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Adventures of a cross-country taxi trip - from taxi madness to hours of good music

By unknown | Apr 24, 2007 | COMMENTS [ 0 ]

I went on a long-distance trip to the Free State at the weekend. The taxi was clean and we were not packed in like sardines.

I went on a long-distance trip to the Free State at the weekend. The taxi was clean and we were not packed in like sardines.

This was not the first trip on which I had taken a taxi cross-country. I have to say that the taxi drivers are patient, polite and very considerate.

The same cannot be said for the customers. A long trip is an excuse for a booze-up. The men sing dirty songs while the women screech at each other and drown out the radio.

One intemperate man must have started tanking up at home. He was not loud, but he tried our patience. Whenever the taxi stopped, even at the robots, he would get out. When the robot changed, he would get in.

I don't know why he did this and when asked, he said he didn't know.

He was travelling with his wife and children who were embarrassed by his behaviour. His wife moaned that she had begged her husband to behave on the trip. He had promised to do so but, unfortunately, a taxi ride always made him do bizarre things.

I wonder what the psychiatrists would call this mental aberration - taxitosis or taxiochosis, or something else?

Anyway, the man got off about a kilometre away from his regular stop to smoke a cigarette. The driver left him there and drove his wife and children home.

We all laughed at this, but I wish that man hadn't been in the same taxi with me. I was anxious during the entire trip, not knowing what he would do next, or who would suffer for it. I have found that crazy people often make other people pay for their bizarre acts.

At the second last stop everyone got out and bought greasy chicken and polony to eat. I couldn't understand why they didn't take the food to share with their children at home.

The driver entertained us with Tshepo Tshola's latest album, which is very nice indeed. By some strange coincidence Tshola was playing in last trip I took by taxi.

On that trip we were squashed in a 14-seater taxi and our backs had concertinaed into two while the man kept on singing Go Lokile.

It was so prophetic that I wanted to hoist him up a tree. But, like most people, I prefer a distant object on which to vent my anger.

Church members were saddened to learn of the death of one of our drivers on the Bosmont line. Walter Moloi of Duiwelskloof was killed during the Easter weekend.

Walter was humble and a man of the badge (ZCC). He would keep a straight face as members, especially women, said the most outrageous things.

On the one occasion he did laugh was when Aunty Emma recounted how an assignation went wrong.

The story involved a Mdoni tree, a snake and her lover who was robbed of the first fruits of a new field.


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