The Smile That Welcomes A Nation: 28 Years Of Lusanda At The Market

For twenty-eight years, she has remained the heartbeat of South Africa’s legendary Market Theatre. From a passionate young volunteer to the Head of Brand and Communications, she is the welcoming smile, the steady hand, and the bridge between stage and street.

By Sandile Memela

If you have ever walked through the doors of The Market Theatre, you have seen or met her, even if you do not know her name.

She is the smile at the entrance. The dark-complexioned angel who radiates light. The calm voice on the telephone. The person who remembers your seat, your child’s name, and that you prefer aisle two.

She is the bridge between the stage and the street, between the artists and the audience, between The Market and the world watching it. Her name is Lusanda Zokufa. And for twenty-eight years, she has been the face of this institution.

This year, we celebrate not just a career, but a life lived in service to art, to people, and to a place that has shaped South African culture.

From Volunteer To Visionary: 2000 To 2025

Lusanda did not plan to end up here. Not exactly: “I started working as a volunteer in 2000 and officially in November 2002,” she says.

Before that, she was a girl from Port Elizabeth—before it became Gqeberha—with big dreams and a basketball in her hands.

“My ambition when I was young was to play professional basketball and one day become one of the talented Harlem Globetrotters. Travel the world doing what I love best—after, of course, playing for South Africa and winning every cup there is to win. And yes, I didn’t know you had to be American to be part of the team.”

She came to Johannesburg fresh from Lawson Brown High School. She studied Marketing Management with the IMM Graduate School but withdrew after a year. Johannesburg was new, and she found herself hanging around the flat, even getting involved in the Yeoville Policing Forum, “literally walking at night guarding the streets of Yeoville.”

Then The Market called…not with lights and celebrities, but with people.

Regina Sebright asked her to come and assist with administration—specifically, to help Penny Morris, a fundraiser, call audiences for fundraising nights. For free, of course. Before Lusanda could answer, her mother had already signed her up.

Her mother is Busi Zokufa, who used to bring a young Lusanda around the theatre during rehearsals. That is how Lusanda met Siwe Hashe, Matjamela Motloung, and Tale Motsepe.

“These guys were always happy, always walking with purpose and took time to explain things to me. I thought ‘kumnandi apha sana’—look at me, 25 years later kusemnandi nangoku!”

From that volunteer desk, she climbed: Production Assistant Trainee, Personal Assistant to the Managing Trustee, Audience Development Officer, Head Usher, Box Office Trainee, Reception Night Shift, Publicity Intern, Publicist, Senior Publicist, and Interim Marketing Manager.

And since 1 September 2022: Head of Department: Brand and Communications. Twenty-eight years. No shortcuts. No scandals. Just work.

The Job No One Sees, But Everyone Feels

If you ask Lusanda what her job is, she will not give you a job description. She will give you a feeling.

“I love seeing everything we have worked so hard for come together on opening nights,” she says. “I love watching the audience enjoy the show for the first time. I love when people appreciate the talent that we work with every day.”

She also loves the challenging parts.

“Is it strange that I also enjoy the bad times? I appreciate the lessons we learn when we have tried to do a project, and people don’t resonate with it. That engagement is priceless. It’s heartbreaking, but it’s a tough lesson to learn.”

That is Lusanda. She does not run from difficulty; she leans in.

Her days are about order, people, and process.

“I love working with people. I love processes. I love order. I love having goals to achieve. I love being guided by the laws of the country.”

People do not know this about her: she loves politics. Her hopes for growth are vast.

“Somewhere between being Mayor and Minister of Communications or Women and Children. I think I would do good for my people.”

But for now, her politics is practised here. It is in how she treats a nervous, first-time patron, and in how she handles a difficult VVIP.

“They are my favourite,” she laughs. “When there is a difficult person, I am the person to call. I kill them with kindness. My granny taught me that. You disarm someone when you approach with genuine respect, not pretence, and offer a solution for their dilemma. I love and thrive under those circumstances.”

That is the Lusanda people know: the one who makes everyone feel important.

The Bridge

The Market Theatre does not exist in a vacuum. It exists in constant conversation—with patrons, media, government, artists, and the community.

Lusanda is that conversation.

She is the bridge between the stage director or actor and the newspaper; between the usher and the board; between a student group with no budget and a show that needs a full house.

She does it all with qualities that cannot be taught: creative thinking, the ability to think on her feet, a solution-oriented mindset, deep listening, a fearlessness to try new things, organisation, and relentless drive.

The challenges are real.

“Empty seats. No students for courses. Egos. My word, my worst: everyone knows how to do marketing, especially with social media. Everyone is a marketer, or everyone has studied Marketing 101. And people who think theatre is niche.”

But she keeps showing up. Because The Market matters.

“Where do I begin? A space of culture and community. A site of defiance and social change. We are so blessed. We are also a living archive. This incredibly awesome institution serves as a moral voice that relates the horrors of apartheid and celebrates the resilience of the people, making it a symbol of truth, transformation, and the power of art to challenge injustice. Hmmm, what an honour.”

Rooted In People

Lusanda was raised by a village. Her grandmother, Vuyiswa Doreen Zokufa; her late aunt, Musa Zokufa; and her uncles, Yolisa, Mkhuseli (who has passed away), Mkhululi, and Wezile.

Her mother came to Johannesburg when Lusanda was about two years old to “find gold.” Her father passed away.

Her mother, “MomZie”, is seventy now and remains Lusanda’s best friend. “I hope I am half the mom she is to my kids,” she says.

She also lost her brother, Thanduxolo. But he left her a beautiful gift: his son Tsepo, who taught her how to be a mother. Tsepo is now a wonderful big brother to Mkhuseli.

Home, for Lusanda, is not a place on a map.

“Home is a feeling. Where my family, my partner and my children are.”

And her Johannesburg friends? Almost all of them she met at The Market.

“Wait, is that a good thing? Does that mean I am always here?” she jokes. “But I owe this place more than just an amazing opportunity. I have some of the best chomies any girl can ask for.”

The Quiet Leader

What makes Lusanda extraordinary is what she does not do. In twenty-eight years, she has never been associated with a scandal. In an industry where egos flare and politics can get messy, she has remained entirely steady.

She is trusted to make critical decisions on-site at events when she is the most senior representative.

“The Market Theatre Foundation trusts me to make decisions that will not bring the organisation into disrepute.”

She can solve logistical problems in her department, but more than that, she heals friction between people. Her motto is simple: “Respect everyone and treat them with kindness.” That is how she welcomes VVIPs, and that is how she welcomes everyone else.

Yet, she admits something that will surprise those who watch her command a room: “I am probably the only marketer who doesn’t like talking in front of people or doing interviews.”

She does it anyway, because the work is always bigger than the fear.

Five Things You Did Not Know

Ask her for five things people do not know, and she gives you Lusanda, unfiltered:

• She loves meat. No prizes for guessing why… Clue? Eastern Cape.
• She cries at romantic movies. Even adverts.
• She does not have a favourite colour.
• If she returned in another life, she would want to be a CSI agent.
• She does not like atchar.

Simple. Human. Real.

What Would Make It Easier?

You might expect her to ask for a larger budget, more staff, or more seats filled. Instead, she looks at the human element: “No one wants an easy job. What would drive me to come to work every day? What would keep me motivated to do better? Maybe people should ask before making assumptions. In general, that would make working in the arts easier.”

That is the request of a woman who has spent twenty-eight years assuming the best of people, and asking only that they do the same for her, for the artists, and for the art.

Twenty-Eight Years Later

Lusanda’s story is The Market’s story.

She arrived as a volunteer in 2000, when the country was still finding its post-apartheid feet.

She stayed through funding crises, through political shifts, and through a pandemic that emptied theatres. She stayed because she believes in what this place represents: truth, transformation, and community.

She is not a celebrity. She is not on the poster. But she is the reason the poster is seen. She is the reason the audience feels welcome. She is the reason a difficult night becomes a triumphant one.

Acting Head: Branding & Communications is her title. But her real job has always been the same: to make people feel seen.

• To the patrons: she is the smile.
• To the media: she is the bridge.
• To the artists: she is the person who facilitates the interview.
• To the staff: she is the one who solves it.
• To The Market: she is home.

Twenty-eight years. From calling fundraising audiences for free to leading the brand of one of South Africa’s most important cultural institutions.

Ultimately, a theatre is only as resilient as the souls who keep its doors open, and for twenty-eight years, Lusanda Zokufa has been that guiding force.

While her name may not be lit up in marquee lights, her presence is woven into the very fabric of the building. On every opening night, as the house lights finally fade and the audience leans forward in anticipation, the magic that fills the silence is not just on the stage; it is in the quiet devotion of Lusanda, the woman who brings us all together.