The Painter & The Craftsman
Last week, when a delightful young lady I was talking to heard I was doing this series on Street People, she said: “Oh, you must interview the guy who sells books on Empire Road, just below Wits.”
When I asked her why she said he was so charming and well-read he would make an interesting subject. “He is a version of Amazon,” she said, laughing.
“He asks you what your favourite book is and if he doesn’t have a copy he says: ‘If you enjoyed that book, you’ll really like this one’”
Given my continual pursuit of interesting candidates to interview, he did sound ideal. So, at various times in the next few days, I cruised Empire Road just below Wits. But I found nix, nothing, nada. Eventually, as a last gasp attempt at discovering his whereabouts, I asked a chap forlornly peddling little notepads, if he knew where the book man was. “Ah,” he said, “he has moved to Greenside.”
So off to Greenside I went. But again, there was neither hide nor hair of him. I was just giving up my quest when a security guard I chatted to said he knew of him. Apparently, the literary-inclined fellow does work around Greenside, but only at night.
As I searched for him again, late one evening, I began to feel I was not waiting for, but looking for Godot (metaphorically, of course).
And then I bumped into two charming Zimbabweans, Cross and Godserve, selling metal sculptures and paintings and they knew of the book man. “Sadly, he is in jail for nyaope,” one said.
He shook his head and added: “Because he is such a bright decent guy - it is a bad situation.”
Well, with suddenly no book man to interview, I decided to chat with my new-found friends. So, we adjourned to the adjacent Doppio Zero, ordered a round of Zamaleks (Black Labels) and started talking. Cross Nedi, 28, is from Harare, where for nearly five years he drove a taxi. Given that two of my subjects, George and Cabline, lost limbs in accidents involving Zim taxis, I ask him if he had ever had one (an accident).
He looks a bit surprised but then smiles and says: “No. None.” I ask him why he stopped driving for a living. “Nothing was coming out,” he says.
“For those five years I had no results. It was just surviving from hand-to-mouth, hand-to-mouth which is the reason I came to South Africa.
“I had a brother down here, and when I arrived, he is the one who taught me crafts.” “Crafts?”
Pointing at Godserve, he says: “We are both artists, but he is a painter, and I am a craftsman.
“These are called crafts,” and with that, he passes me the most wonderfully eccentric looking hippopotamus, jaws poised wide-open, ready to devour something.
Next, he hands over a sleepy looking rhino.
They are both made from what appears to be delicate aluminium foil attached to a sturdy wire frame. I was about to ask him where he sourced the aluminium from, when Godserve says: “The shiny silver aluminium is the inside of cooldrink cans. They are reversed. We call it ‘up-cycling’.”
“You mention your brother taught you to make these,” I say.
“They are very attractive, and they obviously require some artistic talent. What if you didn’t possess that talent - could he still have taught you to make them?”
He laughs and says: “No. If I didn’t have any art in me, I don’t think I would be surviving on the streets as I have been.”
Cross Nedi, from Harare, used to drive a taxi back home.
Cross lives in Melville, but comes to Greenside because there are “too many people selling crafts in Melville”.
He shares a room with three other fellows. Two of them also sell crafts, and one is a car guard. “The crafts guys are also from Zimbabwe, but the guard is a Zulu.”
They split the rent, and the room costs them R2 200 a month.
When I ask him how they organise themselves regarding food, he says: “We live like bachelors - it is each man for himself. It is the best way.”
Cross has a wife and daughter back in Zimbabwe. He hasn’t seen them since 2014, although he assures me he talks to them every day. “It hasn’t been easy,” he says.
At this point I ask Godserve about his life. He begins by telling me about his work. He paints, as he amusingly describes them as “masterpieces”.
He does a range of subjects andthis night he has portraits of Mandela and Steve Biko with him. He says he sells them for a starting price of +-R700 but inevitably settles for about 60% of that figure.
When I ask him how he decides on an end price, he says: “It just depends on how I feel at that moment; it can vary.”
Godserve Mrehwa, 33, has been in South Africa for 10 years and lives with his wife and two children in Yeoville in a bachelor flat. He pays rent of R3500.
He learnt to paint at school and just kept doing it. Although he proudly tells me he passed five subjects at advanced level in Zimbabwe.
“I have a studio at home where sometimes I paint masterpieces (smiles) for two or three days in a row, so I have stock to sell. On a good day, I can make more than R1000,” he says.
“But I don’t work all the time. If I’m feeling tired, I give myself a day off.”
Both are cautiously optimistic about the change in government of Zimbabwe and say as soon as they can confirm things have really improved there, they will go back.
“Home is always best,” Godserve says. “There is no place like home.” Cross nods and then says: “The problem is all our news is second-hand at the moment.” In my series of interviews, I have inadvertently interviewed a number of Zimbabweans, and a couple of things stand out about them.
They are invariably articulate, educated, polite and well-groomed.
They seem to have a quick riposte to irreverent remarks I may make, and they enjoy a bit of banter.
These two are no different. As an example, just for fun I kept calling Godserve “God-save-the-queen”, as I had initially misheard his name as Godsave. Each time they both just smiled, and it was only when I was taking my leave of them did he point out with a smile, “Actually it is ‘Gods-e- r-v- e’ but I like ‘God-save- the-queen’.”