My husband, Gordon, dons the mask and my mom enjoys his rendering of this little South African story about our wonderful, all powerful taxi drivers who own the roads.
This has become a family tradition and we laugh, loud belly-laughs – every time!
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Here's a little South African story for you guys overseas, just in case you forget about our wonderful all-powerful taxi drivers who own the road.
Togetherness Tshabalala jinks his High Impact African Culling Equipment (HiAce for short), with BMW hub-caps through the rush-hour traffic, occasionally using the pavement (sidewalk) to increase productivity. Togetherness is a confident man with high spirits, as evidenced by the stickers on his rear window: "GOD LOVES TAXI-DRIVERS" and "AVOID CONSTIPATION - TRAVEL BY TAXI". On the front of his taxi, between a large dent which, ominously, is in the shape of a large traffic cop, and the holes from a small spray of bullets, is a lurid notice reading: "JUKSKEI PARK EXPRESS INAUGURAL FLIGHT". Using the word 'flight' is Togetherness' own little personal joke. What we are witnessing is the inaugural leg of what is hopefully to become a daily service between Jukskei Park and Johannesburg - a 25 km journey which takes 10 minutes - less if the pavements are open. The percussion waves from Togetherness' powerful radio ('organised' from a BMW Z3) pushes back the early mist. He is playing Boom Shaka's latest low frequency, 120 Db hit (How low can we go?) He hoots as he drives. Togetherness hoots (toots the horn) at anything he sees - including trees - as is the custom of his people. On board the taxi are sixteen white people. They do not come whiter than this. They are Omo white. They were not born white. No, their pallor is due to fear and stark terror. Take John Mleka. Never in his life has he done 0 to 100 km/h in six seconds - especially not in heavy traffic. Denise Mtha's colour has changed from green-black to a sort of waxen ivory as quickly as the last traffic light had changed to red. (A colour that traditionally prompts taxi drivers to make even more haste.) Togetherness regularly looks over his shoulder while driving - even for a full minute - asking passengers their destinations. Elizabeth Mronwo, sitting right at the back, has the opportunity to say: "Randbag centa" even though she works in Johannesburg. She worries about how she will make her way to the front, but only fleetingly, because the taxi has now reached Randburg and Togetherness has stopped. He has stopped as suddenly as a plane might stop up against a mountain. Now EVERYBODY is at the front in a warm, intimate heap. Elizabeth alights as gracefully as anybody can with one knee locked behind the other. She is vaguely aware of passers-by loosening her clothing and shouting: "Give her air!" Togetherness bowls happily along Jan Smuts Avenue, overtaking a police BMW that is chasing a getaway car. Then he overtakes the getaway car too, exchanging boisterous greetings with the driver whom he knows. Togetherness is steering with his elbows because he needs his hands free to check the morning's takings and to wave to the girls on the pavement. He announces: "Ledees and gentlemen, thees is your ceptin. We weel shortly be lending in Johannesbeg. Please make sure your seatbelts are in the upright position and your seats are fastened. Thank you for flying with us. We hope to see you again soon." John Mleka is gripping the seat in front of him so tightly that he notices his fingertips have gone transparent, as a passing taxi fires a brief burst from an AK 47 in his direction. Togetherness now reaches the city and merges with the in-bound traffic like his ancestors merged with the British at Isandlwana. He stops at his usual disembarkation point in the middle of an intersection and picks his teeth patiently while people sort out their legs, arms and teeth before groping their way towards a pole around which they can throw their arms. By the time his passengers' eyeballs have settled back in their parent sockets, Togetherness is already halfway back to Jukskei Park with another load of passengers. Yebo Goggo! |
