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Things I’m too scared to mention

Taxi drivers always have insults hurled at them. This is not without reason, of course. If that blue Toyota Corolla numbered E 109 pulls in front of you unexpectedly and stops suddenly, it would take quite a passive character not to insult him to his deepest core. It happens often, and you sit there frustrated and angered whilst yet another passenger boards the taxi. That taxi driver pulls off and life continues normally for all parties involved, provided no accident was caused as a result of the actions of the taxi driver. I would – and quite crazily so – like to jump to the defence of taxi drivers though. Odd, right? I don’t think so. I start my defence of taxi drivers with the very people tasked to ensure our safety: police officers. It would seem that the uniform and the authority that goes with it has given rise to considerable arrogance, and as a consequence, their own driving skills leave much to be desired. These boys have a serious disregard for the rules of the road and get away with it, all due – in part – because they are law enforcers. If I take down a licence plate number and report the latest insanity at a local police station, should I really expect that constable to follow it up? Next on my list: pedestrians. Drive through the former Damara and Herero Lokasie to see exactly what I mean. A drive through Kamberipa Street will make your blood boil. If it’s not the old Isuzu bakkies parked incorrectly, it’s a bunch of men that arrogantly stand in the street going about their everyday business without a care in the world. Then there’s four-year-old Buruxa who lives in Dolam. Buruxa strolls along in the street in his signature white-brown underwear and undersized Superman t-shirt. Should you ever find yourself driving in these areas, you will quickly come to realise that you are severely limited to driving in second gear. Not by choice, but because in the blink of an eye, Buruxa will run across the street for no apparent reason. There’s no parental supervision in these parts, and should you bump into Buruxa, your best option is to drive to the nearest police station. It’s ironic, because Buruxa is left to his own devices, but should you so much as put the faintest scar on him, all hell is surely bound to break loose. The biggest nightmare would undoubtedly be Eveline Street over weekends, after seven in the evening. Surprisingly, taxi drivers will not be the cause of your profanities. It’s Penda who’s parked in front of a popular watering hole showing off his latest acquisition, his blue top-of-the-range BMW 3 Series. After he has had enough of the golden brew, he will reverse without paying any attention to the world around him, not paying any heed to the taxi driver, the night birds dancing off their shoes nearby or other cars parked close to him. The guys who really do it for me though are the chaps who pay absolutely no attention to side-walks. I thought tar was made for driving, but for these gentlemen this is not the case. It’s really funny: a grown man will choose to walk on the road at a busy intersection, and not in the lane with oncoming traffic. Proves the old adage “skool is belangrik”. Its usually the thug aspirant, tall, skinny, scarred and – not surprisingly – scary looking. Yes, the Dixza’s, Pixza’s and Tiksza’s. That, in my opinion, should sum up every driver’s sentiment!

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