Different Day, same Shit

i gran taxis primarily because they make it their misssion to get you at work on time no matter what obstacles lie in their way.

The scenario, I have overslept, i wear whatever needn't be ironed, grab a chocolate steri stumpie and run like zola bud on drugs down the street to Klipfontein road.

I anticipate that 50% of the Ct population are heading in the same direction as me. There is a Cape Town bus coming along, at a very slow pace, but its so full i know that if i enter it I'll get out looking as if i never bothered to iron my clothes which would defeat the purpose of wearing clothes that looks like its just been ironed.

Packed buses is not the reason i prefer taking a taxi, the real reason is the music. Now you might ask me how do i select a taxi, easy depends which taxi vibrates and 'skuds' more.

Now taxi drivers only play two types of music, either old school, Good Hope Stuff but including the latest taxi numbers like, "Pussy Cat Dolls, Shaggy and Enemim, and Destinys child" or SLOW JAMS which include any DIva who isnt white, like Mariyah, Tony Braxton, Aretha Franklin and oh yes, Vanessa Williams. Actually i lie, there is one white diva which taxi drivers do listen to, Celine Dion, that Titanic song was played one too many times, i wished that Kate Winslet died with Leo.
But have you ever gotten into a taxi to hear Barbara Streisand or Allanis Morrisette play.
Unlikely, impossible, aint happening.

But i like taxi numbers, the music is always too loud and the 'gaartjie' goois chorus to the slow jams and i only laugh.

Excuse me, did i say gaartjie i meant 'sliding door operator'

So im standing at the bus stop, and shake my head to the sardine packed bus. A taxi passes by, hooting like a lunatic, and i hear Beyonce only 'klopping' and the gaartjie smiles at me with his one gold tooth and ferari cap.
"Cape Town, kanala" i say and he organises me a seat, the single one on the left handside. If u drive in a taxi you know what im talking about, and off i go.

I close my eyes cause i can imagine how many points hes losing breaking every rule in that yellow "learners book" i studied so religiously.

The driver stops in the middle of Klipfontein to pick up an old lady that just shopped at Elite, with three big packets of groceries, i can see the fish oil in one. Im thinking, its 7.45am who shops at that hour, but she answers my question when the gaarjie inquisitively asks it. She replies, "its a specia, R3.99 for the fish oil,l seunjie' and gets off near Bridgetown. He politely helps her with the bags and adds a 'totsiens ma'.

At Athlone terminus four people get out but six more get in which means those magic seats which comprise of a piece of wood covered in material gets slotted in the empty space next to me.
Now im all squashed and no better off than in the bus, but at least here i can listen to music.

The traffi is thick but the driver is persistant and takes every conceivable free road driving through pinelands escaping the highways traffic. Cars hoot as the taxi squeezes into the tiniest of places without even putting an indicator on. I failed my licence because of that move but thats another story.

8.15 and I am in one pice in Town on time. Mt stomache grumbles, so i decide to quickly go to the Golden acre and grab a lekker doughnut frosted with chooclate icing. As i bite into the delight that weigh less and even more so my dentist would not approve of, i see that same bus full of even more people pull up into the terminus.

I slowly walk towards the Shell house building, licking my lips which are covered with icing, singing the sweet tunes of Beyonce. A different day but never the same shit in a taxi!!

My Mauritian Tale

PART ONE

im sitting at the airport watching the planes enter and leave the strip. ive been wanting to do this since the first time i saw hafa off. But i always leave the airport clutching a sweet from Sweets from Heavan. This time round i got an oprah mag and a pkt of stimorol. I greeted my parents like 20 minutes ago, now im alone and its ilent and empty. But silence and empytiness never made me lonely, i love silence and i like being alone where u can can console with ur soul.

My gate opens and i get an uneasy feeling in the pitt of my stomache.

Five months ago, im in the bathroom crying. i need to stop, i need to go back to work, i got management accounts to complete, but i cant stop thinking of him and i cant understand. last week he came to visit me at home, all of a sudden hes just gone out of my life.

The bathroom in the plane is small and akward.

The music on the plane is cool but the headsets are crap. I smile at the baby infront of me, playing "peek a boo i see you"

Ive read the oprah magazine twice, i look at the clouds outside and smile to myself.

Makes me think of the time we were at chapmans peak when he kised me so softly on the lips and held me so tight like it would last forever. Its the song tahts reminding me of that time, that song and looking at the blue sky and marshmalowy clouds.

The mild vibration of the plane wakes me and i look at the watch on my arm. Its nearly landing time two hours had passed so very quickly, im excited now.

Customs is a nightmare, with my surname and oh o muslim name, im attacked like im Osama Bin Ladins daughter, my preseants are opened and luckily they dont confiscate the nandos chicken ive secretly brought along. Probably cause i smile sweetly at the customs man, youngish, cutish, im soooo on holiday!!

After ten minutes of interogation on whether i have a kilo of coke or dagga in my toiletry bag they let me go. Im off now, and as i walk into the airport i see a colgate smile in the distance, its my freind Farha.

My Uncle Adil said Mauritian boys take two weeks to wink at a girl s imagine my surprise wen Farhas brother gives me two cheek kisses on my cheeks, i need to get used to that.

It feels like 12 months have not passed. It feels like yesterday we were at Penmaric drinking Vanilla Mauritian tea and those left over labarang (Eid) buscuits.