Soweto Songs

I hear Soweto before I see it. The song of the township comes tumbling into the bulging minibus as I throw open the window, trying to escape the clammy crush of my fellow passengers. With eyes closed, one hand trailing the dusty afternoon air, I soak in the symphony around me; the clicking tongues of ladies at a roadside stall, the crack of dice hitting the pavement, the distant drone of vuvuzelas.
I’m on my way to the final of the Kwa-Mahlobo Football Tournament. This yearly ritual culminates in a gladiatorial showdown unlike anything played out on a European pitch. After years of living in much quieter corners of the earth, I’ve come to dance to the victory cry of a South African soccer match.
The African heat has me woozy as a drunken sailor. Seasick, I lurch back and forth in my seat, while our taxi, a yacht tacking furiously to the finish line, weaves in and out of lanes, at times jerking up onto the pavement. I think this ship is going down.
Still at the prow is our captain, whose name, I later learn, is ‘Genius’. By the end of our voyage he has proved worthy of his moniker. This man is a mystery in motion, a multi-tasking machine at once able to hold the steering wheel, smoke a cigarette, play hungry hippo with the horn, gesture wildly at other drivers, and take money from alighting passengers.
Grooving in his seat, jiving to the ‘pata pata’ beats blasting from the radio, he clocks my puzzled face as I scan the teeming road ahead. In a strangely reassuring gesture he offers up some sage advice only a man in his profession would give; “Miss, there is no fast or slow, only GO!”
His raucous laughter clamours through the cab as he whips around to catch me crack a smile, followed by a grimace as it dawns on me that he isn’t watching the road. Miraculously dodging an oncoming car he shouts out “Don’t worry miss, I don’t need eyes I can hear it coming!” and again he bursts into a guffaw, a staccato addition to the concerto rising in my head.
As we skid to a halt next to the dusty soccer pitch, I shake out a sigh of relief that I’ve been delivered in one piece, but before I can thank him Genius is out of the taxi heading into the crowd. I follow suit and squeeze out of the cab.
The January sun drums down even as it disappears into a chorus of crickets and ululation. I fumble through the sea of spectators and am suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer traffic of bodies. Then I think of my friend Genius and remember, I don’t need eyes, I can hear it coming.