The Wire Artists of Peter Place
In recent weeks I have been inundated with requests from readers to interview various street people. One group – there are six – that keeps coming up is the Wire Artists (their description… ) at the corner of William Nicol Drive and Peter Place.
Having only interviewed individuals up until now, I thought it might be interesting to interview a bunch.
It was interesting but, of course, came with a few challenges. The biggest being they are all fascinating and could be the subject of an interview in their own right.
The six, in no particular order, are Wilfred, his brother Simba, Lovemore, Agrippa, Nigel and Morgan.
All are remarkably eloquent and very polite, while still being independent in their opinions and observations.
Morgan is a Rasta. In the interests of instant bonding, I played him the song I was listening to when I arrived to interview them; Bob Marley singing Zimbabwe. Morgan nodded approvingly.
Contrary to what I expected, they are not a collective, a conglomerate, a stokvel or a bunch of communists, in that they do not share the income from what they sell. They market their wares as one, but money from a sale goes to the person who made the item.
As Lovemore says, “We try and give customers a proper choice. So no one pushes his own goods. We find in the long run it balances out and we all sell the same amount.”
According to Simba, it depends on what the customers want. “If I don’t have what they like in my stock and one of the other guys does, then no problem. We sell each other’s stuff.
“Also if someone is not here, is late or whatever, then we sell for them.”
I found it amusing that the minute one of them has a fast-selling product – it’s not too long before the others start making exactly the same item.
“I was the first one to make a hoopoe bird,” says Wilfred, “and the guys saw me making money. After one week everyone was doing them, but I can’t stop them,” he laughs.
An aspect of their association I found interesting was even though they are all from Zimbabwe, they never knew each other before they came to Johannesburg. For instance, Lovemore and Aggripa only connected when they started working a corner in Fourways.
“We mostly met where we stay in the CBD,” says Wilfred, “because a lot of the wire artists live close to each other. Originally, we all used to sell in different areas and then Morgan came here to Peter Place alone. After that I came, then Lovemore, then Aggripa, then Simba and then Nigel.”
They have come to Johannesburg for the same reason; no work and no customers at home. Lovemore, Nigel and Aggripa say they learnt their “trade” back home, while the others learnt when they got here. Morgan says: “I discovered it was an inborn thing with me, because we grew up making these wire toys and I just never stopped.”
They all claim to now be completely proficient and just need a picture of whatever it is a client wants and they will make it.
I ask if customers are ever unhappy with how they have made an order. “It happens,” says Lovemore, “but not often. If it does, then we just re-make it until they are happy.”
“What do you do if you get a big order?” I ask.
“Then we share it,” says Wilfred. Simba adds that the biggest order they have had was a year ago for a 1 000 small Christmas trees. “The customer paid us a good price – R100 a tree.”
I was fascinated. “So that was a R100 000 order?”
They nod, look at each other as if to say, “… he obviously didn’t do maths”. Instead, Wilfred says, “Yes. There were five of us at the time, so we each took R20 000.”
“What is the strangest order you have ever had to make?” I ask Nigel. He thinks about it for a bit, repeats my question; then says, “An owl.” Why is that strange?” “Because in the Shona culture it is an evil thing. I will make them when I am here, but if my family or friends saw me doing it they would be angry. But in the end I also have to make a living and a lot of people like owls.”
Nigel spent a few years working at the Railway Café in Irene, south of Pretoria. “They used to encourage art. There was a gallery there and they put on concerts.”
He says he misses it, but was continually having his finished goods stolen or his stock of wire and beads go missing, so he came back to Peter Place.
“The market,” he says, “has changed. The business is not running like it used to. Everyone has some bead work in their houses now. Long ago it was new. And also, every robot you go past these days has a guy selling this stuff, so it is not like it was. It is harder to make money now.”
However, it seems he is complicit in the mushrooming of these other wire-goods salesmen, as he says he is happy to make frames for other people. “They can do their own beadwork.”
He gets anything from R50 upwards for a photo frame; obviously depending on the complexity of the item. A frame being the bodywork the beads go onto.
However, despite Nigel’s despondent view of the current market, it seems they can still make a fair amount of money. Of course, they have days where they don’t sell anything. But on a good day they can make a R1 000-plus. I ask them how they cost their products. “Do you have a formula?”
Wilfred answers. “A packet of beads costs R50. So when we make something, we know how many packets we use. Like,” and he points at a sheep about a foot high, “that will take maybe five packets of white beads and one packet of black for the head. So that is six times R50, which is R300, (I get the feeling he is explaining the maths specifically for me). I take that figure, I add 100% for my labour, my time, my skill and the wire, and I sell it for R600 to R800.”
Morgan, my Rasta NBF (new best friend), was the quietest of the bunch. He is married and has a daughter who is in Grade 5 in Harare. When he first came from Zimbabwe he used to sell goods around Eastgate; and then eventually found the current spot. I asked if he minded the others “gatecrashing” his turf.
“Not at all,” he says smiling. “I have no problem. As long as they are not doing things that disappoint our business, I am happy the other guys are here.”
Nigel points out two industrial-sized plastic bags. “We keep our place clean; so all the rubbish here goes in them.”
If things improved in Zimbabwe, they would all go home. “I cannot tell a lie,” says Nigel, “I love my country.”
They all nod.