My father had this nasty habit I did not like one bit. At the end of every school term, he would ship me and my siblings out to my grandparents in the rural hinterlands of this beautiful country.
I particularly loathed the idea of foregoing the pleasures of the bright lights of the city to bear with smoke-filled huts and the irritation it caused my poor eyes.
But since I had very little choice in the matter, I would begrudgingly subject myself to the visits, knowing very well that my no pushover grandmother, okaMathetha, would make these no better.
Like a master conductor in a choir, she would wake us up at the crack of dawn to take her livestock to the pastures, fetch some water from the stream and come back to till the fields.
Finding peace
But crossing the sprawling hills and valleys of eMgazini somehow lifted my spirits and allowed my mind to wander across other lands.
That smell of the fresh cow dung she used to polish the floors and the clean air won me over, so much so, that even when I had grown up, I would often sneak out a visit to okaMathetha in her village just to find peace, admire the beauty of my ancestral lands and knock back a few cold bottles of Hansa away from the hectic life of Johannesburg.
That was so until the new government came and started to extend basic services to areas that its predecessors had left largely forsaken. Among the services was the electrification of the village and the bringing of water to within the reach of rural communities.
Noble as these developments were – and they certainly were as they improved okaMathetha’s life significantly – they sadly also took away something that had formed a big part of my identity as a person. No longer would I be able to see the dark nights as an assurance that I was indeed out of the big city.
But again since I had no sway over these, I swallowed my disapproval, perhaps cursed in silence and moved on with my life. But this week my identity was stolen yet again.
The Belgians, through an entity called Anheuser-Busch (AB) InBev, pursued an aggressive purchase of SABMiller for about R1.4 trillion (at last week’s rate) to create the world’s biggest beer maker. Put into perspective, the transaction was slightly bigger than the size of South Africa’s total budget, which stands at R1.35 trillion.
Like the vicious colonialists they once were – ask the Congolese – the Belgians carefully studied the world order and realised that the new frontier for their product lay not in Europe. Africa, once again, was to become the new carrier of the globalised village.
As economic indicators point, the continent’s gross domestic product is expected to strengthen to 4.5 percent this year and to grow by 5 percent in 2016. With many of the established markets saturated, Africa will soon be closing in on the impressive growth levels seen before the 2008/09 global economic crisis.
With this comes the expansion of the middle class on the continent, which would bode well with investors who want to take their businesses to new markets.
And with SABMiller already established on the continent, South Africa is to be a good gateway into the coveted market. Absolute business sense to any sensible shareholder!
But there is something that scares me about this large purchase. It has nothing to do with the fact that the SA Breweries (SAB) left these shores and headquartered itself in London after it acquired Miller Brewing and formed SABMiller in 1999.
It has to do with my fears of the possible change that may come with the AB-InBev acquisition.
A new entity
I wonder if the Belgians will retain the name SAB and force me to forge allegiance with the new entity. After all, I would still maintain that despite their large purse, SAB is a proudly South African invention that dates back to the 19th century when gold was discovered in Johannesburg.
The fear is more than just personal.
SAB has been the pride of our biggest sporting events since time immemorial. What would the exploits of the black and gold look like when they have to celebrate yet another Premier League title?
What will the game between the Sharks and the Blue Bulls be like when the fans get denied their chance to indulge in their ritual Black Label before the start?
And how would we celebrate the Proteas when they score another boundary without our beer?
There is also Kedidi, a friend who became a businessman when SAB gave its drivers the chance to become the owners of the trucks that delivered its products in the early 1990s.
Kedidi not only takes care of his family with the money that he makes out of being an owner driver. He employs some people who help him offload the stuff from the truck, who in turn support their families.
Add to that the story of Sis Nthabiseng who runs a thriving shebeen and has managed to raise two beautiful daughters on the profits she has made out of our thirst.
The value chain is just endless.
That is why today I cry like a sentimental old fool over something that was once something of national pride to us – although not quite in recent times as the English can stake a much better claim.
So when the Food and Allied Workers Union (Fawu), which represents the majority of the 6 433 people that the company employs in South Africa, cries foul over the deal and asks for the government to intervene, I understand their sentiment.
When Cosatu complains about the effect that the transaction could have on our tax base, I appreciate their sense of betrayal.
Sadly, they, like me, are just small fish in a pond that is dominated by the power of the stock market and the mega-acquisitions that have characterised the global village.
Maybe in time, all South Africans will bid farewell to their beloved brewer.
And I will certainly join them to say... so long my Hansa, you have been a friend indeed and a friend in need!
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