The entrepreneurship in me

At an early age I was exposed to business through my participation in my parent’s corner store. Although it was a very small business, nevertheless it was no different from running a corporation. I think the same principle applies to small or large business.

Our corner store looks very much like this, sixty years ago.

Out of a number of siblings, I was the only one interested in the shop. I spent a lot of time, voluntarily no coercion, serving customers, and I was so tiny that I had to stand on rice bags to get myself above the shop’s counter. Our customers were mainly “Creoles” descendants of African slaves then brought in mainly from Madagascar and Mozambique, and “Indians” from India then brought in as indentured labourers to work in the sugar plantation.

I would see people like these coming to our corner store to buy things

The shop’s counter was L shape and it separated us from the customers. On one side of the counter sat two glass display cases, one containing a bowl of margarine, a can of the higher grade “Red Feather” brand butter, a jar of locally made jam, a plate of sardines and a can of condensed milk. These were condiments which we sold in minute quantity, customers unable to buy a whole can, delightful when spread to the warm round French loaf. For those who could afford it, sardines on crunchy bread with the vinegar marinated hot pepper “piment confit” was the best choice, else sugar sprinkled over sliced bread was a cheaper alternative. The other display case contained household accessories, sold per piece, such as needles, thread, zippers, buttons, clips, elastic bands and cheap imitation jewelleries.

This is the exact butter we carried in our shop sixty years ago. Still on the market today.

Sardines on warm crispy French loaf with “Piment Confi”, a luxurious diet to the poor inhabitants of Mauritius

Mauritians love their “Piment Confi”, green peppers marinated in vinegar.

The only time we sold one can of sardines whole was when on one unique occasion two tall imposing pitch black tough looking “Zulu” soldiers in khaki military uniform came to our shop and asked for a can of sardines. They stood there and then and devoured the contents using their fingers. The Zulu soldiers, remnant of the World War II military force, were stationed in a barrack a kilometre behind our shop. I stood there watching them feeling awed, scared and glad at the same time.

On the other side of the counter we had the grocery items, such as rice, sugar, salt, tea, flour, spices, cooking oil, kerosene, canned food namely Pilchards in tomato sauce and condensed milk. Most produce were sold in small quantity, half pound, quarter pound, the spices in spoonful, and wrapped in cone shape paper bags in-house produced from old newspaper. We even made our own glue to tape the paper bags by cooking flour with water until it turned into a thick paste. In another corner sat a couple of shelves stacked up in neat rows with different brands of cigarettes. The cigarettes came in round tin box and we sold one cigarette at a time.

Mauritians love their spices which include garlic, ginger, cilantro, tumeric, clove, thyme, basil, cannamon, black pepper, dried chilis.

Pilchards in tomato sauce sold in our shop sixty years ago. Still available on the market today.

Cigarettes were kept in circular tin container with lid. The Triple Five was a favourite brand of cigarette then

Sale was by cash only. Debit or credit card and cheque were never heard of. Occasionally some credit was allowed to a few trustworthy customers. My brother used white chalk to write the amount owned on the edges of the shelves and erased when paid.

We carried two types of cooking oil, coconut oil the less expensive and vegetable oil the superior quality. The oil usually came in a large three feet high drum which we rolled to the back of the house for storage. A portion of the oil was siphoned into a two feet tall tin container from where we, using a long quart-size tin ladle, dispensed the oil into the customer’s bottle through a funnel.

Cooking oil came in large drum.

Our shop opened from 7 am to 7 pm everyday except on Thursday and Sunday when we closed at noon. As if the opening hours were not long enough the neighbourhood kept coming after hours and knocked on our backyard door to buy things. I realized later that it was not that these people were busy and could not come earlier but they were waiting for the bread winner to come home from work with money to buy food for the day.

I learned about buying and selling and in between earned a profit. Who does not know the motto: buy low and sell high, but it is not as simple as it sounds. I learned about risk.
For example I felt uneasy when we were not able to sell all the individual sardines by end of day, or when I saw the unsold bananas hanging from the shop’s ceiling turning deep brown with black freckles, a sign of deterioration. Most often reduce the price and cut the loss was the way to go.

I was worried when our bananas turned blackish. A business risk we had to take.

One day after school I walked, amidst deserted undulating terrain, with an Indian schoolmate to his family farm two kilometres away from home. He wanted to give me some cilantro free. To bypass his father’s prying eyes he hide a bunch of cilantro inside his watering can and walked to the small stream running by the farm to get water. There he let go the cilantro in the running stream for me to catch thirty feet downstream. I felt really proud when I brought the item to our shop to sell, very glad of my contribution to the family business.

Even as a young boy, I liked to compare other neighbourhood stores, predominantly run by Chinese, to ours. The earlier Chinese in Mauritius, for lack of local language and other relevant skills, had few alternatives other than running a corner store. For sure our shop was not doing as well. I knew it was location and I envied my two other uncles’ shops which were located at Champs de Mars, an affluent area of town. Also I knew we were not the friendliest shop on the block, my mother always acting tough, necessary to keep the hooligans in check. For some reason my father was working and living at a Chinese Club on Desforges Street. So the lack of a male presence, similar to my aunt’s circumstances at Deep River, weakened the shop security. I remember on several occasions my elder brother had to chase some bad kids down the road to retrieve stolen merchandises.

I was aware that product quality and competitive pricing were also essential ingredients for business success. I remember how quickly warm breads were sold off each morning. I knew Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola were quality drinks but their prices prohibitive. When we acquired a refrigerator at a later stage, we were able to make our own cold soft drink from the local “tamarind” fruit, a sweet and sour terrific thirst quencher which the locals gobbled in one swoop.

I was extremely happy when we got our refrigerator and made our own “tamarind” soft drink.

The tamarind fruit widely grown in Mauritius. We can also eat them as is, a sweet and sour taste.

However strong business minded I was and however strong my desire to get into business was, a business career was not meant for me. I ended up working in the financial industry. In hindsight I could probably never be a successful businessman, for I could never take advantage of a customer or an employee. My principle, my philosophy, the nature in me would have driven me to give the shop away. Such is fate.