Insight-driven growth for business and lifestyle

By Chesney Bradshaw

In the early part of yesterday evening, I took a walk from Clovelly down to the beacon at Fish Hoek Beach. I walked above the high-water mark, expecting the refreshing salt air and the pristine sand that makes our coastline world-famous. Instead, I was disgusted to find the beach littered with dog waste in many places.

During my walk, I witnessed a well-dressed man and woman with their dog off-leash. I watched as the dog relieved itself on the upper part of the beach. Instead of picking it up, the man simply covered the mess with a pile of fresh sand. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. On the face of it, these people looked like successful, upper-income individuals, yet they displayed a complete lack of basic civic decency.

This isn’t an isolated incident. I’ve encountered the same attitude at the Silvermine Wetland in Clovelly. There, signs are clearly posted and the City even provides free scoops and bags. Yet many owners still allow their dogs to “trespoop” on the pathways or rush into the water, damaging the fragile aquatic life that sustains the ecosystem.

It begs the question: why is it that people living in some of the most beautiful surroundings on earth can show such disregard for the environment they claim to love?

Trespooping Is Not Cute — It’s Illegal

The term “trespooping” — a blend of trespassing and pooping — might raise a smile when seen on a garden sign, but the City of Cape Town treats the issue seriously.

Under the Animal Keeping By-law (2021):

• Removal is mandatory: Any person in control of a dog in a public place must immediately remove excrement and dispose of it in a bin.

• You must be prepared: Dog owners are legally required to carry a sufficient number of bags or a suitable device to pick up waste.

• Beach zoning matters:

• Fish Hoek: Dogs are permitted only from the lighthouse toward Clovelly. The main beach is a no-dog zone.

• The Strand: Dogs are strictly prohibited on the main swimming beach.

• Muizenberg: Dogs are banned during peak hours (09:00–18:00) in summer.

When that man at Fish Hoek covered his dog’s mess with sand, he wasn’t being sly or harmless. He was committing a fineable offence.

The Psychology Behind the Behaviour

What is going on here? Why do people who appear educated, affluent, and successful behave this way in shared public spaces?

A few uncomfortable psychological explanations come to mind.

1. Public Space Narcissism

Some people treat beaches and wetlands as extensions of their private property — with none of the responsibility. There’s a belief that in a vast public space, their small transgression doesn’t really count.

2. The Anger Reflex

When confronted, these owners often respond with sudden hostility. Psychologists call this reactance — an instinctive anger when someone feels their freedom is being challenged. The anger becomes a defence mechanism, deflecting attention from their own wrongdoing.

3. The Sand-Burial Illusion

Covering dog waste with sand is a neat example of cognitive dissonance. The owner knows leaving it behind is wrong, so they hide it to preserve their self-image as a “responsible” person — conveniently ignoring the child or barefoot walker who will uncover it later.

A Tale of Two Cities

What makes this behaviour particularly galling is that it’s not universal.

In Delta Park in Johannesburg — a dense, landlocked urban environment — dog owners are generally conscientious. Bags are carried. Leashes are ready. The social contract is largely respected.

Here in the Western Cape, where our natural environment is arguably our greatest asset, that contract seems to be fraying.

Dog waste is not just unsightly. It introduces excess nitrogen and phosphorus into wetlands, contributes to algal blooms, and spreads pathogens such as E. coli into sand where families sit and children play.

The Bottom Line

If we want to keep our beaches and wetlands open to dogs, this behaviour has to stop.

A fancy house, a designer outfit, or a well-groomed dog does not place anyone above the law — nor does it shield the environment from damage.

The sand is not a bin.

The rules are not optional.

Take a bag, clean up after your dog, or leave the dog at home.

Simple as that.

I was catching up on the headlines in Le Monde yesterday, and a report on the 2026 French budget really caught my eye. Prime Minister Sébastien Lecornu was at the National Assembly on Tuesday, effectively forcing the revenue side of the budget through without a vote by using Article 49.3. It was a stark reminder of how high the stakes are for taxpayers right now. While the French government is trying to spare the average household from direct income tax hikes, they are leaning heavily on the ultra-rich and major corporations to bridge a massive deficit. It’s a tense, high-wire act of balancing fiscal discipline with social concessions — a scene that feels all too familiar as we navigate our own budget season this January.

The real high-wire act for consumers, ordinary citizens and pensioners in this country is facing the January reality of increased expenses across the board. In 2025, virtually everything went up: monthly payments, groceries, petrol, electricity, rates and taxes — all of it. Some of those increases, particularly the medical aid ones, which remain a massive sore point, have only landed now. And in 2026, we are facing another hiding. All those companies will jack up their prices again — the cost of medical care, housing, electricity, water, refuse, food, living itself.

Where, exactly, are we meant to find the extra money? If last year delivered cumulative increases of around 10% across the board, and this year brings another average 10%, where does a household find 20% growth in income? It’s unbelievable how South Africans are being squeezed.

For political reasons, you can see the French are trying not to hit ordinary people directly, instead gunning for the ultra-rich. Yes, France has a significant number of ultra-rich citizens. In South Africa, there are ultra-rich individuals too, but nowhere near enough of them to propel this economy or carry the tax burden. And remember the fiasco around the 2025 South African national budget? The ruling party — which seems to rule alone despite being part of the GNU — wanted to hike VAT by 2% or more. It was horrific.

I still blame the old National Party for introducing General Sales Tax in the 1970s. GST was introduced in 1978 by Dr Owen Horwood under the National Party government, starting at 4% as part of a shift toward indirect taxation. Today, that tax — now dressed up as VAT — sits at 15%. This government is itching to push it to 20%. Watch this space.

The private sector, with its cunning and rapacious instincts, tries to finesse the increases it imposes. Discovery Health is a classic example — hugely successful, yet endlessly gouging its members. But central and metropolitan governments don’t even bother with finesse. They simply plunder.

They plunder money from compliant taxpayers while allowing large-scale tax avoidance to flourish. Money is channelled through family members’ accounts, through schemes and structures that never seem to attract consequences.

Even private individuals are siphoning income to family members. Others are hiding income and telling the municipality that they are indigent to escape local rates and taxes. These people should be investigated and be subjected to a lifestyle audit.

Yet let a regular taxpayer show a tiny unexplained amount in their account, and they’ll be nailed instantly.

At metropolitan level, the thievery continues unabated. City Power, supposedly there to serve the people, is now actively screwing them. In Cape Town, the electricity network charge sits at around R300. In Johannesburg, it’s close to R1,000 — more than three times the amount. And what do residents get in return? Very little of that money is ploughed back into the city or its neighbourhoods. We all know the reality: potholes, broken traffic lights, burst water mains, rolling electricity outages.

Yet these are the same people who talk about Johannesburg as a “world-class African city”. That slogan, pushed so enthusiastically during Parks Tau’s mayoral term, now reads like tragic satire.

January is a tough month for everyone. Those “buy two, get one free” specials may look appealing at the beginning of the month, but as a radio commentator on RSG pointed out this morning, most people can’t afford those deals by mid-month. Many consumers have also wised up to supermarket tricks designed to make you buy more. Take cake flour: you can only buy it in one-kilogram bags now. The half-kilogram option has quietly disappeared.

January is hard. Brace yourself for February, when national budget talk ramps up in earnest. And prepare yourself for what these income thieves are planning next.

My first real encounter with poverty was at schools in the south of Johannesburg in the early 1990s. Children were given loaves of bread from a large national bakery, and for many of them, that loaf was not just a supplement — it was all they had to eat at home. Some children took the bread home rather than eating it at school, saving it for their families. That is what real poverty looks like.

I remember one teacher in particular who tried to address more than hunger. He taught young boys boxing, not to turn them into fighters, but to help them build confidence and self-belief in lives that offered very little of either. Even then, I saw that dignity and empowerment mattered just as much as food.

Years later, I found myself heading a corporate social investment programme for an international company. I tried to ensure that our initiatives went beyond charity and focused instead on sustainability and innovation. Some of those programmes were, for their time, ahead of the curve. In a country like South Africa, there is no shortage of goodwill. Companies, NGOs, faith-based groups, and countless individuals support the poor every day — through food relief, education, skills training, and quiet acts of generosity that rarely make headlines.

But in recent weeks, I have come across several models that go further than the ordinary. These initiatives do not simply alleviate hardship; they rethink how help is given by restoring dignity, creating agency, and tackling the structural forces that keep people poor.

One of the most striking examples comes from musician Jon Bon Jovi and his wife, Dorothea Hurley, through their JBJ Soul Kitchen initiative. This is not a soup kitchen in the traditional sense, but a non-profit “community restaurant” built on a pay-it-forward model. There are no prices on the menu. Those who can afford to pay are encouraged to donate a suggested amount, covering their own meal and the next person’s. Those who cannot afford to pay earn a high-quality, three-course meal by volunteering an hour of their time in the kitchen or garden.

What makes this model so powerful is that it removes the stigma of charity. People from all walks of life sit together, eat the same food, and are treated as equals. Beyond feeding people, the JBJ Soul Foundation addresses the deeper causes of poverty through wrap-around services, job training, and permanent housing solutions for veterans and low-income families. It is a reminder that innovation in philanthropy is not about writing bigger cheques, but about designing systems that restore dignity and rebuild community.

Another compelling example comes from Bogotá, Colombia, where the city has introduced a groundbreaking initiative known as “Care Blocks.” This model tackles what is often overlooked in discussions about poverty: time poverty. The programme focuses particularly on women who spend their lives performing unpaid care work for children, the elderly, and people with disabilities — labour that traps them in cycles of dependence and exhaustion.

By clustering essential services such as childcare, laundries, health clinics, and support centres within a 20-minute walking radius, the city enables caregivers to safely hand over responsibilities that once consumed their entire day. The reclaimed time can then be used to complete schooling, attend vocational training, access healthcare, or simply rest. Rather than offering a handout, the Care Blocks treat care as a shared social responsibility and redesign the urban environment to support human potential. It is systemic, structural, and deeply humane.

Closer to home in South Africa, I came across an equally innovative model that turns “waste” into opportunity. Taking Care of Business (TCB) is a social enterprise that partners with major retailers to rescue surplus and returned clothing stock. But instead of distributing the items through traditional clothing drives, TCB uses the stock as the foundation for a two-year business programme for unemployed mothers.

Participants buy the clothing at a nominal cost and are mentored on how to repair, market, and sell it within their communities. In doing so, they build micro-franchises of their own. This approach replaces dependency with ownership. The women are not passive recipients of charity; they are partners in their own economic recovery, gaining skills, confidence, and financial literacy. For the poorest of the poor, this is not about receiving a bag of clothes — it is about becoming a businesswoman.

Another powerful insight came from a broadcast on 91.9FM, featuring research from the Deskless Pulse project. The discussion focused on the world’s “deskless workers” — the vast majority of the global workforce who perform essential labour without offices, laptops, or career pathways. These include security guards, cleaners, servers, and countless others whose potential is often invisible.

One story stood out: a young man with a university degree who, due to circumstance, took a job as a security guard simply to survive. Rather than remaining trapped, he used the opportunity to learn the industry from the ground up. Over time, he launched his own security company and eventually became its CEO, committed to recruiting and mentoring others in similar positions. It is a reminder that poverty often masks talent — and that opportunity, not ability, is the real constraint.

Finally, although not a new concept, it is impossible to ignore the renewed vigour being applied within South Africa’s correctional system. Since July 2024, Minister of Correctional Services Dr. Pieter Groenewald has brought a determined focus to transforming prisons from centres of detention into institutions of rehabilitation. Many inmates come from the poorest communities, where crime was often a desperate attempt at survival.

By turning prisons into productive, self-sufficient environments — particularly through commercial agriculture such as poultry, dairy, and crop farming — inmates are not only contributing to their own sustenance but acquiring practical skills that can sustain them once released. This approach reduces the burden on the taxpayer while restoring dignity through meaningful work. Empowerment, rather than punishment alone, becomes the pathway to rehabilitation.

Taken together, these examples point to a profound shift in how poverty can be addressed. The most effective interventions are no longer about handouts alone, but about agency, dignity, and systems that allow people to participate in their own upliftment. Whether through food, time, work, or skills, the common thread is respect for human potential.

Perhaps the real innovation lies not in the programmes themselves, but in the mindset behind them: a recognition that the poor do not need saving — they need opportunity.

? Watch this community hub in Bogotá

Check out this community hub in Bogotá that brings people together and inspires new ways of building support systems for vulnerable populations:

https://youtube.com/shorts/GIW3EKBgNQQ?si=_WuhbOnz-y8LdvIh

“And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tomb-stones where flowers should be;

And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars my joys & desires.”

— William Blake, The Garden of Love

Come on, man. Is this the way to treat people? It’s despicable the way that the utility in Johannesburg is treating its citizens. We are living in a modern era, but this witch-hunt and extortion smacks of the Dark Ages.

Can you believe that to counter the progress of solar power, City Power is extorting an unholy amount of money from people who have invested in their own energy? This predatory behavior smacks of everything against what the world has been wanting: sustainability and the use of renewable energy. This predatory behavior shows sheer desperation from a utility that is failing in its mandate.

Come on, man! The people of Johannesburg must rise up against this evil. This predator has found a way to further bleed the citizens. It is now charging a fixed monthly cost of nearly R1,000 for “network and service fees” on residential customers. Even those trying to escape through solar are being shackled back to a failing grid with punitive tariffs.

This so-called fee means this predator is gouging almost R1,000 from households every single month before a single lightbulb is even turned on.

City Power rolled out prepaid meters as a solution. If you have a prepaid meter, you pay around R230 a month instead of that R1,000 fixed cost. This cost is supposed to be included in the cost of the electricity provided to citizens. But because prepaid meters allow the citizen to control their own spend—and are therefore a “loss-making” way to get money from Johannesburg citizens—the utility has stopped the rollout of prepaid meters.

Come on, man. This is not the way a city should treat its people.

In this country, there are enemies of the people everywhere. These enemies include those who steal from the state, those who defraud state enterprises, and those who raise taxes to further marginalize and impoverish the poor. This behavior by City Power must be checked.

Power misuse on this scale—in this predatory manner against citizens who, by the way, own every pole, wire, and transformer through decades and generations of payments—cannot stand. We have paid for this infrastructure for generations. We should have a say.

What brought me to talk about boerewors was a strange experience in a supermarket on Saturday.

I was at Checkers, buying several packs of boerewors from the meat counter. I left with my handbasket noticeably heavier, coils of wors proudly on display, when someone I know greeted me. She peered into my basket and said, “Oh, I don’t like that stuff in there. I don’t eat boerewors.”

Anyway, I let it drop. A bit of chit-chat, a polite cheerio, and off we went.

But honestly — can you believe it? Commenting on someone else’s food basket. It’s like seeing somebody carrying pig trotters and feeling the urge to pass judgement. You just don’t do it. Especially if it’s someone you barely know.

Later, when I told the story to Larry Mussleman, he chuckled. With a big grin on his face, the first thing he asked was,

“Was she a silver fox?”

I said, “Hardly.”

Larry waved it off.

“Leave these old ladies alone. You know what they’re like. What do you expect from a Limey or a Pom? They’re different.”

And that got me thinking.

People come to this country, live off the lap of the land — milk and honey and plenty of boerewors — yet they carry their liminess or pominness with them and won’t deem it fit to indulge in the local cuisine.

Of course, some people genuinely don’t enjoy boerewors. Fair enough. But we’re talking about the minority here.

Around the same time, I saw a TikTok by a young Chinese guy from South Africa who’s now living in Canada. He was trying boerewors he bought from a Canadian store. Remember, South Africa has a substantial Chinese community, particularly in Johannesburg and Port Elizabeth in the Eastern Cape.

Anyway, he said the boerewors wasn’t nearly as good as what you get back home. It just didn’t meet the standard.

I could practically hear Willie Coetsuur in my head saying, “Ag man, why you worried about some Limey? If they don’t like boerewors, forget it. Tonight we’re frying boerewors. Tomorrow my wife will make fried boerewors on pap with some sous.”

And that’s the thing.

Boerewors has absolutely taken off in recent years. Walk into Food Lover’s Market and you’ll see boerewors named after rugby players, crowding out poor old Jan Braai. Pick n Pay has Springbok boerewors. There are endless varieties now.

The boerewors I bought that day was from Checkers — called Dorslander. A fantastic name, steeped in Afrikaans history. And I must say, it’s very tasty.

Then there’s the Saturday-morning tradition. Thousands of supermarkets across South Africa selling boerewors rolls: fried onions at the bottom, boerewors on top, and whatever sauce you fancy.

Boerewors is comfort food.

Boerewors is national food.

Boerewors cuts across culture in South Africa.

And if you look at it closely, it really does belong to everyone.

Afrikaans-speaking South Africans may claim boerewors as their heritage hero — and per capita, they probably eat the most of it. Family braais, rugby weekends, Heritage Day: boerewors is ritual food.

English-speaking South Africans embrace it too, perhaps a little less reverently, often alongside burgers or peri-peri chicken, but it’s still a firm favourite at any social braai.

Black South Africans, simply by sheer numbers, are the biggest consumers overall. From township shisa nyamas to family gatherings, boerewors paired with pap, chakalaka, or morogo is standard fare. In volume alone, they lead the pack.

Other communities — Portuguese, Chinese, and others — blend it into their own food cultures in different ways. Maybe not daily, but enthusiastically enough to prove the point.

Boerewors isn’t about divisions. It’s one of the few foods that genuinely unites South Africans.

The Market in 2026

And the numbers back it up.

Boerewors sales in South Africa continue to grow in 2026, even under pressure from inflation and tighter household budgets. The market has split: while the traditional braai basket has become more expensive, boerewors remains dominant because it’s still more affordable than premium cuts of meat.

The processed meat sector — which includes boerewors — is growing steadily, with particular momentum in artisanal and gourmet varieties. Small producers offering preservative-free, high-quality wors are flourishing.

Prices have gone up, yes, but not as sharply as steak or stewing beef. That makes boerewors the “survival meat” for many middle-class families who want to keep the braai tradition alive.

Add to that:

• Ready-to-braai convenience ranges

• Online butcheries and grocery apps

• Growing international demand driven by the South African diaspora

And it becomes clear: boerewors isn’t going anywhere.

In fact, it’s thriving.

So whether you’re frying it, braaing it, sticking it in a roll, or serving it on pap with sous — if you’re in South Africa, chances are boerewors is already part of your story.

And if you don’t like it?

Well… more for the rest of us.

The drone business is exploding.

So here’s the uncomfortable question: why aren’t you in it yet?

Everywhere you look, drones are working quietly in the background — mapping mines, scanning crops, protecting wildlife, inspecting infrastructure, and collecting data faster and cheaper than humans ever could. In South Africa, this is no longer a future industry. It is already a functioning, fast-growing economic sector that employs thousands of people and attracts serious money.

And yet, most people are still watching from the sidelines.

Let’s talk honestly about why — and why that hesitation might be costing you a real opportunity.

The Drone Industry Looks Complicated — But That’s Why the Money Is There

At first glance, drones seem technical, regulated, and capital-intensive. And yes — you can’t just wake up tomorrow and start flying commercially. You need licenses, approvals, insurance, and trust.

But that barrier is exactly what makes the industry attractive.

This is not a hustle that gets flooded overnight. It rewards people who:

• Do their homework

• Learn the rules

• Build credibility

• Deliver reliable results

In other words, it rewards professionals.

And that’s why there’s money to be made — as an employee, a contractor, or an entrepreneur running the show.

How Big Is the Drone Business in South Africa?

Depending on whose numbers you use, South Africa’s drone market was worth between USD 138 million and USD 504 million in 2024, and is projected to grow to over USD 1.2 billion by 2030.

That’s a double-digit growth industry, driven by:

• Agriculture (precision farming, crop health analysis)

• Mining (surveying, volume measurements, safety inspections)

• Security & surveillance

• Infrastructure & construction

• Wildlife management and anti-poaching

• Mapping, GIS, and data analytics

This is not hype. These services are already embedded in how major companies operate.

How Many People Are Already Employed?

Exact numbers are hard to pin down because the industry is fragmented — but realistic estimates tell a powerful story.

• Licensed commercial drone pilots: ±2,500–4,000

• Total ecosystem employment (including tech, data, training, maintenance, compliance, sales): 10,000–15,000+ people

• Annual growth rate: estimated 20–30%

And importantly: many of the business owners are not pilots.

They hire pilots.

This Is a Business of Trust (Not Toys)

Everything in the drone industry is built on trust:

• Trust that the pilot is licensed

• Trust that the data is accurate

• Trust that regulations are followed

• Trust that insurance will cover the risk

If you can’t trust yourself to do things properly, you shouldn’t be here.

But if you can — this industry rewards people who take responsibility seriously.

That’s why you shouldn’t rely on just one article (including this one).

Speak to people already in the industry.

Visit flight schools.

Talk to farmers, surveyors, mine managers.

Do your own homework.

Getting Employed in the Drone Industry (South Africa)

For young people especially, this industry offers a rare combination:

• Technical skill

• Outdoor work

• Real income

• Global relevance

Step 1: Get Licensed (Non-Negotiable)

To fly commercially in South Africa, you need:

• Remote Pilot Licence (RPL) from SACAA

• Minimum age: 18

• Class 3 aviation medical

• English language proficiency

Training typically takes 3–5 weeks and costs R15,000–R30,000 at accredited flight schools.

Step 2: Add Skills (This Is Where You Become Valuable)

Flying alone won’t make you rich.

Data and interpretation will.

High-demand skills include:

• GIS and mapping

• Photogrammetry

• Precision agriculture analysis

• Python / data processing

• Software like Pix4D, DroneDeploy, ArcGIS

Step 3: Get Work

Typical entry-level salaries:

• R200,000 – R400,000 per year

• Higher if you combine flying with data analysis or engineering

Jobs exist in agriculture, mining, surveying, security, and conservation — especially in Gauteng, Western Cape, and mining regions.

Starting a Drone Business (Without Losing Your Shirt)

Here’s a reality check:

You don’t need to own drones to make money.

You don’t even need to be a pilot.

The Legal Reality

To operate commercially as a company, you need:

• Registered business (CIPC)

• Licensed pilots (RPL)

• ROC (Remote Operator Certificate) from SACAA

• Registered drones

• Insurance

The ROC process can take 3–6 months, which is why many startups fail before they begin.

The Smart Shortcut: Fly Under an Existing ROC

Many successful operators start by:

• Getting their RPL

• Contracting under an established company’s ROC

• Building experience, income, and a client base

• Applying for their own ROC later

This avoids massive upfront compliance costs.

Where the Real Money Is Made

The drone itself is just a tool.

The money is in what you do with the data.

High-margin niches include:

• Agricultural NDVI and yield analysis

• Mine stockpile volume calculations

• Infrastructure inspections (powerlines, solar farms)

• Security and automated surveillance

• Environmental and heritage mapping

Startup costs for a lean operation typically range from R200,000–R500,000, far less than many traditional businesses.

Investors: Pay Attention Here

If you’re an investor, the opportunity is not just in flying drones.

Smart money is going into:

• Drone-as-a-Service (DaaS) companies

• AI-powered image analysis software

• Training academies and simulators

• Specialized payload manufacturing

• Drone-in-a-Box security systems

• Medical and last-mile delivery networks

South Africa’s regulatory maturity makes it one of the most advanced drone markets on the continent.

Final Thought: Why You’re Still on the Sidelines

Most people don’t miss opportunities because they don’t exist.

They miss them because they:

• Assume it’s too complicated

• Assume it’s too expensive

• Assume it’s “too late”

None of those assumptions are true.

This industry rewards preparation, professionalism, and trust.

If you’re willing to do the work — there is money to be made, whether you’re a pilot, a technician, a data analyst, or the entrepreneur running the operation.

The sky isn’t the limit.

It’s the workplace.

In the quiet coastal town of Fish Hoek, the PEP store has been a fixture for over 60 years. My grandfather shopped there; I shop there. For decades, it has stood as a symbol of consistency in a country that is anything but consistent.

Yet, as 2026 unfolds, we find ourselves watching a bizarre corporate drama. Pepkor (the parent of PEP and JD Group) is moving to acquire OK Furniture and House & Home from Shoprite for R3.2 billion. Meanwhile, the Lewis Group has been fighting a desperate battle in court to block it, and the “Competition Hawks” are wringing their hands about monopolies.

It’s time for a reality check. If we want South African business to survive the current climate, we need to stop being scared of efficiency.

1. The “Distance Tax”: Why Size Matters

South Africa is vast. To the academics in Cape Town or the lawyers in Sandton, a “monopoly” is a scary word from a textbook. But to the person in a rural village in Limpopo or the Northern Cape, a “monopoly” isn’t the problem—logistics is.

Running a national retail chain in this country is a massive undertaking. We have high fuel costs, a crumbling rail network, and electricity costs that are strangling small businesses. To survive, you need Economy of Scale.

• You need a massive fleet of trucks to make long-haul trips profitable.

• You need the “buying power” to negotiate prices that offset the massive increase in utility costs.

Marginal players are falling by the wayside not because they are being “bullied,” but because they simply cannot afford to operate in the “Real South Africa.” A strong player like Pepkor can use its massive network to keep stores open in towns where others would simply pull the plug.

2. Is Pepkor a “Bad Guy”? Look at the Track Record

The argument that a “Mega-Pepkor” will suddenly start “screwing the consumer” doesn’t hold water when you look at their history. PEP has built its entire legacy on being the lowest-price provider.

• They didn’t become a household name by ripping people off; they did it by being so efficient that they could sell essential goods at prices others couldn’t match.

• Consumer Protection isn’t just about having ten different shops to choose from; it’s about having at least one shop that is efficient enough to keep prices down when inflation is soaring.

3. The “MBA Crybabies” and the Global Reality

There is a lot of talk lately about how South African business schools need to “decolonize” and ignore international MBA models because “South Africa is unique.” While our challenges are local, the laws of Supply and Demand are universal.

Nando’s didn’t become a global powerhouse by only studying the street corners of Rosettenville. They mastered international competition. If our lawmakers block local companies from getting big enough to be efficient, they aren’t “protecting” us—they are making us vulnerable. If we don’t allow a local giant like Pepkor to scale up, we leave the door open for international giants to walk in and take over.

4. The “Ghost in the Room”: Protecting the Rural Consumer

It would be dishonest to talk about the furniture business without acknowledging its “murky” past. For decades, the industry was often about selling credit first and furniture second. In the old days, hidden fees were sometimes used to squeeze vulnerable consumers in rural villages.

However, the world has changed. To make this “strong player” model work, we rely on modern safeguards:

• The National Credit Act (NCA): This is the ultimate shield, setting legal ceilings on interest and outlawing “reckless lending.”

• Plain Language Rights: Consumers now have the right to documents they actually understand, rather than legal jargon.

• Public Interest Conditions: The Competition Commission has already laid down rules for this deal, including protecting jobs and ensuring these giants continue to serve far-flung communities.

5. Where was Lewis Group?

Finally, one has to ask: If this deal is so “dangerous” and the OK Furniture business is such a prize, why didn’t Lewis Group buy it? Were they “asleep at the wheel”?

It’s easy to run to the courts to block a rival’s growth, but it’s much harder to build the infrastructure required to service the entire South African population. Blocking this deal won’t lower prices—it will only protect a competitor who is scared of a more efficient neighbor.

The Bottom Line

South Africa needs strong, resilient companies that can weather the storm of our national infrastructure crisis. We shouldn’t be punishing Pepkor for being good at what they do. We should be asking why more companies aren’t following their lead.

On a recent visit to Bloemfontein, I made a point of stopping at an old favourite: Stadium, a long-standing burger restaurant with several branches scattered around the city and into Heidedal. For many locals, Stadium isn’t just a place to grab a bite—it’s part of Bloemfontein’s food identity.

The Stadium Fast Foods Legacy: At a Glance

• Founded: 5 May 1980

• Founder: Johnny Pereira, who blended Portuguese culinary roots with classic South African padstal hospitality

• Origin story: Pereira bought an old-fashioned café on the corner of Ella Street and Park Road. Because it stood directly opposite the Free State Stadium (now Toyota Stadium), he renamed it Stadium—and a local icon was born.

• The original location: The Park Road branch, still regarded as the “mother store,” has served rugby crowds for over four decades, including during the 1995 and 2010 Rugby World Cups.

• Expansion: From that single café, Stadium has grown into a Bloemfontein institution with more than 10 branches.

• Key branches today:

• Park Road (the original, next to the stadium)

• Zastron Street (a Westdene favourite)

• Curie Avenue (with a convenient drive-thru)

• Langenhoven Park (The Park Shopping Centre)

• Twin City Mall (serving the Heidedal community)

• The secret sauce: Stadium is famous for its Portuguese-style burgers, especially the Beef & Egg Burger and the massive Dagwood—burgers that have become synonymous with “stadium food” in Bloemfontein.

Visiting the Original Stadium

We went to the Park Road branch near the Free State rugby stadium, which is widely regarded as where it all began. This original store still captures the spirit of the brand.

The menu is straightforward: burgers, fish, and chips. Nothing fancy, but that’s part of the appeal. Inside, the restaurant is clean and neat, with small tables and a relaxed atmosphere. While the surrounding area of Bloemfontein feels a bit tired, it still seemed reasonably safe during our visit, and a car guard looked after our vehicle outside.

Food, Prices, and the Overall Experience

Prices are fairly sharp. I wouldn’t call them an absolute bargain, but the food is tastier and better priced than what you’d typically get at the big international burger chains like McDonald’s or Burger King, where the burgers can feel bland and forgettable. (I’ll exclude Steers here, as their burgers are genuinely tasty and many people swear by their chips.)

Service is reasonably good, and the food arrives quickly. But the real attraction is that Stadium offers something different. It’s not a global franchise—it’s a local experience, and one that feels uniquely Bloemfontein.

Why Stadium Still Matters

Perhaps the most important thing about Stadium is this: it was founded in Bloemfontein and has largely remained rooted here. In a world dominated by international fast-food brands, Stadium stands as a proudly local burger chain that has survived—and thrived—for over four decades.

If you’re visiting Bloemfontein and want to experience a true local favourite, Stadium is well worth the stop.

Yesterday, I watched thousands of crayfish being landed at Gordon’s Bay Harbour.

They were brought in by artisanal fishermen operating under permits issued by the marine authorities. The process was tightly controlled. The crayfish were placed in plastic crates, weighed on a verified scale, and observed and recorded by several inspectors assigned to each catch.

The big concern on the day was air temperature, which is critical to keeping the crayfish alive. Because these crayfish were destined for export, they had to be kept cool on the boats and then transferred quickly into a chiller truck running at about 7°C. From there, they would be taken to a processing facility, where they would be revived in holding baths before eventually being packed for export.

This brings me to prices.

We were told that export prices have dropped, mainly due to increased volumes of crayfish (or lobster) entering the global market from Australia and Mexico. The price being paid for the Gordon’s Bay catch was about $35 per kilogram. The fishermen were hoping for closer to $45 per kilogram, which is what they had become used to in recent years.

The recent dip in crayfish prices at Gordon’s Bay is a direct reflection of a shifting global tide. After a four-year hiatus, Australia has aggressively re-entered the international market, flooding major hubs such as China with record-breaking volumes of Southern Rock Lobster. Combined with steady supply from Mexico, this release of stock has created a global surplus. Locally, South Africa has also seen a massive 58% increase in the legal catch limit for the 2025/2026 season. With more lobster available globally than at any time in the past five years, buyers now have the upper hand, forcing local “beach prices” down from their previous highs.

If you’re a local in False Bay, though, you’ll still pay a fortune for crayfish at restaurants. The last crayfish I ate was about two years ago at a local seafood restaurant, where a whole crayfish was selling for around R150 with rice or chips. It was very small. In fact, they were all very small.

It’s a pity that locals can’t eat crayfish at lower prices, but with the strong commercial and export interests involved, that’s not going to happen. There is, however, a limited season for recreational fishermen and divers, when you can legally catch crayfish yourself and cook it at home at a far more reasonable cost.

While standing at the harbour, I couldn’t help thinking about the tons upon tons of crayfish that are illegally harvested. Crayfish poaching remains high, and newspaper reports regularly describe hundreds of kilograms being confiscated at a time. It’s the same story as with perlemoen (abalone), a species that has been heavily decimated by poachers.

So yes, it’s an interesting and even impressive experience watching crayfish being landed at Gordon’s Bay Harbour. But behind this cottage industry lies a far more troubling reality: increasing pressure on the marine environment from overfishing and illegal poaching. And that is the sad part of the story.

It started last year. I stumbled on a video of a French chef. He’s about ninety, moving calmly around his kitchen, turning stale bread into golden little pancakes. No fancy cuts, no measured ingredients—just a man and his hands, trusting his instincts. I loved that. I loved his ease.

I watched more of his videos: how to make an omelette, how to build a sauce. Basic things, but he made them feel like quiet rituals. He didn’t measure; he felt. And somehow, watching him chop an onion without rushing gave me more confidence in my own kitchen than any precise recipe ever had.

That was my gateway. Then the algorithm—TikTok’s eerie, intuitive brain—kicked in. It started sending me cooking shorts from everywhere. An Italian couple, probably in Dubai, rolling out pasta dough like it’s second nature. Niina, a young Japanese woman with a crisp British accent, guiding you through her Tokyo kitchen. You’re not just learning a dish; you’re in her home, hearing her fan hum, seeing her bowls. It’s intimate.

Then came the Italian-Americans. A clip from some family kitchen in New York, voices loud and hands waving. You get the real lowdown—the gestures, the asides, the unedited joy. For a minute, you’re there. Not reading about it. There.

And that’s the thing. I saw a “quick meal” recipe in a newspaper the other day. The ingredient list alone made me glaze over, so I put it down. But with TikTok, I watched that French chef make something, walked to my kitchen, and cooked it without looking back. No steps to remember. Just a feeling—a visual rhythm I’d absorbed. Turns out I’m a visual learner—always have been—and I never knew how much that mattered until I started watching instead of reading.

Oh, and about that French chef—I looked him up. Jacques Pépin. He’s written 34 books. He was the chef for Charles de Gaulle. He turned down a job from JFK. He’s a legend. And I found him between a dancing cat and a viral prank. I can’t believe the quality of content you can stumble upon now. It’s not just cooking. It’s history, relationships, skills, voices from everywhere—real people, showing real things, without polish.

So if you want to learn something fast, and feel it in your hands, try TikTok. Don’t search. Just watch. Let it bring the world to you—one short, human, unmeasured moment at a time.

Bon appétit. And happy cooking.