Lize Albertyn-du Toit: Farmer and Small Business Owner
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| Lize with Poppie and Sophia, two of the Pêpa ladies |
When you walk into Lize’s
farmhouse, you immediately feel at home. Perhaps it’s the welcoming sound of
footsteps on the wooden floors. Maybe it’s the rays of sunlight breaking
through the little shutters in the solid wooden doors. It could be the laughter
of friends busy in the kitchen, a room filled with things that say, “Life’s been
lived here.” Old-school kitchenware, not for the show, but for use.
Everything
and everyone—including the farmer and his wife—says, “Make yourself at home.
Stay a while.” I had planned to visit for a day. I stayed a fortnight.
Lest
anyone fears ever inviting me over for as much as a cup of coffee after this, I
should point out that Lize's (LEE-zuh) and my friendship goes back to 1988, when
we were freshmen at the University of Pretoria and lived in the same dorm for
four years. In many ways, over those critical four years as young adults, we
grew up together.
With
me living overseas, we hadn’t seen each other since 1995, though. My visit to
their farm happened in 2012, and we had a lot
of catching up to do. Plus, the farm turned out to be an amazing place to
do what I had to do: write.
You
cannot help but be inspired when you fall asleep to the sight of the Southern
Cross peering in through your bathroom window from a sky filled with stars. And
you wake up smiling if, from the comfort of your bed, you see the sun poke out
its red head directly behind the mountains on the edge of the farm. But I
digress…
Over
many a cup of tea, we talked about issues of faith and family, work and
worship, pain and pleasure. I learned about Lize’s free-range egg business
(called Ethical Eggs) and laughed out loud at her farm stories—like the one of
how Lize had had it with the cocky rooster after he had kicked her yet again
(this time, while she was fully focused on feeding some calves). So she chased
him around the roost and showed him who’s the boss. Never had an issue with him
or any of the other roosters again.
Not once.
And
I learned of Lize’s other business called Pêpa, a Sesotho (se-SOO-too) word
meaning to carry someone. (Pêpa
sounds like pepper, but with and ah sound at the end.) At some
stage or another, all kids in South Africa are pêpad on someone’s back or on
their hip. It’s part of growing up on the continent.
Lize
had started the business partly because she had turned 40 and, having spent the
most recent quarter of her life focused on raising her boys, she felt like she
wanted to do something new.
The
real impetus for starting Pêpa, however, was that Lize knew something bigger
than the egg business had to be started. Farmers in South Africa receive
absolutely no government subsidies, so it helps to have a side business that is
not dependent on just the right amount of rain at just the right time of the
year, or affected by a drop in wool and meat prices. If the farm goes under
(not unusual under the current economic climate, nor with the weather being
unpredictable), it cripples all the
farm workers. Hence, Pêpa was born, to carry the women of the community.
Lize
and her husband Stefanus (Stuh-FAH-niss)—along with their two sons,
two dogs, several cats, chickens, sheep and some cattle—live on a wheat farm in
the Swartland, a lush region just north of Cape Town. Stefanus’ ancestors have
worked this land since the early 1700s. They have a great staff on the farm,
but while they don’t grow fruit like many of the other farms in the region, the
farm workers’ wives don’t have jobs. Few are educated and thus they cannot get
good jobs in town.
Lize
wanted to change that. She wanted the women to have something they could work
for, something they could be proud of. She wanted them to have a way to be able
to contribute to sending their own children to school.
In
partnership with Liesl, another college friend of ours, Lize decided to start a
small business. It had to be something fun and creative, they figured.
Something beautiful yet practical. The quality had to be high. The style had to
be both chic and distinctly African.
And it had to be something that would inspire the farm ladies to be more than
they ever thought they could be.
So,
with Lize’s cadre of farm ladies, they started making the most beautiful girls’
dresses from shweshwe, 100% cotton in
earthy hues of red, blue, brown, orange and green. (This fabric has been used
in Southern Africa since the Dutch landed here in 1652. It’s especially popular
for traditional ceremonies among the Xhosa people.) They had hardly launched
Pêpa when they got an order for 100 girls’ dresses from an upscale safari
company in Namibia.
Although
very careful not to grow the business too fast, my friends are elated at the
effect the business has had on Lize’s community. “There’s so much joy on the
farm, Adéle,” she told me while cleaning up from kneading a huge ball of dough
that stood covered cozily in a warm corner, getting ready to be baked.
Sitting
down for some freshly-brewed coffee, she shares more stories of how much the
Pêpa ladies love what they do. A
great photographer to boot, Lize’s got photos up all over the kitchen and work
areas of the ladies laughing while they’re working. Not only are the dresses
made with loving care; they’re made with joy. And part of that joy is that all
the hens on the farm are working hard, honing their skills, changing their
world—one dress at a time.
To
see photos of the Pêpa collection, visit www.pepaclothing.com.
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