The Story of Themba Lize

When Themba was growing up in a township near Johannesburg, he had one pair of shoes which he wore to school and church; at other times he went barefoot. His father was a labourer who mended shoes to earn extra money to support his family. This is where Themba started learning his trade. He would take apart an old pair of shoes and use it as a pattern for a new pair.

“I knew that I wanted to make shoes, and the thought of having only one pair encouraged me,” he says.   

When he moved to Cape Town, he learnt design and pattern-making and started his own company, joining the African Art Factory at the Waterfront. He soon caught the attention of South African fashion label, Sun Goddess, who ordered sandals for their store in Johannesburg. He applied for a loan from the Nations Trust to buy a sewing machine, raw materials and hand tools. Things were looking up, customers were coming in and so were the orders. However, on 17 April 2006, Easter Monday, a day forever etched in his memory, the building housing his studio burnt down. With nothing to fall back on, and no money to start over, he was forced to look for another job.

Greater forces were clearly at work, though. Two events occurred simultaneously: Sun Goddess, impressed with the quality of his work, placed an order for 104 pairs of sandals, and Richard Harris, of Woodheads, read about the fire in the newspaper. Themba had been a loyal customer, buying his leather and tools from the company. Harris offered him a sewing machine and everything he needed to get back on his feet again. “I really appreciate what they did for me. I cannot thank them enough.” With a 25% deposit from Sun Goddess, he was back on his feet.

It is this determination to rise above his misfortune that sees him well on his way to achieving his dream of being one of the finest qualified leather designers in South Africa.  They say you can't keep a good man down. 

Recently, Themba extended his scope to include bags made from locally produced calfskin, with beaded handles made by Kunye. 

To find out more about Themba's bags and shoes: Contact Orietta: +27 731173485 or email her at  orinicame@libero.it 

Belonging - university, rugby and SAX Appeal

My daughter left for varsity yesterday morning sporting a vest that identified her as an Ikeys supporter. She was going off to support the UCT rugby team who were playing against Stellenbosch, the Maties. I didn’t even know that she liked to watch rugby. Actually, I don’t think she is too clear about the rules but is rather enjoying being part of all the hype.

She is having a very different UCT experience compared to what it was like for me in the 1980s. A month ago she got up at the crack of dawn, dressed in neon-coloured tights, T-shirt and headband, to stand on a street corner to sell SAX Appeal and participated in all the activities during RAG week. She has signed up for SHAWCO, the students’ health and welfare community organisation and joined the Film Society. She is spending her Saturday mornings tutoring maths to grade sevens in Khayelitsha.

When she talks about sitting on Jammie steps, taking the bus or going to the library, she makes me a little nostalgic for the time that we had there. I am enjoying seeing it through her eyes. She belongs, no baggage attached. Unfortunately, UCT was resoundingly thrashed (45-5) but she didn’t seem to mind too much. 

Missing Out?

I had a little chuckle when I read my friend Kate’s wall post on her Face book page: “Being in Cape Town and not doing the Argus is a bit like being alone on New Year’s Eve”. Our neighbours opposite were doing it, other friends have been hard at training, and we had friends from Johannesburg around for “carbo-loading” on Saturday evening. Actually, we had tried to book a restaurant, but every Italian place and a few others, was fully booked. Eventually we settled on take-outs and had a very pleasant, early evening.

Not being a cyclist, though, it seems to me that you have to be a little crazy to want to spend so many hours on a bike. Granted the scenery is amongst the best in the world but there are easier ways to see it. It’s great though, that we have this “largest timed cycling event in the world” right here in our city. It far outweighs any inconvenience related to closed roads, fully booked restaurants and bike talk and manoeuvring around schedules.

Yesterday afternoon as I was walking around the shops, I kept over-hearing snippets of conversation – everyone seemed to be talking about the race – on their cell phones or over coffee. I heard some of the blood, sweat and tears that went into the race. So I guess it is a bit like being alone while everyone is having a big party. We might have to start a support group next year...

Who even lives there?

Changing the names of streets, airports and places always stirs up controversy. But it is more than opinion or personal preference that should make us rid our country of reminders of the oppression or honouring of the heroes of the old regime. Sometimes it is more than necessary and we need to just get on with it and get used to it.

It may just be a nod in the right direction, like calling the food court at UCT The Cissie Gool Plaza – the students just call it "the food court", but it is nice to think that a great champion for equal rights has been honoured.

Over the last 18 years we have had more than one change in local government in the Western Cape. There have been many discussions about name changes, and we now proudly show off a Nelson Mandela and a Helen Suzman Boulevard and have honoured people like Dr Chris Barnard. All great – we should remember our heroes.

I was disturbed to find, on a recent visit behind the Boerewors curtain though, that there still exists a Hendrik Verwoerd Drive. Hendrik Verwoerd was undoubtedly the architect of the evil system of apartheid, responsible for the legalisation of the misery and suffering that was part of our country for so many years, and from which we are still recovering. I am intrigued by who lives there: by who would have no qualms about giving their address and saying that name. It’s as bad as having Adolf Hitler Boulevard in Germany. I am sure that if all the residents who live in that road had vociferously objected, they could have changed it years ago, since local government seems to be occupied with more important things. Clearly they don’t mind.

Anyone keen on a midnight raid...?

Taste with your Eyes!

Surprise: an emotion that occurs when something breaks our habitual pattern.

On Friday we were indeed surprised and out of our regular routine of downing tools after a busy week ready for pizza in front of the television. We had booked in at Le Quartier Francais for dinner in their Tasting Room and were spending the night. We were joined by Swedish family friends.

The Tasting Room is regarded as one of the best restaurants in SA and we were looking forward to seeing just what it was that made them so great. We were in for an eating experience. The décor is quite funky, punctuated with flashes of bright pink and orange, but with a classic feel. The quote above was set on the table in front of us.

We chose the seven-course, African-inspired tasting menu. Each course was explained as it was set in front of us. Our waiter entertained us with little anecdotes about ingredients like buchu, baobab and biltong. The first serving of corn bread in a pilchards tin, accompanied by butter with caramelised milk solids, caused one of our friends to exclaim, “Taste with your eyes!” and that pretty much set the scene for what was to follow.

We enjoyed course after course of colourful dishes imaginatively presented on boards, different plates, and even a strip of slate. The surprise was definitely in the tasting – beetroot-red crispy looking balls dissolved in our mouths to reveal an unexpectedly soft and creamy centre; a cigar of avocado and shrimp which looked like it was encased in seaweed, splintered when we bit into it.

This was an exercise in mindfulness – we paused between courses to prepare for what was coming, delighted in the presentation, taste and smell of it and discussed the sensations which were being stimulated. We could hardly believe that 5 hours had passed. We had eaten well, but not over-eaten and dinner had been an experience to savour. Well done, chef Margot Janse van Rensburg!

To 120!

When I woke up yesterday morning I wanted to give myself a hug to seal in all the good vibrations. I felt like a child who did not want her birthday to end. As I lay in bed I replayed the events of the night before - I had the best celebration ever – great food, great company and great music.

The occasion was a BIG birthday which deserved to be celebrated.  More than the celebration was the opportunity to thank all the many people who have supported me and kept me sane on the journey through life. Leading up to the event I had spent a lot of time thinking about who would be coming and what they meant in my life. I also wanted them to all connect with each other.

The people gathered there represented every stage of my life from student to mother and wife, and all my varied interests from yoga and meditation to Spanish, children’s rights and writing.  It was quite an international gathering, representing 12 different countries and what a privilege to be able to celebrate with all of them.

The cherry on top of this was that the Delft Band was playing – I am immensely proud of them and of their hard work and perseverance to make something of their lives despite the circumstances they find themselves in. The perfect gifts for me were to have my friends support this project.

I feel like the cat who got all the cream – I walked around I spoke to everyone who was there, and maybe I am imagining it, but the room was buzzing with good energy, accompanied by the jazz rhythms! It was a warm and festive occasion and I look forward to the next years, although perhaps not quite “to 120” – which is a blessing I got from one of my Jewish friends. 

You can't teach them anything....

You can’t protect them from everything, I have realised. I heaved a sigh of relief when my son chose hockey over rugby. Every time I hear about broken forearms and collar bones or horror of horrors, neck injuries and concussion, I thank my lucky stars that I don’t have to worry about that. And then he does a 100m sprint and next thing, something “pops” in his hip.

Orthopaedic surgeon, X-rays, MRI scan, ice and physiotherapy later, we now face two months of no sport (any suggestions for channelling the energy of a 15 year old welcome).  He has been on crutches for the last two weeks and I can see him getting fed up. They are a hindrance when he quickly wants to do something or go somewhere.  My reminders about preventing problems later by being patient now, fall on deaf ears.

I suggested to him that sometimes things happen for a reason. “You are probably going to tell me the reason,” he replied. I thought that perhaps the lesson to be learnt is that he should be more flexible, take time to stretch, rather than to be in dogged pursuit of the goal. He rolled his eyes in response. You reach the stage where you can’t teach them anything either.