The sun begins to set and orange reddish hues flood the skyline of Tembisa. In the distance, smoke dances from the ‘welcome dova’ stoves many families rely on. Mdu is driving us in his sparkling red BMW 325. I’m doing the ‘pick up’ today so I get to be the passenger. We’re headed into the heart of Jozi. We drive past the Nelson Mandela Bridge and I watch as the landscape fills with lights to brighten up the darkening city.
“Uyasha maxaka? Are you nervous? After so many ‘pick ups’ and you’re still behaving like a girl. Asibulali muntu maxaka, not a soul is harmed. You’re just picking up a car that was jacked from a rich entitled person that won’t even miss it,” Mdu remarks after looking my way a couple of times.
“After so many ‘pick ups’ and I still can’t justify why I chose this lifestyle. It’s not like we’re completely innocent. We give out the instructions and just like that, people lose cars they’ve worked hard to pay for. I thought by now I would have made it and I’d have the kind of money you have. I thought by now I’d be stable enough to leave the game.”
“There you go again, that’s the attitude that keeps you from being like me. Get your heart out of this. The gangster life chose you and you should be grateful.”
“Grateful for what? We jeopardise people’s lives every single day and is it really worth it?” I say.
“You know maxaka, I remember when you were still at Wits struggling to get a decent meal every day. Remember how my grandmother had to take your sisters in, just to make sure they were taken care of because you couldn’t afford to? Then you graduated and even with a degree you ended up with a kak job. It wasn’t even what you had studied for. All those years of studying and you still couldn’t provide for your sisters. Look at you now, Maxaka, you have more than everything you need. I can’t even remember when last your sisters complained about not having enough. They’re the happiest I’ve ever seen them so don’t tell me you’ve got nothing to be grateful for about this lifestyle. Yekela ukubhayiza, stop being foolish, we’ve got a job to do, just focus!” Mdu looks at me one last time, almost as though to make sure I understood his every word.
I force a grim smile to assure him and focus on the road ahead. Mdu is right, perhaps entertaining all these doubts right before a ‘pick up’ isn’t the smartest idea. As though hearing my thoughts, Mdu puts the volume on full blast to distract me from my flood of thoughts. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the volume knob. I drown myself in the beat of the music and gear myself up for the adrenalin fuelled ride I’m about to experience, and almost right on cue, Mdu steps on the accelerator.
The rubber of the wheels responds with a screech as the turbo kicks in sync with the groan of the double exhaust. The hair from the crown of my head crawls down my spine. Screw it, I love this life.
***
Tell us: What do you think of what the two friends do for a living? Do you think is a bad influence on Njabulo?