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It was a bone-chilling winter morning when Angelica had the epiphany to start a side hustle of selling corn cobs to the patients and passing pedestrians by a Clinic, which was opposite the building she lived in on Klein street.
She shared her revelation with her husband, whom approved her idea, even adding that she should have two options for her customers, roasted corn cobs & boiled corn cobs. He was going to help her by building her a braai stand. He was a gifted welder, and fine craftsman.
The entrepreneurship bug got her out of the house and straight to Doorfontain where she usually saw other women selling corn by the traffic lights. She greeted one woman in particular, whose accent indicated that of a Congolese nationality.
She bought one roasted corn cob from her, then asked her about her supplier. The gap toothed vendor told her that she gets her corn from her uncle, who apparently works at a maize milling farm in Delareyville, In the North West province.
From her tone of response alone, Angelica could tell that this woman already saw her as a threat, even though she hadn’t told her about her plans of joining the corn cob selling industry.
An information hoarder of note!
An information hoarder of note!
As anticipated, her roasted corn was as cold, raw and ashy as her greedy heart. A waste of her R10 note!
She only ate 3 rows of that corn, before calling it quits and handing it over to a homeless beggar by the church on Currey street.
She only ate 3 rows of that corn, before calling it quits and handing it over to a homeless beggar by the church on Currey street.
She crossed the road and walked to another corn vendor whom seemed a lot friendlier than the previous one. Greetings were exchanged, and it turned out that this vendor was an immigrant from Angelica’s home country, Ghana.
Having realized this, the corn vendor sang like a canary, revealing all her contacts, but warning her about territories that Angelica should never sell on. Her supplier was a Zimbabwean man, who worked at a milling farm in Klipbank, Limpopo.
She says he only comes to JHB twice a month, to make deliveries to his clients and to spend some time with friends, but Angelica knew that business was definitely being mixed with pleasure here. A woman can always tell when another woman is talking about a man she loves.
3 weeks later, her supplier delivered her first sack of corn, and her husband helped her install her braai stand by the entrance of the clinic. Her husband also bought her coal and paraffin then left everything else in her capable hands.
By 10am on that morning, she had already sold her first batch of corn cobs, she had to call her 18 year old daughter to bring the entire sack of corn by the clinic. By the end of that day, she had made a whooping R600!
She prayed the weather was even colder the next day, because the lower temperature, the higher the profit.
Business was really good! Especially on rainy days.Three months later, two South African women asked to put their stalls next to Angelica’s stall to also sell corn,she gave them no objections,& the three of them ended up becoming the best of friends, despite the language barrier.
The two women weren’t really good in English,& English was the only language Angelica could understand. One of them was loud & had no filters. She always fought with her customers,if it wasn’t about them using R100 to buy one corn cob, it was for asking about prices & not buying.
She always kept them entertained! The other one, Mpilo, was a victim of skin bleaching that left her face pale and the rest of her body black. She was introverted, but she always made more money than Angelica and Ms Loose mouth, despite them shouting “umbila ngapha!”...
A phrase that Ms Loose Mouth taught Angelica. Mpilo would just sit and watch them scream, but a lot of customers, particularly men, would choose to buy from Mpilo.Angelica was yet to discover her secret.
The business was so good, Angelica even took over buying groceries at home.
The business was so good, Angelica even took over buying groceries at home.
Every morning, her husband would carry the braai stand and a sack of coal for her and she would carry the basin with 45 corn cobs and a 2 liters Coca-Cola plastic bottle filled with paraffin. They’d walk to the clinic together. He’d come back after work, and help her pack up.
On one particular morning, he was running late at work, so he couldn’t take the braai stand to the gate of the clinic, Angelica had to ask the boy from next door to help her carry her stuff. She wasn’t in a good mood that day...it was just one of “those”days.
She got to her stall and started preparing the fire before her two friends arrived. She put 6 corn cobs on her braai stand and the fresh, savory scent of roasted corn started inviting patients who were queuing outside the gate, to buy.
She had only been there for an hour, but had already made a R100. This was going to be a good day!
“I Hope it rains!” She said to herself.
She wanted to make R400 so she could pay off the outstanding balance from the loan she took from a loanshark months earlier.
“I Hope it rains!” She said to herself.
She wanted to make R400 so she could pay off the outstanding balance from the loan she took from a loanshark months earlier.
Her two friends finally pitched up. At 12:00pm, the grey skies cleared up, and the sun flaunted its rays upon everyone as if it wasn’t ruining their business. While disappointed like that, a call came in from Peter, one of her husband’s colleague and friend.
He’s in distress.
He’s in distress.
His voice screams calamity!!
“Sister! Eish...” he’s hyperventilating and his voice is refusing to bestill.
He’s saying something but she can’t hear a word of what he is saying. Her heart starts to race, anticipating the worst.
“Sister! Eish...” he’s hyperventilating and his voice is refusing to bestill.
He’s saying something but she can’t hear a word of what he is saying. Her heart starts to race, anticipating the worst.
“What is it? You’re scaring me!...Peter...what is it?!” Angelica is up on her feet, with her index finger blocking her one ear canal, to block out the background noise coming from passing cars & conversing people around her.
“Eish Sister... it’s Kwadzo. He’s been in an accident”
“Eish Sister... it’s Kwadzo. He’s been in an accident”
Her two friends see the worry in her face & pause to look at her as she tries to make sense of what Peter is saying.
“Accident? What accident? Where,at work?”
Peter goes quiet for a moment but she can tell he’s still there,by his heavy breathing,& the background noise around him.
“Accident? What accident? Where,at work?”
Peter goes quiet for a moment but she can tell he’s still there,by his heavy breathing,& the background noise around him.
