proud PAC supporter. Robert Sobukwe said there is only one race, the human race, as we cross a river. The PACs downfall was accepting money from a white Australian woman. It shouldn't have been. He's angry because of that. Mandela didn't have a mandate from the ANC or the people of South Africa to negotiate. Mandela sold us out, and he's not too impressed with the little man, Tutu, either.

He didn't start talking about the grape farmer once we had passed the striking workers. What he told me was that when he went to school in Fort Beaufort (because there was only one high school in Langa for Africans) he used to hate taking the train. He said that with passion, and his bottom lip quivered. There used to be a shop on the platform, and only the white people could go inside. The black people were served through a small window on the side.

As the Karoo succumbs to sunset he says "I'm glad I could speak to you, Glen." I say, "I am too, Sky." I think how glad I am there wasn't a free coupe. He goes to get water to take his pills.