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EATING
FROM
ONE POT
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EATING
FROM
SARAH MOSOETSA

ONE POT
The dynamics of survival in poor South African households
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Published in South Africa by:

Wits University Press
1 Jan Smuts Avenue
Johannesburg
2001
http://witspress.wits.ac.za

Copyright © Sarah Mosoetsa 2011

First published 2011

ISBN 978-1-86814-533-1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy-
ing, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, except in
accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act, Act 98 of 1978.

Original cover artwork by Yda Walt

Cover design and layout by Hothouse South Africa
Edited by Michael Wessels
Printed and bound by Ultra Litho (Pty.) Lid.
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CONTENTS

FOREWORD VII

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS XI

INTRODUCTION 1

CHAPTER 1: 23
‘Sharing the little I have with my family’:
the allocative rules of household resources and income

CHAPTER 2: 57
‘My wife does not respect me anymore’:
unequal power dynamics in households

CHAPTER 3: 81
‘I remain an ANC member, but …’:
civil society in Mpumalanga and Enhlalakahle

CHAPTER 4: 115
Theoretical and Policy Implications

CONCLUSION: 147
Poor households are fragile sites of stability

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY 152

INDEX 171
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FOREWORD

A
s I write these words we have just witnessed popular revolts against
dictatorships in Tunisia and Egypt, showing how poverty not only
breeds passivity but also collective fortitude and resolution. To be
sure, these were not “spontaneous” affairs but emerged from years of
underground and informal preparation -- preparation which included the
working class at its center. Similarly, the anti-apartheid struggles involved
a long, you might say century-long, preparation, spear-headed by South
Africa’s black working class, together with such political organizations as
the ANC and SACP. While the new South Africa has undoubtedly made
many gains, the visions of the Freedom Charter seem to have receded into
the past. Indeed, reading Eating from One Pot it is clear that for many post-
apartheid South Africa has made very little difference in terms of material
and social well-being.
Sarah Mosoetsa investigates the fall out of plant closures in the gar-
ment and footwear industries of KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, devastating
the sort of communities that had been a center of the anti-apartheid
struggles. Hers was no casual entry, but involved laborious in-depth field
work over a period of several years, 2002-2004, immersed in the lives of the
people she interviewed. She entered the hidden abode of household
production to discover a very different world from the one painted by the
merchants of social capital and livelihood strategies. Rather than the
romance of poor people struggling together to survive, she found a
fractious and often violent world. The household was an ever expanding
site – expanding in volume and density – of intense conflicts between
generations and between genders. Men, accustomed to wage labour,
became ever more dependent on women’s resourcefulness, on small

Foreword
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viii

informal earnings, subsistence production as well as unpaid domestic

labour. As they become increasingly superfluous – surplus labour irrelevant
to or even dependent upon the domestic economy – so they become more
assertive of their patriarchal claims, more violent, more abusive. If the
household contributed to social capital it was as likely to be negative as
positive social capital.
Often a staple if minimal source of income, child support grants are
channeled through mothers. They not only by-pass fathers but they also
circumvent the actual care-givers, who are often the grandmothers. Young
mothers run off with the grants leaving grandmothers holding the bag,
having to somehow eke out an existence for all. Indeed, it is the elderly
women who are the heroines of Mosoetsa’s stories, battling to keep the
family alive, even helping neighbors do the same. But, precisely because
they are the cement that holds the household together, they are also the
target of the greatest abuse, the focus of the most unreal expectations, and
attract the animus of accumulating desperation. The household is more
likely to be the arena of warring or withdrawn individuals than a haven in
a heartless world.
Mosoetsa takes us beyond the household into the community. Once
again she tears away the veil behind the stereotype – the stereotype of a
unified civil society organizing the defense of community against market
and state. To be sure she discovers resilient networks of reciprocity, embry-
onic burial societies, support from multiple churches and inspiring volun-
teerism around HIV and AIDs and other health issues, but all this is but a
holding pattern as residents have to foot increasing bills for electricity and
water delivery. The community is hobbling backwards toward a precipice.
Before they get to the edge, they turn and appeal to the state with such
committed organizations as the Treatment Action Campaign and the
Concerned Citizens Forum, but the state replies with the force of arms,
turning apartheid laws against the social movements. There is bewilder-
ment on both sides as the community can’t believe they have elected such
a callous state, and the state can’t believe the ingratitude of its citizens. The
ANC is caught facing both ways, for and against the people. The trade
unions are nowhere to be seen. Once so active in the townships, now the
unions retreat to the ever shrinking workplaces of formal labour.
Behind the confusion lies a class recomposition, the emergence of what
some have called class apartheid. The new multi-racial bourgeoisie is safely
barricaded behind its gated communities. Standing behind the bourgeoisie

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stands a New South African state that has brought about the polarization
of wealth and poverty, and has overseen escalating costs of basic public
services – electricity, water, telecommunications – while opening the
economy to cheap consumer goods, and thereby devastating the footwear
and clothing industries among others. What’s left is a spluttering informal
sector based on flexible exploitation, peopled by desperate ex-wage labourers,
usually women working outside any protection from the law. Into this
combustible mixture the expansion of grants drops like manna from the
sky but in the absence of jobs their distribution is the subject of bitter quar-
rels and they are easily consumed without leading to genuine ameliora-
tion. That’s Sarah Mosoetsa’s message.
It’s a familiar story, one to be found in Egypt where foreign aid was
dispensed as concessions that redounded to the benefit of US geopolitical
interests. Until, that is, the Egyptian people had had enough. But then
they had a clear target – a 30 year dictator – just as in South Africa there
had been racial apartheid. Today the target is not so clear since the market
presents itself as a natural force, while the state claims bankruptcy. Protest
bursts forth, but without a clear goal, a vision, or an organization, and
without meaningful reform, it can get very unsavory.

Michael Burawoy
March 2011

Foreword
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xi

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

T
he book began in 1999 when I first visited the shoe factories of
Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu-Natal. I was especially shocked by the
working conditions of the women who were working in Manchester
Road, an informal manufacturing area. I returned again and again to
KwaZulu-Natal after that. I learnt of the many women and men who had
lost their jobs in the footwear, textile and clothing factories and who were
now trying to survive in their households. This shifted the focus of my
research from the factory floor to the household and the community.
A number of individuals (often unbeknown to them) and institutions
have played a role in the conception and realisation of this book.
My deepest gratitude goes to Professors Eddie Webster and Jackie
Cock. Their intellectual guidance has made this book a reality. Eddie has
mentored me from the beginning, and I am greatly indebted to him.
I am grateful to the Department for International Development (DfID).
They made an important financial contribution to this study as part of their
participation in the ‘Crisis States Programme’, co-ordinated by the
Development Research Centre of the London School of Economics (LSE). I
would like to mention Professor Jo Beall, in particular. Her intellectual con-
tribution to my early work has been invaluable.
The Society, Work and Development Institute (SWOP) and the Depart-
ment of Sociology of the University of the Witwatersrand have given me an
institutional home and provided a stimulating academic environment. I am
indebted to past and present colleagues: Andries Bezuidenhout, Sakhela
Buhlungu, Karl van Holdt, Christine Bischoff, Michelle Williams, Shameen
Singh, and Khayaat Fakier. Sakhela sold copies of this book at a time when I
did not think the book would be finished. Thank you.
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xii

The ideas and insights of Professor Michael Burawoy of the University

of California, Berkeley have been a major contribution to this book. His
labour process theory was the key that enabled me to understand the
labour process in households!
The University of KwaZulu-Natal provided me with an institutional
space while I was conducting my fieldwork. I owe specific thanks to
Professors Ari Sitas and Gillian Hart.
A special mention of Karin Pampallis for editing my earlier work. I
would also like to thank the editorial team at Wits Press and Michael Wessels
for his dedication and patience. I have learnt a lot from working with him.
I appreciate the support and encouragement of my friends and col-
leagues, especially Malehoko Tshoaedi, Grace Khunou, Michelle Williams,
Dulcee Musi, Sizwe Phakathi, Matsobane Nkoko, Edith Kekana-Phaswana,
Michael Aliber, and Michele Ruiters.
This book would not have been possible without the presence, support,
and love over the years of my family (and this time I am mentioning all of
you!): Bontle, Meiki, Thabang, Darly, Papa, Tebogo, Nhlanhla, Mamane,
Tshidiso, Neo, Itumeleng, Katso, Lebohang, Thando, Mama (Rebecca), Mama,
Windy, Kutlwano, Lesley, Baba, Bo-malome and, finally, my beloved Jabu.
The critical insight of my partner, Mandla Radebe, has helped me to
craft this book and tell the story of the women and men of KwaZulu-Natal.
My partnership with Mandla has made me a better person in all ways. Nor
could I forget the two angels who arrived when the end of the book was in
sight but who, nevertheless, had a profound impact on the entire process:
‘Zinzile and S’phamandla, this book is dedicated to you.’
Finally, I would like to express my deepest gratitude to all the women
and men of KwaZulu-Natal who agreed to be interviewed and who shared
their experiences and homes with me. They offered me everything that
they had and apologised when they had nothing to offer. Theirs is not a
story of hopelessness even though I spent many evenings crying about
what seemed to me to be the hopelessness of their situation. To them, I can
only say: ‘Aluta continua!’
I am particularly grateful to the Gama family of Mpumalanga Township
and the Mazibuko family of Enhlalakahle Township. Both these families wel-
comed me into their homes and assisted me during the fieldwork process:
‘Ningadinwa nangomuso…ukwanda kwaliwa umthakathi.’

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xiv

RESEARCH AREA OF KwAZULU-NATAL

Limpopo

Legend
Area of interest Gauteng
Mpumalanga
North West

Free State
KwaZulu-Natal
Lesotho
Northern Cape

Eastern Cape

Western Cape

Kilometers
0 55 110 220 330 440

RESEARCH SITES OF MPUMALANGA AND ENHLALAKAHLE

Umkhanyakude
Legend Amajuba Zululand
Area of interest

Umzinyathi
Uthukela Uthungulu
Greytown
Enhlalakahle
UMgungundlovo iLembe
eThekwini
Mpumalanga Hammersdale

Sisonke
Ugu
Kilometers
0 15 30 60 90 120

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INTRODUCTION

P
overty is an ever-present reality in contemporary South Africa. The
distribution of wealth in the country is heavily skewed towards the
rich. Despite a radical increase in social welfare over the last decade
and a half, the vast majority of households remain poverty-stricken. While
the poor are heavily reliant on the state for income in the form of social
grants, the majority of people are not eligible for them. This means that
the meagre income derived from grants has to support many people
besides their intended beneficiaries. A quarter of South Africans are jobless
in terms of the official definition of unemployment.1 When the entire eco-
nomically active population is taken into account, however, the figure
rises to a staggering 32 per cent. Unemployment is likely to get even worse
as wage employment declines further. Given this grim picture, the burning
question becomes: ‘How do the poor survive?’ This book provides an
answer on the basis of evidence from case studies of households in the
townships of Enhlalakahle and Mpumalanga in KwaZulu-Natal. It shows
that many households are on the brink of collapse. That they keep going
at all can largely be attributed to the struggles of older women against
poverty. They are the fulcrum on which household survival turns.
Poor households are sites of both stability and conflict. In the absence
of waged employment, working class households are the only source of
security for many of the poor. People can still call on an ethos of sharing
and communal support. In the words of one of the people who was inter-
viewed for this book: ‘We eat from one pot and should always help each
other.’ A recurring refrain in the interviews was: ‘I have to share the little
I have with my family.’ Despite the sentiments expressed in this sort of
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statement, however, it is clear that practices of solidarity and sharing are

being steadily eroded by adverse social and economic conditions. Social
relations are frequently inharmonious and resources are not always equally
shared. In fact, the case studies that are explored in this book suggest that
in times of crisis there is more conflict than cooperation in the poorest
households, a finding which accords with Amartya Sen’s (1990) notion of
co-operative conflict.
Poverty undermines the collective nature of households. Struggles
over the control of household income become prevalent. The money that
is derived from state grants and employment in the informal economy
covers little more than the cost of the most basic foodstuffs. The fault lines
in conflicts over access to household income are frequently generational
and gender-based. The elderly recipients of pension grants become victims
of violence and abuse. Men feel humiliated by the loss of their role as
provider for the family. Their frustration often takes the form of domestic
violence and alcohol abuse. The disjunction between men’s lack of eco-
nomic power and their conventional role as head of the household is a
common source of tension.
The lives of the women and men in the two townships that the book
explores graphically illustrate the contradictions inherent in South Africa’s
simultaneous political, social and economic transformation, which has
been characterised by a crisis in the reproduction of social relations, socie-
ty and capital. Indeed, the outcome of the intensification of capitalism in
South Africa, along with the advent of neo-liberal and informational capi-
talism, could be described as a crisis in the production of life itself (Castells,
1998; Bakker & Gill, 2003; Mullings, 2009). This, of course, is not an alto-
gether new phenomenon. The escalation of capitalism in the apartheid era,
in conjunction with race legislation that placed restrictions on movement
and access to land and resources, resulted in a crisis of social reproduction
in poor African households across the country.2
This book argues that the crisis that is evident at both household and
societal level today is inseparable from the crisis of the reproduction of
capital in the country. The ineffectiveness of the state’s response to this cri-
sis, through its social and economic policies, has resulted in the pursuit of
precarious and survivalist livelihood activities at both household and com-
munity level. Many households are extremely poor; the majority of them
rely on a total monthly income of less than R800. Overcrowding is the
norm. The position of the woman who has to share her two-bedroom

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house with eleven children and grandchildren, which is described in the

next chapter, is not uncommon. Food insecurity is widespread. There is an
overreliance on maize meal, tea and sugar. One informant described toma-
toes as a ‘luxury item’. Nevertheless, it is important to note that the poor
are not passive victims. This is especially true of older women, many of
whom show impressive qualities of energy and resourcefulness by engag-
ing in informal sector activities such as sewing and street hawking, even
though the income gained is very small. Many of them are also active in
faith-based organisations, such as the Manyano Women’s Christian Move-
ment, new community based organisations, like the Treatment Action
Campaign (TAC), and home-based care associations.

SOCIAL WELFARE IN POST-APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA

This book contains the stories of poor women and men, young and old,
from two communities in KwaZulu-Natal. Collected between 1999 and
2004, they provide first-hand testimony of how people respond to poverty
and unemployment. This response, the accounts make clear, is shaped to
a significant degree by the broader socio-economic and political context in
which individuals and households are situated.
The political sea-change that saw the end of apartheid and the intro-
duction of democracy, marked by the epic 1994 elections and the arrival of
the much celebrated constitution with its bill of rights, was widely welcom-
ed. In KwaZulu-Natal, though, the transition was ambiguous, complex and
marred by violence. While most South Africans voted in local government
elections on 1 November 1995, these elections only took place on 26 June
1996 in KwaZulu-Natal because of high levels of political intolerance and
violence (Minnaar, 1992). The situation eventually stabilised, however, and
the poor began to benefit from new social welfare initiatives, especially the
extension of social grants to all race groups. This new social welfare has not
addressed the need for real economic transformation in the country, as we
shall see.
Before 1994, South Africa possessed, in effect, two, racially-based, wel-
fare systems, in accordance with the idea of separate development. White,
Indian and coloured people were entitled to state welfare provisions (Patel,
1991; Pillay, 1995), which had been greatly extended from the 1920s in an
attempt to solve the poor white problem. Africans, on the other hand,
were largely excluded from the formal social welfare system. Although all

Introduction
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Africans were able to apply for the State Maintenance Grant, its adminis-
tration deliberately excluded African women and children. This meant
that relatively few Africans were able to receive the grant.3 The social and
natural resources of the homelands (and the reserves before them) were
considered the proper source of social welfare for Africans. To all intents
and purposes, however, the African household, based on cheap labour,
provided the main source of social security for Africans (Wolpe, 1972).
The post-apartheid welfare system consists of a mixture of private or
family transfers, contributory insurance schemes and non-contributory
social assistance (see Table 1.1). This system is inadequate in many ways.
For a start, social insurance plans only benefit those people in permanent
employment who can contribute to pension and unemployment schemes.
The majority of South Africans are either unemployed or are not permanent
employees. The benefits from these schemes are often too low to provide
effective protection in any case (Van der Berg and Bredenkamp, 2002). The

TABLE 1.1 South Africa’s welfare system, 2004

Scheme Number of Beneficiaries

Family: private transfers Unregulated ‘insurance’ Not captured in statistic

Unregulated ‘assistance’ 2 million mostly poor households
receive remittances from other
households
Regulated ‘assistance’ Little data on how many people
receive maintenance

Market: contributory Pension or provident funds Over 1 million pensioners receive

schemes – social an income
insurance Unemployment insurance About 700 000 people benefit
fund per year

State: non-contributory, Old age-pension Almost 2 million pensioners

social assistance receive R 740 a month

Child support grant More than 1.5 million children

receive R 170 a month
Disability grant More than 700 000 beneficiaries
receive R 740 a month
Other grants About 150 000 beneficiaries

Source: Developed from Seekings, (2002:7)

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great majority of poor people have to rely on family support and/or social
grants. While most individuals are connected to families, it does not follow
that family members are always willing or able to help them. Most people
in the country are not themselves eligible for social grants but have to rely
on access to other people’s grants. Barchiesi (2000) argues that South
Africa’s current welfare regime displays the features of hyper-commodifica-
tion; it is characterised by a means-tested system, individual contributions
rather than policies of redistribution and cross-subsidisation, very high par-
ticipation of individual customers who want to access basic social services,
and a high level of dependence on the labour market for income.
The state old-age pension grant has a long history in South Africa.
People of different race groups received pensions of unequal value in the
past. Various legislation and amendments since 1994 have made all perma-
nent residents and South African citizens (men over 65 and women over
60) eligible to receive a pension of an equal amount, R740 in 2004. The
number of state old-age pension grants increased from 566 202 in 1987 to
2 million in 2003 (Department of Social Development, 2003).
The temporary and permanent disability grant benefits those with
permanent physical or mental disabilities, as well as tuberculosis patients
who are unable to work and people with AIDS. The monthly payment is
R740 per person.
The child support grant was initiated in 1997. Following the recommen-
dations of the Lund Committee (1996), the racially-biased State Maintenance
Grant, which had provided R350 a month to support mothers and children
under the age of 18 in the absence of a father, was abolished and replaced by
a child support grant for children under the age of seven. The mothers or
primary caregivers of these children received R100 a month for each child in
their care. The grant was subsequently increased to R190 in 2006 and ex-
tended to include all children under the age of 14. By 2006, 7,8 million chil-
dren had been registered for the child support grant (see Table 1.2).
The Department of Social Development estimates that 36,6 per cent
of the poverty gap would be filled if the take-up of child support grants
were increased.4 While the department’s records show that take up
increased between 2005 and 2006 across the country, these increases were
insignificant in poor provinces such as KwaZulu-Natal and Limpopo and
hardly affected grants to children below the age of thirteen (see Table 1.3).
A significant number of vulnerable children qualify for a grant but do
not receive one. Even if everyone who was entitled to a grant was to claim

Introduction
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TABLE 1.2 Trends in number of social-grant beneficiaries, 2000-2006

Number of Beneficiaries
Type of 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006
grant

Old age 1,900,406 1,943,042 1,943,348 2,050,572 2,124,984 2,146,344 2,195,018

Grant R540 R570 R640 R700 R740 R780 R820

amount

Disability 655,822 694,232 840,424 1,228,231 1,293,280 1,315,143 1,422,808

Grant R540 R570 R640 R700 R740 R780 R820

amount

Child 1,111,612 1,277,396 1,998,936 2,996,723 4,165,545 7,075,266 7,863,841

support

Grant R100 R110 R140 R160 R170 R180 R190

amount
Source: Department of Social Development, SOCPEN dataset (2006)

TABLE 1.3 Take up of child support grant by age group per province: 2004-2006

Province January 2004 June 2005 2006

take up rate take up rate take up rate
0-8 year olds (%) 0-10 year olds (%) 0-13 year olds (%)

Eastern Cape 53 67 87
Free State 57 71 82
Gauteng 75 72 86
KwaZulu-Natal 61 65 85
Limpopo 67 73 90
Mpumalanga 67 72 77
North west 59 58 75
Northern Cape 58 65 89
western Cape 78 60 75
South Africa 63 67 84

Source: Department of Social Development, SOCPEN dataset (2006)

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it, however, poverty itself would hardly be dented since 60 per cent of the
poor, some five million people, are ineligible for a state grant in the first
place. The system is also riddled with anomalies and problems. A house-
hold that depends solely on a state pension grant, for example, is left des-
titute when the pensioner passes away. A child who has been receiving a
state grant for a number of years receives nothing when he/she reaches the
age limit, even though he/she might still be poor and have no other pos-
sible source of income. It is often assumed that the children who do not
qualify for a grant are supported by their parents or are covered by private
maintenance. While it is true that the progressive Maintenance Act No. 99
of 1998 has substantially improved the position of mothers who are
dependent on child support from their former partners (Hassim, 2003),
unemployment and poverty mean that many men are unable to meet their
obligations (Bell, 2004; Mashao, 2004; Mills, 2004; Moyo, 2004; Hassim,
2008). The monetary value of the child support grant doubled between
2007 and 2008, from R100 to R200 a month, but the rising cost of living
and the high inflation rate meant that this increase was insignificant.
Both forms of social security in South Africa – social assistance
through state grants and social insurance through private contributions –
protect only a select few. State social assistance only covers the disabled,
the aged and the young; it does not cater for vulnerable groups. In a con-
text where the majority of people are unemployed or struggling to earn a
meagre income in the informal economy, social insurance is not an ade-
quate measure against poverty. It is not surprising that 22 per cent of
households in South Africa in 1999 reported that they were going hungry
because they could not afford to buy food (Everatt 2004).
As the later chapters of this book will show, vital gender issues have
been neglected in the way in which the state provides social assistance in
South Africa. Although men have been traditionally considered as the
heads and providers of households, they are only included in the social and
welfare system when they reach 65, the pensionable age for men. A newly
unemployed man will, therefore, lose his role as household provider until
he turns 63. Unemployed women, on the other hand, are eligible for pen-
sions at 60 and are also able to access child-support grants. This radically
changes household dynamics: women assume the new role of provider and
men feel insecure. While there is no direct causal link between domestic
violence and changes in household income distribution, the distribution of
household income is undoubtedly a factor in many household conflicts.

Introduction
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State transfers have certainly mitigated the effects of poverty in the

country. Not only does poverty remain a major problem in the country, but
the gap between the poor and the rest of the population is growing. This is
reflected by the statistics. The Human Development Report shows that the
Gini coefficient rose from 0,596 to 0,635 between 1995 and 2001.5 This
coefficient measures the levels of income inequality in a country and also
between countries: 0 represents perfect equality, while 1 corresponds with
extreme inequality. South Africa’s Human Development Index (HDI), the
index which measures a country’s average life expectancy, its adult literacy
rate and its standard of living, declined from 0.72 in 1990 to 0.67 in 2003.
In 2002, 21,9 million (48,5 per cent) of all South Africans fell below the
national poverty line of R354 a month. The Eastern Cape emerged as the
poorest province but KwaZulu-Natal was not far behind.

CALLS FOR THE INTRODUCTION OF A BASIC INCOME GRANT

The inadequacy of the present system of grants, along with rising levels of un-
employment, has led to calls for the introduction of a Basic Income Grant
(BIG), by both civil society and organised labour, as part of a ‘comprehensive
social security system.’6 The Congress of South African Trade Unions (Cosatu)
and various NGOs contend that such a system should be an integral part of
social citizenship rights. The BIG Coalition has demanded a universal monthly
grant of R100 (Cosatu, 2000b; Makino, 2003). A basic income grant, it is argued,
would reduce arbitrary discretion, minimise opportunities for corruption and
reduce the poverty gap by 74 per cent. With full take-up, the number of poor
South Africans excluded from the social security system would be reduced to
zero (Samson, 2002:77). Proponents contend that a BIG has the potential to
contribute to economic activity and job creation in three ways: by adding to the
accumulation of social capital and cohesiveness, by increasing the demand for
labour by directly stimulating economic activity, and by its impact on the level
and composition of aggregate demand (Samson et al., 2001).
The introduction of a BIG is seen by some as a fiscally unviable and
over-ambitious project for South Africa (South Africa Foundation, 2002),
an idea that is not even conceivable in many wealthier countries. Trevor
Manuel, the former finance minister, argued that the notion of a basic
income grant was ‘fundamentally flawed’ and that its implementation
would bankrupt South Africa. He estimated that it would cost R83 billion.

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The government would ‘probably have to raise VAT by at least another 14

per cent to fund the R83 billion.’7 Critics of a BIG have also pointed out
that welfare states have been under enormous ideological and political
pressure around the world in recent times. The political and social environ-
ment that enabled their success no longer exists (Esping-Anderson, 1996;
Pierson, 2001; Seekings, 2002). High unemployment rates have resulted in
fewer tax contributions to the state. The restructuring of work and shift in
government policies towards cost recovery and strict fiscal discipline have
challenged the very notion of welfarism.
It has also been argued that state transfers do not necessarily reduce
poverty and do not encourage real economic redress or reduce inequality.
Such claims have been rejected by proponents of the BIG who argue that
the benefits would have a ripple effect on the economy. Recent evidence
from Namibia suggests that there would indeed be important socio-
economic benefits if a universal grant were to be introduced.8 It does not
appear likely, though, that the universal income grant will be adopted as
national policy in the short term. The BIG initiative does, however, reveal
a lot about the role of civil society and its relationship to the state in South
Africa, a relationship that, as we shall see, also plays itself out in the two
townships that are studied in this book.

Poverty and unemployment in KwaZulu-Natal

Between 1990 and 2004, the number of people working in the formal
economy in the country declined by almost a million, while the number
of those working in the informal economy rose by two million. The major-
ity of the unemployed are located in rural areas and in poor provinces. The
provinces with the highest unemployment rate in 2004 were Eastern Cape
(32,5 per cent), KwaZulu-Natal (32,2 per cent), Limpopo (30,9 per cent)
and North West (30,4 per cent) (StatsSA, 2004).
Poverty in KwaZulu-Natal, home to the two communities that are
examined in this book, is increasing. Approximately two million children
live in households whose monthly per capita income is less than R350 a
month (StatsSA, General Household Survey, 2002-2007). The province also
has the biggest HIV and AIDS problem in the country.9
South Africa became a signatory of the Marrakech Agreement, which
replaced the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), in 1994. This
marked the beginning of a new phase of accelerated trade liberalisation in
the country, in accordance with the ‘shock treatment’ economic principles

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10

recommended by the World Trade Organisation (WTO). Manufacturing

underwent radical changes as South Africa pursued trade liberalisation and
implemented macro-economic policies that were intended to enable it to
compete internationally and to position itself on the ‘high road’ – a route that
emphasises high skills through training and high wages through effective
collective bargaining, rewards and incentive schemes. Trade liberalisation
entailed a shift away from the country’s previous import substitution indus-
trialisation policies. This had a devastating effect on the manufacturing sector
in KwaZulu-Natal.10 Retrenchments, relocations, and factory closures became
a regular feature of neo-liberal, post-apartheid KwaZulu-Natal. By 1998, it was
estimated that 23 per cent of manufacturing jobs in Durban had been lost
(Sitas, 2002). The two dominant manufacturing sectors of the province’s
economy – clothing and textiles, and footwear – were badly affected. There
were massive job losses as factories tried to compete with imports coming
from China and Taiwan. The two sectors experienced a 6,3 per cent and 43
per cent decline in employment respectively, between 1992 and 2002.
Employment in the footwear industry declined from 27 882 in 1995 to a mere
12 035 in 2002. Production and wages also declined in both sectors in the
same period (see Table 1.4.). This trend was accompanied by the growing
informalisation of work in the clothing and textile industry and the use of
subcontracted labour in order to deliberately evade labour legislation (Fakude,
2000; Skinner & Valodia, 2002). While there has been little export growth in
either sector, imports have increased dramatically. Footwear imports
increased from 13 per cent in 1992 to 47 per cent in 2002; textile imports
increased from 23 per cent to 31 per cent in the same period.
The decline of the region’s two major industries has had a devastating
effect on the livelihoods of the households in the two townships that are
studied in this book, Enhlalakahle near Greytown and Mpumalanga out-
side Hammarsdale. Enhlalakahle has always been reliant on the footwear
sector for employment while people in Mpumalanga have been directly
affected by the decline in employment in the textile industry.

The tale of Enhlalakahle and Mpumalanga townships

The apartheid legacy of spatial imbalances and economic inequality epito-
mises post-apartheid South Africa’s townships. Space was strategically con-
trolled through forced removals and relocations from the land, the creation
of townships and homelands and the establishment of industrial zones. The
racial character of apartheid’s social and industrial geography meant that

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affluent white people lived in the inner cities or suburbs while working class
and unemployed Africans were confined to townships or homelands. Even
though there has been a radical move away from this sort of spatial engi-
neering in the post-apartheid period, the legacies of apartheid are still very
apparent in places like Mpumalanga and Enhlalakahle.
Both townships were built in the 1960s, according to regulations laid
down by the Department of Bantu Administration, as part of a policy that
aimed to both regulate the large squatter population which rented space on
African-owned freehold land and to facilitate the transport, surveillance and
monitoring of Africans. Enhlalakahle was proclaimed as a Bantu township by
the Drakensberg Bantu Affairs Administration Board much earlier, though, in
1927. It consisted of plots, tents and mud houses and was originally known

TABLE 1.4 Output, employment and wages in the textile and footwear sectors
in South Africa, 1993-2002

Output (R million, Employment Remuneration

1995 prices) per employee

Textiles Footwear Spinning, Other Footwear Textiles Footwear

weaving textiles
& finishing

1993 8501 2564 35 260 30 695

1994 8858 2551 35 839 32 053
1995 9032 2618 34 641 32 369 27 882 28 742 24 436

1996 8833 2229 45 566 32 886 25 088 24 666 24 635

1997 9370 2171 42 744 32 713 23 699 25 535 22 802
1998 8393 2135 30 169 26 725 22 450 34 230 24 551
1999 8273 2213 26 484 26 713 18 748 34 918 23 717
2000 8399 2035 25 182 30 258 15 317 34 152 22 225
2001 8593 1693 25 110 28 487 12 758 34 052 23 675
2002 9315 1676 12 305 28 803 22 109

K/L 87 28

Source: Bezuidenhout, Mosoetsa & Roberts (2004).

Notes: Data for 1993 to 1997 are year averages while the data for 1998 to 2001 reflect figures from
June of each year. The former homelands were only included from 1996, hence the break shown in the
series. Output is in constant 1995 rand millions. Output: labour is rand thousands, constant 1995 prices.
Capital: labour (K/L) ratio is total fixed assets per employee in rand thousands for 2002.

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12

as Ezithendeni (an isiZulu word meaning ‘place of tents’). The municipality

replaced the mud houses with brick ones in the 1960s. Mud houses can be
still be found in the adjacent squatter camp, though, which to this day has
no proper sanitation or electricity. In 1996, the township had 4 845 residents.
This number had increased to 7 027 by 2001 (see Table 1.5).
Mpumalanga was established in the late 1960s. By 2001, the township
had 26 535 residents, the majority of whom lived in 5 328 formal dwellings.
4 377 households had running water while 4 899 used electricity for lighting.

TABLE 1.5 Key indicators of Mpumalanga Township & Enhlalakahle Township,

1996-2001

Indicators Mpumalanga Enhlalakahle

1996 2001 1996 2001

(Number and (Number and
percentage percentage
change) change)

Population 26 425 26 496 (0,44) 4 845 7 027 (45,04)

Formal type of dwelling 4 718 5 328 (12,93) 1 559 1 455 (-6,67)
Employment 4 899 4 227 (-13,72) 1 566 1 770 (13,3)
Unemployment and not 12 737 13 146 (46,36) 1 889 2 948 (115,36)
economically active
Dominant industry Manufacturing Manufacturing Community Community
(employment) /social /social
1 799 1 302 (-27,63) 367 504 (37,33)
Individual with zero 18 639 20 652 (10,79) 2 291 4 620 (101,65)
monthly income
Households with zero 1 202 1 569 (30,53) 150 291 (94)
annual income
Households using 3 370 4 899 (45,37) 1 170 843 (-27,95)
electricity as source
of lighting
Households with 4 545 4 377 (-3,70) 1 159 702 (-39,43)
access to water
inside house
Households with 4 617 5 205 (12,74) 1 495 1 530 (2,34)
flush toilets
Households with 4 551 5 262 (15,62) 1 080 1 530 (41,67)
access to municipality
refuse service

Source: Statistics South Africa (1996, 2001c)

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As will be shown in later chapters, though, many residents are unable to pay
for these services. Illegal electrical connections are rife, and many households
have resorted to cheaper forms of energy. The number of households using
electricity in Enhlalakahle actually declined by 27,9 per cent between 1996
and 2001, while the number of households using candles increased from 431
to 675 (a 56,6 per cent increase). The number of households with indoor run-
ning water decreased by 39,4 per cent in the same period.
By the 1980s, both townships were home to strong and distinctive com-
munities. Several political and community organisations were formed and grew
in strength. They included local branches of national political organisations,
resident associations, trade unions, student organisations and churches.
There was also unrest in Enhlalakahle in this period. Several houses were
stoned or burned with petrol bombs. Two residents burned to death in 1984
after the door of their room was wired shut from the outside, a window bro-
ken and inflammable material thrown inside (Greytown Gazette, 7 December
1984). More people were killed in the 1990s, including church leaders such
as Reverend Xaba, who was killed in June 1990 at a cemetery after he had
finished conducting a funeral service. Numerous joint peace meetings
between the ANC and the Inkatha Freedom Party (IFP) were called, but the
violence continued. Residents also signed petitions calling for an end to the
violence (Greytown Gazette, 27 September 1994). Events took a radical turn in
February 1994, when a prominent ANC leader, Mr. Solomon Mzolo, was
killed. Several ANC members were arrested but were later released.
Political clashes between supporters of the ANC-aligned United
Democratic Front (UDF) and the IFP started in Mpumalanga with the
killing of a prominent UDF leader, Victoria Mxenge, in 1985.11 It was the
attack on members of the newly formed, UDF-affiliated Hammarsdale
Youth Congress (HAYCO) in 1987, however, that really fuelled political
violence in the township. Many lives were lost, houses destroyed, ‘evic-
tions’ and ‘invasions’ increased, and political and territorial no-go zones
were introduced. Normal life ceased to exist for a number of years (Bonnin,
1997; 2000; 2001).
The violence was often labelled as ‘black-on-black’ violence. The state
posed as a neutral actor that was genuinely concerned with resolving the
war. Evidence later emerged, though, that implicated the South African
Police (SAP) in the violence. They regularly sided with the IFP against the
ANC. Bonnin (2001:194) notes that ‘the deployment of special constables
attached to the SAP ... had the immediate effect of strengthening Inkatha’s

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14

firepower and intensifying the violence’ (Bonnin, 2001:194). Several state-

ments and affidavits by the public accused the South African Defence Force
(SADF) and police representatives of being responsible for a series of shoot-
ings which took place in Enhlalakahle. However, the security forces always
denied the claims (Greytown Gazette, 27 September 1990).
An uneasy peace returned to the townships after nearly four years of
violence and killings. The trade unions, which were based in nearby
Hammarsdale, helped to negotiate peace deals between the IFP and ANC
in Mpumalanga (Interview, Former Union Leader, 26 March 2003). People
gradually started returning to the homes that they had fled and schooling
resumed (Nzimande & Thusi, 1991). However, both townships became
exclusively ANC communities. IFP members were either ‘chased out’ or
concealed their political affiliation (Interview, ANC official, 5 November
2003). While politically motivated crime and violence had significantly
decreased by the late 1990s, things would never be the same again, social-
ly or politically. A number of organisations disappeared or lost their polit-
ical will. More importantly, the sense of community and social cohesion in
the two areas had been seriously undermined. There is ample physical evi-
dence of the years of conflict in both townships today. While the govern-
ment has rebuilt some of the houses that were destroyed, many others
remain in ruins and have been abandoned by their owners. The taxi route
that was first disrupted and then stopped altogether in Mpumalanga has
still not been re-established.
Most of the employment in the two townships has traditionally been
provided by the footwear, clothing and textile sectors. These sectors were
protected and supported by the apartheid government by means of import
substitution industrialisation policies. Both townships were essentially
established to provide labour for local government-subsidised industries
and accommodation for workers. The process of industrial decentralisation
in the country first emerged in 1940, as part of the Smuts government’s
import substitution industrialisation programme. The state started to sub-
sidise industrial decentralisation by giving out direct cash subsidies instead
of granting tax concessions in the 1970s. The so-called border areas
became the preferred location for these subsidised industries.12
The move away from the policy of import substitution industrialisa-
tion, which was completed in the post-apartheid era, began as early as
1980 (Hart, 2001; Bezuidenhout, 2004; Morris, Barnes and Dunne, 2002).
By 1982, many factories had started relocating to places that were deemed

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cheaper and politically more stable. The owners of factories frequently

used the political violence in the Hammarsdale and Greytown areas as an
excuse to move their factories away from the two areas. Given their lax or
absent trade union rights, homelands became the ‘hide-away’ place of
choice for many clothing and textile factories (Interview, Former Union
Leader, 26 March 2003). The relocation of these factories signalled an era
of job losses and unemployment in the two townships.
Representatives of industry and commerce formed a committee to
study the industrial development potential of Greytown in 1984. This was
part of a response to proposals by industrialists to relocate their factories
to Ezakheni, Ladysmith, because of the incentives granted to new indus-
tries there. The committee concluded that Greytown was unable to com-
pete with other centres in attracting new industries because the govern-
ment incentives allocated to the area were considerably lower than those
offered in designated growth points (Greytown Gazette, 27 July 1984). The
relocation of industries from Greytown also coincided with a decline in
employment and production in nearby Pietermaritzburg, the ‘shoe city’
that had always provided the most jobs in the area.13 Many factories
closed down, relocated and/or reduced their workforce by more than half.
Garage-type and sweatshop factories grew in number.
The clothing and textile sector met the same fate in Hammarsdale, the
town adjacent to Mpumalanga. The founders of Hammarsdale, the Indus-
trial Development Corporation (IDC), had argued that ‘a well-established
textile industry would have tremendous employment potential for semi-
skilled operatives, which meant that it could raise the standard of living of
the Bantu’ (IDC, 1971:57, cited in Young, 1972). The first clothing factory,
Hammarsdale Clothing, was established in the area in 1957. Within three
years of its establishment, Hammarsdale had three textile factories and a
factory that manufactured sewing machines which employed 2 135 peo-
ple. By the end of 1971, there were 13 factories employing 8 500 workers
in the area (Young, 1972). Nearly every second person in Mpumalanga
worked in one of the factories in Hammarsdale in the 1980s. But from
1990 onwards, an estimated 60 factories closed down, and 3 500
Mpumalanga residents lost their jobs. The majority of those who worked
in the factories remain unemployed today. Potential new entrants to the
labour market join their ranks every day.
There are many similarities between Enhlalakahle and Mpumalanga.
They share a similar economic and political history. Both townships were

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16

part of the KwaZulu homeland. Both were established as labour reserves for
clothing, textile and footwear industrial nodes. Both places have been hit
hard by mass unemployment, poverty and HIV and AIDS. They both expe-
rienced political violence in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The shared
legacies of apartheid, political violence and post-apartheid policies have
played an important role in shaping the livelihood options that are avail-
able to the two communities.
There are also significant differences between the two communities.
The size, physical location and political dynamics of the two townships are
different. Enhlalakahle is adjacent to the medium-sized town of Greytown,
while the nearest sizeable town to Mpumalanga is the city of Durban,
almost 30 kilometres away. Agriculture also provides more employment
possibilities for the people of Enhlalakahle than it does for those of
Mpumalanga. Enhlalakahle is one of only three ANC-led wards among
eleven IFP-led wards in the IFP-led municipality of Umvoti, a state of affairs
which produces a considerable degree of tension between ward councillors
and the local ANC branch. Mpumalanga, on the other hand, has ANC-led
wards within the ANC-led municipality of eThekwini.
The economic and political trends that have emerged in the two
townships will be described in the chapters that follow. Despite difficulties,
the two communities are showing embryonic signs of political recovery.
While the years between 1984 and 1994 can be described as a ‘decade of
devastation’, ‘proliferation of war zones’, and ‘the destruction of pillars of
the home’ (Sitas, 2002), the post-1994 period represents the beginning of
an era of reconstruction and rebuilding in the two communities. However,
while there is hope politically, the economic situation is bleak. Both town-
ships have been sinking deeper into poverty and unemployment despite a
plethora of ‘progressive’ post-apartheid economic policies, and poverty
alleviation programmes. The evidence presented in this book, and con-
firmed by similar studies, suggests that South Africa’s post-apartheid
economic, social and labour policies have failed to adequately address the
systemic causes of poverty, inequality and unemployment, even though
they represent a radical departure from the racially-based economic
policies which preceded them. The macro-economic policies that have
aimed at accelerating the integration of the South Africa’s economy into
the global economy have had the adverse effect of deepening inequalities
within the country itself (Webster and Bezuidenhout 2000; Ruiters, 2002;
Webster and von Holdt, 2005; Seekings and Nattrass, 2005).

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Conducting research in Mpumalanga and Enhlalakahle

The emphasis of this book is on the stories of poor households rather than on
analysis. Drawing on over 100 intensive interviews, the book provides a space
in which multiple voices can speak. Chapters one, two and three provide a
vivid picture of individual lives, perceptions and experiences. Chapter four uses
evidence from the interviews in order to present a deeper analysis of the socio-
economic context of contemporary South Africa. It also demonstrates the lim-
itations of the sustainable livelihoods approach and specifically the ‘asset vul-
nerability framework’, which is widely accepted in the development literature
(Rakodi, 1992, 1999; Beall, 2002; Francis, 2000; De Haan and Zoomers, 2005).
Contrary to the conventional view, the study shows that households are not
just places of consumption and leisure, but significant places of production
and services, a significance that has increased considerably with the growing
levels of unemployment, poverty and HIV and AIDS infections in the country.
The book concludes with a summary of its key findings, arguing that poor
households have become crucial but fragile sites of survival.
The book is based on in-depth qualitative research that was conducted
in the two communities of Enhlalakahle and Mpumalanga at selected
intervals in 2002, 2003 and 2004. Face-to-face interviews formed the core
of the research. Pilot interviews, complemented by two focus group inter-
views, were undertaken initially in each of the research sites. Sixteen
households in Enhlalakahle and thirteen households in Mpumalanga were
selected for further study on the basis of these initial interviews. Forty-four
semi-structured interviews were then conducted. This was followed by 29
oral history interviews with older women from the 29 selected households
in the two townships. These were augmented by oral history interviews
and fifteen key informant interviews with members of local community
organisations, local leaders and government officials.
Participant observation was the key to collecting data. It was often the
only research technique that was appropriate given the sensitivity of the
household issues I was exploring and the need to gain people’s trust. Many
of the respondents were reluctant to accept the use of a tape recorder. As a
result, the household visits generally involved conversation and observa-
tion rather than note-taking and recording. In addition, all the household
informants were guaranteed anonymity. Accordingly, pseudonyms have
been used for them as well as for those informants from the community
who requested not to be named. Community members are usually referred
to in terms of their affiliation and/or role in the community.

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Archival or documentary research and analysis also formed an impor-

tant component of the research methodology. I examined the correspon-
dence and documentation that related to land ownership, the renting and
buying of houses, and work permits in the two areas. Newspaper articles
from the archives of the Greytown Gazette and the Natal Witness proved
especially valuable in enabling me to understand the broader political econ-
omy of the two townships. They were also important sources of information
about the political violence and resistance that took place in the townships
in the 1980s and 90s and the economic development of the two areas.
I also kept a fieldwork journal in which I recorded direct observations
during household visits, interviews and informal discussions with commu-
nity members. The journal also included my personal research process
notes. These notes served three main purposes: they offered a way to eval-
uate direct observation or make inferences when I went over the notes
later, they served as a source of data, and they helped me to relieve the
stress that accompanied the process of participant observation. I also
included analytical notes in the journal, which I used to record method-
ological issues and to plan the way forward.
The dynamics of the research process were often complicated.
Entering people’s personal spaces and asking difficult questions such as,
‘How do you survive?’ required great sensitivity. I was overwhelmed by the
way that people opened their homes to a stranger. Most of the people
interviewed had experienced suffering and hardship. I found that they
were willing to share their problems and frustrations with me. They also
tested me by asking me questions. The interviews were conducted in the
informants’ home language, isiZulu. This facilitated communication
although differences in accent sometimes had to be overcome. We often
laughed about how Setswana speakers (my home language), and particu-
larly those from Gauteng (my home province), speak isiZulu differently to
isiZulu speakers from KwaZulu-Natal.
Although the dichotomy between researcher and informant, between
‘us’ and ‘them’, often fell away during my interactions with the respondents,
my level of education, my perceived class status and the fact that I came
from Gauteng (a big urban and metropolitan area) were frequently seen as
separating me in some way from the experience of local people. I could not
possibly understand what they were experiencing, they intimated, because I
was not poor, I was studying at a university, I could afford to travel and
stay in KwaZulu-Natal, and I lived in Johannesburg, a comparatively rich

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city. People responded to me with expressions such as ‘you young people

of today’, ‘you young girls’, and ‘you are too young to understand.’ Many
people were initially suspicious and reluctant to talk to me or they would
ask: ‘What’s in it for us?’ Later, though, they began to trust me and became
willing to ‘educate’ me because of my ‘lack of knowledge.’
Ultimately, it was my direct experience of real people, the places in
which they lived and their stories and silences that enabled me to write
this book.

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Notes

1 The official definition of unemployment only includes people within the

economically active population aged between 15-64 who (a) were not
employed in the reference week and; (b) actively looked for work or tried
to start a business in the four weeks preceding the survey interview and; (c)
were available for work, i.e. would have been able to start work or business-
es in the reference week or; (d) had actively looked for work in the past four
weeks but had a job or business to start at a definite date in the future and
were available (StatsSA, 2009).
2 The concept of social reproduction refers to the unpaid work, performed
chiefly by women, that enables societies to sustain themselves and main-
tain their economies. Class and gender inequities are maintained and
entrenched in the process of social reproduction. Women perform most of
the unpaid work, while men’s work is remunerated. In Who pays for the
kids?, Nancy Folbre (1994) identifies three aspects of social reproduction:
biological (child-bearing), general (cooking, cleaning, maintaining the
physical and mental life of self and others) and socialisation (teaching of
values, norms and roles). She concludes that the cost of social reproduction
is borne by women and that the whole phenomenon works in favour of
men. Isabella Bakker and Stephen Gill (2003) also define social reproduc-
tion in these terms but place more emphasis on the links between social
reproduction (unpaid work) and production (paid work). They argue that
no production can take place without social reproduction since it repro-
duces the labour force. Social reproduction, therefore, is integral to the
reproduction of capital itself.
Social reproduction is always shaped by a complex set of historical fac-
tors that relate to the family, community, market and the state. Changes to
social relations, the economic structure and state institutions all produce
changes in the household, the site of social reproduction. Disruptions to
the life of the household, such as those that are associated with unemploy-
ment and HIV and AIDS, produce a crisis of social reproduction.
3 Access rate amongst African children was 2 per 1,000 as compared to 48 per
1,000 for coloured children, 40 per 1,000 for Indian children and 15 per
1,000 for white children. The relatively low rate for white children can be
attributed to the high income status of white people rather than to their
‘being denied access’ (Budlender et al, 2008:8).
4 It is estimated that the poverty gap in South Africa was 12.8 billion rand in
1999 (Bhorat, 2002).
5 A measure of income inequality and wealth equality between and within
countries. A number between 0 and 1 is given, where 0 represents perfect
equality and 1 corresponds with complete inequality.
6 The Human Development Index (HDI) is a UNDP index that measures a
country’s average life expectancy at birth. The adult literacy rate and standard
of living are measured by GDP per capita. The index can have a value

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between 0 and 1. Countries with an index over 0.800 are part of the High
Human Development group. An index between 0.500 and 0.800 locates a
country within the Medium Human Development group while countries
with an index below 0.500 fall into the Low Human Development group.
7 The basic idea of social security is to use social means to prevent depriva-
tion, and vulnerability to deprivation, through cash support, guaranteed
employment and famine prevention (Dreze & Sen, 1989).
8 Former Minister of Finance, Mr Trevor Manuel: speech at launch of
2005/06 tax filing season (ANC Daily News Briefing, 2005). National
Council of Provinces debate (Fin 24, November 28, 2004).
9 A BIG pilot project was started in 2008 in the village of Otjivero-Omitara
by the BIG Coalition of Namibia. All residents over the age of 60 received
a Basic Income Grant of N$ 100 a month without any conditions. The doc-
umented evidence revealed that the receipt of this grant had a positive
impact on the lives of those who received it. The Assessment Report (DfSD
& LaRRI, 2009) concluded that the BIG should be a universal national
grant. It argued that in a single year, between 2007 and 2008: (a) the grant
had made an effective contribution to community mobilisation and empow-
erment, (b) household poverty dropped significantly (with the food pover-
ty rate decreasing from 76 percent to 37 percent), (c) the average house-
hold debt decreased from N$ 1,215 to N$ 772, (d) the rate of those engaged
in income generating activities increased from 44 percent to 55 percent, (e)
the overall crime rate fell by 42 percent. The report noted that the cost of
a BIG would be substantial (2.2 per cent to 3.0 per cent of national income)
but that Namibia had the capacity to find the additional resources needed
to fund the grant.
10 Of the 5.5 million South Africans living with HIV, 14.8 per cent of them are
women between the ages of 15 and 49 (UNAIDS, 2005). KwaZulu-Natal is
estimated to have the highest HIV prevalence among ante-natal clinic
attendees. About 39 per cent of pregnant mothers are reported to be infected.
This supports the argument that AIDS is ‘a crisis for women.’ There is a
growing number of women living with HIV and AIDS and women also
have to care for the sick (Tallis, 1998).
11 This involved the removal of quantitative restrictions and reductions in
tariffs to well below the WTO binding levels that South Africa had commit-
ted to in 1995 (see Chapter 3).
12 The political conflict between the IFP and UDF/ANC and its alliance part-
ners, Cosatu began in the province in the mid-1980s and intensified in the
late 1980s and early 1990s. This period was marked by massacres of people
in ANC strongholds, in particular, and assassinations of members of
ANC/UDF and Cosatu affiliated union members. IFP vigilantes (amabutho)
orchestrated these and many other acts of violence. The political power
and influence of the IFP was challenged by the formation of UDF in 1983
and Cosatu in 1986, both strong allies of the then banned ANC. The IFP
also blamed the ANC for the killing of its leaders. It claimed that an ANC

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22

government would undermine traditional leaders, many of whom were IFP

supporters (see Seekings, 2000; Hassim, 1990; Minaar, 1992; Gwala, 1992).
The violence soon spread to other provinces where it was characterised by
clashes between hostels dwellers (IFP members) and township residents
(ANC supporters) (see Segal, 1992; Zulu, 1993). The Truth and
Reconciliation Commission report concluded that the IFP was ‘the primary
non-state perpetrator of gross human rights abuse in South Africa from the
latter 1980s through to 1994.’ (Truth and Reconciliation Report, Volume
Five, Chapter 6, Conclusion Number 119)
13 Border areas were formed in the 1960s. They were located on the borders of
homelands (commonly known as bantustans). The idea was that industries
should move as close as possible to where black workers lived; this would
restrict urban migration and would encourage black workers to continue
living in the homelands, where, in the view of the apartheid government,
they belonged. Industries in the border areas were given tax breaks and were
not required to provide minimum wages. The border areas formed a critical
component of the industrial geography of the apartheid era.
14 In 1991, Pietermaritzburg accounted for 21 per cent of the area’s formal
workforce. Three of the eight largest employers in the area were footwear
manufacturers (Mosoetsa, 2001a). These companies provided 30 per cent
of the jobs in the manufacturing sector The city has since shed a lot of jobs,
particularly in the footwear sector. However, a few footwear factories, such
as Eddels, still remain in the area. Between 2002 and 2004, Pietermaritz-
burg still contributed the most to the areas’ economy, but the manufactur-
ing sector had declined dramatically. About 71 per cent of businesses in the
district were located in the city and of these only 6.8 per cent were in man-
ufacturing. Pietermaritzburg has become a ‘service city.’ 65 per cent of the
businesses in the district are involved in sales and trade, real estate or offer
business, social and personal services. Unemployment was estimated to be
more than 50 percent in Pietermaritzburg in 2004 (Hickson and Oldham,
2002; Coetzee, 2004).

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CONCLUSION
Poor households are fragile sites of stability

T
he case studies that have been described in this book present a vivid
picture of conditions in poor households in the townships of
Mpumalanga and Enhlalakahle in the province of KwaZulu-Natal.
That this situation is typical of poorer households more generally is borne
out by studies in other parts of the country. In the absence of wage
employment and an effective welfare state, the poor have retreated to the
household and adopted diverse socio-economic livelihood activities. The
household has become the only site of stability for most people as well as
their only means of survival. However, most households are not safe and
secure environments. They are vulnerable and face overwhelming chal-
lenges in the form of ill health and a lack of income and food. They also
have limited access to essential services such as shelter, water and electricity.
While a few households have managed to improve their position by
increasing their assets and access to resources, and some are making ends
meet, the majority are descending further and further into poverty.
It has become clear, during the course of this study, that older women
have become central to the livelihood activities of households and commu-
nities at a time of massive job losses in the formal economy. This is largely
the result of their traditional role as caregivers, the income that they derive
from government pensions and the incapacity, through ill health or income
loss, of other family members. The centrality of women in households has
not resulted in a role reversal or the ‘end of patriarchalism’, though, as some
theorists have suggested it would (see, for example, Castells,1997) or as has
been the case in Russian households (Burawoy, Krotov, and Lytkina, 2000).
While it is true that patterns of male domination and female subordination
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are changing in the two townships, in accordance with shifting class and
economic dynamics, patriarchal values and practices remain the norm.
These values and practices, however, are no longer underpinned chiefly by
the economic position of men as breadwinners but by a reassertion of tradi-
tional and cultural values. The study reveals a twofold and simultaneous
involution in the two areas: towards the household (Burawoy, Krotov &
Lytkina, 2000) and towards the patriarchally-based cultural values that ideo-
logically bind the household. However, the appeal to traditional patriarchal
values does not pass without challenge. Modernity, democracy and gender
awareness provide a set of counter-values. Young women, in particular, are
increasingly questioning patriarchal values.
The study found that people still belong to voluntary associations that
help them access financial and other resources when they need them.
Informal networks and associations that do not require a regular monthly
contribution have largely replaced burial societies and stokvels, though. Indi-
vidualised responses to financial problems are also becoming more com-
mon. People turn to private lawyers, for example, when trade unions have
failed to help them obtain the money that they are owed by companies.
They also tend to rely more on money from loan sharks because credible
money-leading schemes have failed and stokvels have become unaffordable.
The book has shown that both individual and household livelihoods
cannot be separated from community livelihood activities. It has used the
concept of social resources in order to describe and analyse the role of the
wider society in which individuals and households are embedded. However,
social resources differ enormously in their importance and effectiveness.
Neither the poor themselves nor the social resources that they call on to
alleviate their poverty should be treated in an undifferentiated manner. It is
necessary to disaggregate community organisations and other social resources
if one is to gain an accurate understanding of people’s livelihoods.
This book has shown that community-level responses play an impor-
tant role in the livelihoods of individuals and households. Some commu-
nity organisations in Mpumalanga and Enhlalakahle have proved to be
both effective social resources in themselves and tools for the mobilisation
of the resources of the poor. Faith-based organisations (FBOs) stand out in
this regard. Other organisations, though, have been less effective. These
include the traditional trade unions, political organisations and some of
the more short-lived new social movements. The unions in the two areas
have increasingly limited their activities to the protection of the minority

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of people who are formally employed and have failed to cater for the
legions of people who have lost their jobs.
Political organisations play a contradictory role in post-apartheid
South Africa. They are both agents of cost recovery and of development.
Their position in Enhlalakahle and Mpumalanga is further complicated by
the history of political violence in the two areas. People increasingly rely
on individual political leaders rather than on political organisations in
order to access information and resources. This is indicative of a new
trajectory in the two communities, one which leads to demands for more
accountability and action from politicians, on the one hand, but one
which affords more opportunities for corruption, on the other. In a con-
text in which political organisations fail to represent the interests of their
constituencies and trade unions ignore the issues of the unemployed and
those working in the informal economy, vulnerable individuals lose the
political and social networks that they relied on in the past. They might
also fall prey to unscrupulous individuals and put their hopes in organisa-
tions whose existence is precarious and fleeting. The notion of anti-social
capital becomes pertinent in this context.
The study found that the declining role of political organisations and
trade unions in the two areas has not affected faith-based organisations.
They continue to play a leading role in addressing the needs of the two
communities and supporting them in their battle with poverty and HIV
and AIDS. Unlike the political organisations, the churches have begun to
take on the issue of HIV and AIDS in effective ways. They are prepared, for
instance, to talk openly about the disease and combat the stigma that is
attached to it. Women’s church groups play a vital role in caring for com-
munities that are being ravaged by the AIDS pandemic.
As we have seen, the two areas have both witnessed the emergence of
embryonic ‘counter-movements’ (Polanyi, 2001:136). State-citizen relations
in the post-apartheid era have become adversarial in both townships as a
result, with the new movements demanding service delivery and the state
enforcing cost-recovery policies. The conflict over the commodification of
basic services is also closely connected to people’s expectations of democracy
and the electoral promises of political organisations. The new movements
demand better service delivery, including improved health care for those
living with HIV and AIDS. They have played an important role in making
new ideas of social citizenship possible and demanding new forms of gov-
ernance. While it is evident, though, that civil society organisations are

Conclusion
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assisting the people of Mpumalanga and Enhlalakahle ‘either in terms of

levering resources for self-help or by promoting and supporting advocacy’
(Beall, 2001a), the study also makes it clear that ‘neither social capital nor
civil society is a solution to deep-rooted problems of poverty and violence’
(Edwards, 2000:232).
Both the households in the two communities and the wider commu-
nities themselves are characterised by inequality and variable rules of entry
and access to resources and assets. The case studies that are described in the
book show how many of the benefits that are associated with being part of
a community are denied to those whose political affiliation does not
accord with that of the majority. IFP members and households are not fully
accepted in the two communities because both are ANC strongholds. This
phenomenon is related to the history of political violence and the current
power dynamics between the ANC and the IFP in KwaZulu-Natal. Crime,
violence, corruption and the stigma that is attached to HIV and AIDS are
other factors that undermine the idea of community in the two areas.
On a more hopeful note, it emerged in the study that some of the new
community organisations have managed to bring people from different
sides of the political divide together again. They have become catalysts of
change by opening up new possibilities for alternative political trajectories
in both townships. The appearance of the Concerned Citizens Groups of
Enhlalakahle and Mpumalanga is also an indication that the two commu-
nities are prepared to challenge the state to fulfil its election promises and
to be accountable to the voters. These organisations have demanded service
delivery for everyone and not just for the supporters of the political parties
with which they are associated. The work of the Tac also benefits members
and non-members of political parties alike. Demands for service delivery are
also making the idea of accountability and good governance at local level a
reality. The MCCG’s R10 campaign for access to water, for example, was
linked directly to election promises made by politicians. The success of such
community campaigns has the added advantage of curbing corruption.
Many people expected the post-apartheid government to solve the crisis
of unemployment, poverty, inequality and HIV and AIDS by increasing
state expenditure. While the state has made significant strides in creating
livelihoods for the majority of South Africans, rising unemployment,
poverty and the AIDS pandemic have overshadowed these efforts and
ravaged households, individuals and communities. Only the state social
security system stands between many people and utter poverty. As we have

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seen, though, this system is inadequate. It does not reach everyone; nor do
social grants do more than enable people to survive on a basic level. People
are increasingly looking to the household as a safe haven and means of
survival. Most households, however, are fragile; they lack resources and are
characterised by unequal power dynamics based on gender and age. They
are unable, therefore, to effectively alleviate and cushion the effects of
poverty. On the contrary, the pressure that is exerted on them by unem-
ployment, poverty and HIV and AIDS threatens their very existence.

Conclusion