Kings of the road

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They are the fastest way of transport in town. Not your conventional method of getting around but, hey, you arrive at your destination nevertheless, maybe with a few odd bruises here and there and feeling somewhat dazed after the ride.

They are the so-called "black taxis", which have now become the principal means of transport for the vast majority of black South Africans. It is unlikely that you will find yourself using one unless you are incredibly desperate – like I was.

I was in desperate need of a form of transport to Wynberg one day and I was beginning to think that I had to get there by foot, when from a distance I heard those notorious words, "Wyndy, Wyndy, Wynberg!" and the roars of what sounded like a formula one engine racing towards me. Now with your normal, conventional taxis you would step into the street and shout, "Taxi!" but in this country that would not be a wise idea because chances are you would be run down. Instead, you just wait for the taxi to stop and call you. Sure enough, the tyres came to a screeching halt right there in the middle of the road. Normally this would be OK when traffic were not that bad, but on that day traffic was horrendous as it was rush hour. The taxi just literally parked there in the middle of the road, totally disregarding the traffic around it as if it owned the entire road, bringing several cars to a sudden unexpected halt behind it. The man in the car behind the taxi started to contribute to the already unbearable noise pollution of everyday rush-hour traffic by pounding his hooter in absolute fury and screaming such obscene comments at the top of his lungs at the taxi driver.

A face poked out of the window of the taxi and a hand motioned me to get into the vehicle. At first I was reluctant but this taxi was my only alternative to walking. These taxis are not your ordinary taxis, which most people are accustomed to. Oh no! These "black taxis" are those Japanese minibuses (which we commonly call "kombies") which are usually white in colour, or any colour other than black, licensed to carry fifteen people – or so they say. This taxi had already at least seventeen people, possibly twenty-plus jam-packed into this fifteen-seater. I glanced to my right at the man who was still pounding his hooter, his face red with rage and he looked as if he was about to kill someone. Then I looked at the interior of this overcrowded vehicle, thought to myself, "I must be mad" and climbed in.

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The ride was quite an experience. I never knew exactly how fast these minibuses could go, especially with the tremendous load it was carrying, but I soon came to realise its true speed when the vehicle came across a robot that was about to turn red and the driver suddenly stamped down on the accelerator and stormed through it. We were like kings of the road, cutting across lanes, overtaking cars at random, stopping and picking up people as we pleased and inevitably obstructing traffic in doing so and violating most road rules (if they even exist in South Africa). But it is a totally different story when you are one of the passengers sitting inside one of these taxis. You don't actually give a hoot about all the other traffic around you. All the hooting and swearing of people in their cars behind you seem to go through one ear and come out the other and drift into oblivion. You just don't seem to care so long as you get to your destination in one piece, and that is exactly the attitude of these taxi drivers. Their primary objective is to get people to their desired destinations, and in doing so, earn a living and they don't care how they go about doing it.

Being in one of those taxis made me feel differently about them the next time I saw which was when I was stuck behind one of them whilst they were picking people up. I used to hate it when that happened but now I can truly say that I understand.

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