Hi Everyone,
In 1993-4 we lived in Sea View, Durban and I worked in the centre of town.
Since I was employed as a public servant, I decided to take some courses at the ML Sultan Technikon in Durban. Lectures happened after work and the quickest way home was by taking a train from Durban's Berea Rd Station to Sea View station. I would normally walk to my classes going West down Smith Street (now called Anton Lembede St), turn into recently renamed Julius Nyerere Rd and onto Centenary Rd where the Technikon was situated. ML Sultan amalgamated with Natal Technikon and move main campus From the end of classes I would walk the 800-odd metres to the Berea Rd Station through various roadside stalls and a taxi rank. I would make my early night train all the time.
My Good Wife was not happy with my choice of transport but affordability trumped her safety concerns. See we had two kids in school and a third on the way, so finances were tight. So tight in fact that belt tightening was not useful - constantly wearing a financial corset was the norm! Funnily enough we were both working and earned reasonable salaries. The fact that the two kids were at former Model C schools did not help the budget much but we took a decision early in our marriage to invest in our kids' schooling as opposed to saving money for their and our futures. The idea was that we would work till they finished their schooling then we would be in a position to save some for old age. We also decided that we would plough such investments into an available business, work therein until we drop and that would be that!
It has not quite worked out as planned but we are not far off making the ideal come true!
This post is about a specific incident that happened in the few kilometres between the Technikon and home.
The Beast was long past on to rust heaven, and I had replaced it with a black la kaka Peugeot 305! and thereafter with an amazing little Ford XR3.(ran like clappers on the smell of an oil rag!) The Ford was supposed to be Valentine's Red but had so many age-induced airflow vents that it was difficult to tell its real colour. The Good Wife did not like it because of its appearance - I was crazy about this little tar banger!
Back to a specific train ride!
One evening after class, I was walking to Berea Rd Station when a car started hooting crazily behind me!! I made sure I was on the pavement and then turned around. From what I could deduce, the driver of a little car was hooting at a minibus taxi. The driver managed to get his small car wedged in front of the taxi a few metres further up the road and jumped out to confront the taxi driver.
He was a youngish white Afrikaans-sounding chap and he ran to taxi driver's open window with a rather large pistol which was pointed at the temple of the taxi driver. I stopped a few metres away to watch the
drama unfold.
The youngster shouted loud obscenities at the taxi driver. Then ... something really scary happened ...
The taxi turned his head hard into the muzzle of the gun at his temple to look into the eyes of his tormentor and without any visible fear in his eyes said in IsiZulu something to the effect: You! You see me, I'm a Zulu taxi driver, so what are you going to do with this thing pointing at my head??!!. It was the most chilling display of coolness under fire I'd ever seen and I really did not want to be in the young Afrikaner chap's shoes at that moment!!! The youngster immediately withdrew his weapon and trudged off to his car and pulled off in a huff!
This was an isolated incident that ended well but had the potential to end in tragedy. The other interesting part was that afterwards no one in the taxi or on the pavement went hysterical. We simply went on doing what we did before. I carried on the last few hundred metres to the station, etc., etc.
Suffice to say, that when I told the Good Wife of this incident, she increased the pressure on me to quit my night classes. As a man (not being a Zulu taxi driver), there is only so much pressure one can bear, so I caved in shortly afterwards.
That night I observed some of what our country had the potential to become post 1994, both in terms of bravery and tolerance. I felt a lightness of being on that train that night borne of positivity.
I also stopped casting any aspersions at Zulu taxi drivers from that point on which saved me many a time in the future, I think.
I hope you still enjoy the blog, although one of the readers indicated that it lacked "fire!"
Travel well.
In 1993-4 we lived in Sea View, Durban and I worked in the centre of town.
Since I was employed as a public servant, I decided to take some courses at the ML Sultan Technikon in Durban. Lectures happened after work and the quickest way home was by taking a train from Durban's Berea Rd Station to Sea View station. I would normally walk to my classes going West down Smith Street (now called Anton Lembede St), turn into recently renamed Julius Nyerere Rd and onto Centenary Rd where the Technikon was situated. ML Sultan amalgamated with Natal Technikon and move main campus From the end of classes I would walk the 800-odd metres to the Berea Rd Station through various roadside stalls and a taxi rank. I would make my early night train all the time.
My Good Wife was not happy with my choice of transport but affordability trumped her safety concerns. See we had two kids in school and a third on the way, so finances were tight. So tight in fact that belt tightening was not useful - constantly wearing a financial corset was the norm! Funnily enough we were both working and earned reasonable salaries. The fact that the two kids were at former Model C schools did not help the budget much but we took a decision early in our marriage to invest in our kids' schooling as opposed to saving money for their and our futures. The idea was that we would work till they finished their schooling then we would be in a position to save some for old age. We also decided that we would plough such investments into an available business, work therein until we drop and that would be that!
It has not quite worked out as planned but we are not far off making the ideal come true!
This post is about a specific incident that happened in the few kilometres between the Technikon and home.
The Beast was long past on to rust heaven, and I had replaced it with a black la kaka Peugeot 305! and thereafter with an amazing little Ford XR3.(ran like clappers on the smell of an oil rag!) The Ford was supposed to be Valentine's Red but had so many age-induced airflow vents that it was difficult to tell its real colour. The Good Wife did not like it because of its appearance - I was crazy about this little tar banger!
Back to a specific train ride!
One evening after class, I was walking to Berea Rd Station when a car started hooting crazily behind me!! I made sure I was on the pavement and then turned around. From what I could deduce, the driver of a little car was hooting at a minibus taxi. The driver managed to get his small car wedged in front of the taxi a few metres further up the road and jumped out to confront the taxi driver.
He was a youngish white Afrikaans-sounding chap and he ran to taxi driver's open window with a rather large pistol which was pointed at the temple of the taxi driver. I stopped a few metres away to watch the
drama unfold.
The youngster shouted loud obscenities at the taxi driver. Then ... something really scary happened ...
The taxi turned his head hard into the muzzle of the gun at his temple to look into the eyes of his tormentor and without any visible fear in his eyes said in IsiZulu something to the effect: You! You see me, I'm a Zulu taxi driver, so what are you going to do with this thing pointing at my head??!!. It was the most chilling display of coolness under fire I'd ever seen and I really did not want to be in the young Afrikaner chap's shoes at that moment!!! The youngster immediately withdrew his weapon and trudged off to his car and pulled off in a huff!
This was an isolated incident that ended well but had the potential to end in tragedy. The other interesting part was that afterwards no one in the taxi or on the pavement went hysterical. We simply went on doing what we did before. I carried on the last few hundred metres to the station, etc., etc.
Suffice to say, that when I told the Good Wife of this incident, she increased the pressure on me to quit my night classes. As a man (not being a Zulu taxi driver), there is only so much pressure one can bear, so I caved in shortly afterwards.
That night I observed some of what our country had the potential to become post 1994, both in terms of bravery and tolerance. I felt a lightness of being on that train that night borne of positivity.
I also stopped casting any aspersions at Zulu taxi drivers from that point on which saved me many a time in the future, I think.
I hope you still enjoy the blog, although one of the readers indicated that it lacked "fire!"
Travel well.
