The unlayering of my being

I open my eyes. Cars are hurtling by my window with their headlights piercing the night. The stench of sweat, from long working hours, hangs in the air. I sit up and try to adjust myself even though I’m squashed into the side of the minibus taxi. The taxi driver, two rows ahead of me, boisterously laughs and shouts something to another taxi driver; while he nonchalantly dashes past a red traffic light.

We are now in Hillbrow, with its throngs of people and cars stuck in never-ending traffic. I stare out the window and wonder if I’m indeed seeing prostitutes, drug dealers and the hosts of wild New Year’s Eve parties, as promised by news broadcasts. A woman on the side of the road is using a portable gas cooker to feed commuters. The taxi comes to a halt to let the drunken man next to me get off. Thank God! Finally I can sit in my own seat. Plus, I no longer have to pretend to be sleeping to ignore drunken ramblings. The taxi lurches forward and we are yet again stuck in traffic. I look out the window and I’m faced with the soaring Hillbrow Tower. I smile, thinking how appropriate that the telecommunications tower is right in the middle of Hillbrow; where African nations converge. We finally turn into Noord Street and I can see the MTN taxi rank, so I signal to the taxi driver to stop.

I am now moving with the crowds, but it probably looks like I’m half-running. Voices shout past me as taxi marshals try and convince me that I’m going in their direction and need to fill up their taxis. While waiting for traffic lights to make way for the pedestrians rushing to their destinations, I look at the street vendors trying to make a living from selling township snacks, hot meals, household cleaning goods and even weird porn. I wonder who actually stops for a second in this commotion in order to add to their porn collection. Yet, the young man with the well-displayed DVD collection on his makeshift table is here every day, so he must have customers. The walking man flashes green; I cross the street and finally reach my second taxi for the evening.

I feel settled inside my home-bound taxi. I’m still baffled by the idea of being a Noord commuter. It still feels so foreign. The taxi ignites and starts trying to squeeze itself between two cars. Yes, I think to myself - as the woman next to me in heels, takes out her iPad and a bottle of Savannah cider - this is indeed Joburg. It might not be for the faint-hearted, but dammit, you’ve got to love it!