Black Like You

by Mashaba, Herman;

  The PG employee programme is an excellent forum for engagement, and I have seen its men and women commit themselves to setting and reaching personal goals. Their ideas about the world, and their place in it, evolve with each encounter. Giving money is relatively easy for people who have it to give; but giving of yourself is much more demanding. When I commit to something, I only do so if I feel that I am capable of delivering the goods; there can be no letting people down. If I say I am going to be available to meet on Tuesday at 6pm, then I must be there. And when last-minute family obligations crop up, I am obliged to forfeit these in order to honour a prior social responsibility commitment. Because I generally try to balance family and public commitments, I have found that I cannot possibly accept every invitation that is extended to me.

  The outreach commitments are possible only because I have been successful in my business practices; I have made enough money to be able to take time off to give to others. The programmes enrich not only the lives of others, they enrich my life too. Daily, I am fortunate to encounter ordinary South Africans who are active in being responsible citizens. I learn from them, and our interaction refines my views and opinions about things. I could read a thousand books, I could study at almost any university if I so wished, but neither the books nor the academic knowledge are substitutes for the wisdom I have encountered in my meetings with people from all echelons of society.

  Interaction with people challenges my perceptions, broadens my knowledge about things I have never heard of, and encourages me to consider different perspectives. I might be stubborn in the boardroom and stubborn when I take a hard line on certain family issues, but I know that while it is important to be a speaker, it is just as important to be a listener. If you are the one doing all the talking, then you are not giving yourself a chance to learn anything: I have found that to be a learner, I must first be a listener.

  Chapter 20

  Looking back over my career, I am able to observe the peaks and valleys, and to realise that the variations in the landscape are representative of a balanced life. Most of the highs and lows have been recalled here, but there are some poignant moments that I haven’t mentioned, which have their own particular relevance.

  When I started planning my first Black Like Me marketing campaign, I wanted a face that represented the “Black is Beautiful” concept. My friend and customer, Thobejane, owned a salon in Dobsonville, and one of her clients was a young singer.

  “If you’re looking for a face for Black Like Me, I’ve got just the person for you,” Thobejane said.

  “Okay, but I don’t want just any beautiful black girl,” I said. “She must have some special quality.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of just anyone, I was thinking of Yvonne Chaka Chaka,” she said. “She’s really special. I could easily put you in touch, she’s one of my customers.”

  I was delighted; Yvonne is a beautiful, positive, cheerful woman, and at the time her career was poised on the brink of greatness. Thobejane introduced me to the singer, who had just released her first record “Mr Deejay”. There was no diva nonsense about her, and she graciously agreed to be the face of Black Like Me.

  I was still new at marketing, and Yvonne and I still laugh at the first poster we produced. I thought it was an easy matter: I’ve got the girl, all I need is a photographer. I didn’t have a clue about the process of producing a poster, and I had to be very careful about finances because we had so little money. When I made enquiries, I discovered that making a poster wasn’t as simple as I’d thought: I’d have to hire a studio, a professional photographer, and then send the photographs for colour separation before they went to print. Because I was so broke at the time, I decided to take a shortcut and try to find my own photographer. So I phoned my contacts and managed to get hold of a photographer who worked for the Pretoria News; I really thought I’d hit the jackpot when he offered me the use of the Pretoria News studio. Poor Yvonne, we tried to do the photo shoot as tastefully as possible, but when you’re doing everything on the cheap, it shows. Of course, when I look at it now, it’s not the most glamorous poster, but at the time it did its job and had a positive impact on our visibility and sales. In retrospect, we should probably have waited until we had enough money to do a proper job. On the other hand, though, a big part of growing a company is exactly this kind of learning experience.

  Another memorable moment involved Felicia Mabuza-Suttle, who had lived in the United States for many years and returned to South Africa after the 1994 elections; she had done so in response to Nelson Mandela’s request to South Africans living abroad to return home to help rebuild the new democracy. In the mid-1990s, she started a TV show that aimed at getting ordinary South Africans of all races to engage on issues they couldn’t discuss together during apartheid. The Felicia Show was described as “the pulse of the nation”, and was featured on NBC, CBS, ABC, CNN and the BBC; its impact was reported in the New York Times and the Atlanta Journal, and it also featured in magazines such as Constitution, InStyle (SA), Ebony, Essence and Style, and many other international publications.

  Connie and I regularly bumped into Felicia at social events, and as a result of our conversations, Connie said, “Black Like Me needs a brand ambassador, and Felicia would be perfect for the role.” At this stage, Connie was in the administrative section of the company.

  It sounded like an excellent idea, and we approached Felicia with the proposal. She graciously accepted the offer – a privilege that Black Like Me obviously had to pay for. But part of Felicia’s motive was her desire to promote black beauty and confidence; she proved to be a huge asset to Black Like Me, and we were extremely pleased with her role in the company.

  I admired Felicia not only for her beauty, but also her outspokenness. Apartheid had eroded the self-esteem of black South Africans, and Felicia showed people that, just because you’re black, this doesn’t mean you’ve got to stand back. When I speak publicly I always say that I survived because I avoided contact with white people in my formative years, thus avoiding any impairment to my dignity. I used to listen to my mother and my peers who worked in white areas, and I could see that they came back diminished – because of this, I was determined to avoid contact with white people. The point of using the Black Like Me name was to restore a sense of pride and dignity, qualities that Felicia admirably demonstrated. She was outspoken but not arrogant. To me, she was the epitome of what Black Like Me stood for. As our ambassador, Felicia featured on posters and appeared at Black Like Me functions, thereby showing her sincere involvement in the brand.

  There are always people whose names don’t appear in the limelight, people whose input has impact but who function behind the scenes. Beryl Baker is one such person. I met her when Nelson Mandela was about to turn eighty. I had been approached by the government to take charge of the committee that was organising Mandela’s birthday celebrations, but I didn’t feel ready to take on such an important international event. Beryl was on our committee, and at the time she was working with Suzanne Weil and Associates. I was impressed with her professionalism and I used to joke and say, “One day when Suzanne’s not looking, I’m going to steal you away from the company.”

  Then in 1999, when there was the chance of a buy-back of Black Like Me from Colgate, I knew that I’d need a strong personal assistant as I would be spending a lot of time negotiating the buy-back. So I phoned Suzanne, and after some pleasantries I asked, “I’ve been wondering, is Beryl still working for you?” Suzanne told me that Beryl had left, and she promised to help me trace her. I eventually made contact with Beryl and asked, “What am I going to have to do to get you to come and work for me?” Beryl laughed and told me that she was not working – I could hardly believe my luck. Beryl turned out to be everything I had hoped for, and more; she was meticulous in ensuring that all my instructions were co-ordinated, and she regularly gave me feedback on all events that related to Black Like Me. I depended very much on this wo
nderful woman who was the daughter of political activists who had left South Africa when she was still young; she had returned in the early 1990s, when exiles were allowed to return to the country.

  Only two years later, in 2001, Beryl discovered she had cancer; it was a terrible blow to everyone who knew and loved her. While she was in hospital undergoing treatment, Black Like Me was in the process of refurbishing and swapping offices. Beryl’s office was next door to mine, and the staff relocated Beryl’s office to another part of the building. When she came back from hospital, she accused the staff of trying to work her out of the company, and it was very difficult to reassure her that this was not the case. How I regret our insensitivity; that we hadn’t considered her need for stability when everything else in her life was uncertain. Beryl was in her early fifties when she passed away – a dynamic, strong-willed person. We had a very good provident fund for her, which provided for her teenage daughter. But, of course, no amount of money ever replaces a mother.

  Whenever Connie and I talk about Beryl, I say, “She went too soon, she deserved to see what we achieved.” I have told Connie many times that, apart from her, Beryl is the one person who deserved to enjoy the company’s success.

  Another dear friend we lost to cancer in 2008 was Tom Henry, who had been such an important mentor to me when he was CEO of Stocks. As with Beryl, Connie and I miss his presence immensely. Fortunately, though, I haven’t lost all the people with whom I’ve enjoyed special relationships – and one who has meant much to me is Akhter Deshmukh. In 2005 I was growing increasingly concerned about inconsistent financial reporting from one of the companies I’d bought. Shane suggested that I approach Akhter Deshmukh to do a forensic analysis of the company. Within two days, Akhter had discovered the source of the problem, and as a result of his findings we decided to disinvest, and the company was forced to buy us out. I was impressed by Akhter’s astute financial capabilities, and he joined Leswikeng in 2005 as our Chief Financial Officer. Ever since, he has been an invaluable member of our team, but he has also become a firm friend.

  I am not usually one to look back, because when you look back you cannot see the opportunities that lie ahead of you. So I will return to my story, where I have tried to discover why I managed to succeed and why my brother did not. This quest is linked to the question whether the younger generation in our country will or will not make it in the future. It all comes down to the events and experiences, but especially the choices, which shape our lives. Perhaps if I divide people into two groups I will be able, in some way, to identify what it is that separates achievers from the rest, especially those who fall by the wayside.

  Faith has underpinned my self-confidence – faith in God and faith in myself and my own abilities. Defeatists say, “Nobody is listening!” or “I don’t believe in God”, but what they are really saying is, “I’m not listening to myself”, and “I feel as if God has abandoned me”. A healthy self-esteem and the willingness to take advantage of opportunities almost guarantee the achievement of a person’s goals. Achievers believe in themselves and in their abilities, while defeatists do not believe that they have any ability or skill whatsoever.

  In the earliest days of my career, I had a robust sense of purpose. When I wanted to move away from a salaried position into a sales position, I knew that I had to be mobile. When I wanted to purchase my first car, I worked as if there were 48 hours in a day, and in this way I saved enough for a small deposit. While I was saving, my fellow employees were squandering their salaries on luxury items or trendy clothes, or on dice games or horse-racing, or on loose women in shebeens. While Connie and I lived in the tiny ZoZo, we saved whatever we could put aside, and at night we shared our dreams about making a bright future for ourselves. Pobane and I both had a vision for our lives, but Pobane’s unskilled status meant that he had to fight every day to get a job ahead of a skilled worker, making it extremely stressful to keep his family clothed and fed; his lack of higher education and diminished circumstances resulted in his getting into a survival mode that was difficult – though not impossible, I have to say – to escape. The business of survival is so overwhelming that it becomes impossible to focus on anything else; it slows one down, keeps things stagnant, so that it becomes almost impossible to change direction, resulting, eventually, in defeat. I, on the other hand, wanted to achieve things, I knew what type of lifestyle I wanted for my family, and I knew the absolute commitment and self-sacrifice it would take to make the journey towards my destination. A strong sense of who I was and what I wanted helped me to achieve my goal of buying a car; but in Pobane’s case, a diminished sense of self, as well as purpose, defeated him.

  When I was growing up, I had to make my own way. It was necessary to insulate myself against a negative environment so that I could remain focused in unsympathetic surroundings. I kept my eye on the ball, and this helped me to ignore the problems and seek solutions.

  Robert F Kennedy once said that defeatists ask “Why?”, and achievers ask “Why not?”. I’ve sat in many a shebeen listening to a melancholy drunk wailing about the unfairness of the world, “Why, why, why?” These defeatists bemoan everything, from why they haven’t won the Lotto to why their electricity was cut off. A persistently pessimistic, self-pitying attitude removes people from the reality of their situation. By blaming God, or their awful employers, or their unmotivated children, they don’t have to face up to their own responsibilities. Their eternal complaining puts the responsibility on someone else’s shoulders, and their failure to rise to life’s challenges bogs them down in self-pity. Achievers buck the system, the status quo, and attempts at control that frustrate them. They not only challenge the world’s perception of them, but also demand more from themselves.

  When I decided to leave SuperKurl, Leon Thompson said, “Why? You’re earning a lot of money, your life is comfortable.” After I left, he was still asking “Why?”, wallowing in the regret of having lost a key staff member. This negative question dragged him into a pit of recrimination. But my “Why not?” buoyed my spirits and took me far beyond what I imagined I was able to do. I had no business management experience, I had no formal business education – and I had never expanded my limited skills. But when I started Black Like Me I was forced to exceed my limits, and in the first few months I learnt how to mix formulas, how to market products, and how to negotiate with suppliers. If I’d been content to operate within the confines of the law, I would have stagnated; instead, I rebelled and developed both the company and myself. Every time anyone asked me questions like, “Why should we give you this permit?”, “Why should we employ you?”, “Why do you need a telephone?”, I ignored them and said, “Why not?” This retort has always kept me on my toes, forcing me to reach higher each time.

  Achievers work to a master plan, and this enables them to be in control of their emotions. A healthy emotional state is important for any businessperson who has to interact with other people and keep focused on the bigger picture; it is imperative to keep emotion out of the business arena. When Pobane died, I felt numb. I wanted to feel more, and I thought I should feel more. He was my brother, and I loved him; but I had never really known him because we were both, in our own ways, too busy trying to make a living to satisfy our domestic and emotional needs.

  As a result, most of my life has been occupied with putting one foot in front of the other to achieve each of my goals systematically. Taking responsibility for one’s life does not always allow one the luxury of emotion – though this does not mean that one does not feel anger, disappointment, frustration, or even elation. What it does mean is that indulging these feelings makes no positive contribution whatsoever to one’s life. One has to move on.

  If I had allowed my longing for my mother’s warm embrace to overwhelm me, then I would not have had the will or found the strength to steal wood to keep me warm on bitter winter nights. If I had allowed the cruel comments at Pobane’s funeral to upset me, I would not have had the s
trength to be a support to my mother and sisters, who gave in to their grief. Giving rein to my emotions would have depleted the energy reserves that I needed when Black Like Me was just a fledgling company.

  Throughout my life, Connie has been my anchor, though there have been times in the boardroom when she has reacted emotionally to decisions that have gone against her wishes and plans. If I had allowed my strategy to be derailed by her tears of frustration or disappointment, I would not have been able to keep the interests of the company at the forefront of my mind. It is not that Connie’s ideas or ambitions for the company were not good, it is just that I did not think they were right at the time. When she wanted to launch a cosmetic line, much as I admired her innovation, I felt that the product range was not complementary to our core business focus at the time. So I rejected her idea, even though I agreed in principle with a longer-term plan for a cosmetics line. It was hard to see Connie upset, but it would have been far worse to lose Black Like Me because of a wrong business decision based on emotional support of my wife. It is not always easy to be firm, but it has always been necessary in ensuring success.

  I operate on gut feeling. But gut feel is not an emotional reaction; it is an instinctual one. When you have been in business for as long as I have, you quickly become attuned to ideas, programmes and strategies that make good business sense and you cannot weaken that intuition by allowing your emotions to get the upper hand. Emotion wipes logic off the game-board, and you cannot jeopardise the life of a company and the livelihoods of the people who work for it by allowing emotions to triumph. I have had to keep cool when caustic comments from detractors have threatened to derail my plans; in such circumstances, I have fought hard not to allow my emotional guard to slip, as I instinctively knew that this would jeopardise my ability to provide for my family and myself.