I phoned my father who was away on a business trip to inform him about our trip to Sandton.

“Mduduzi, your grandfather has lost it. Don’t drive him there, I don’t think he knows anyone!” he warned me.

“Mkhulu’s wish must have meant a lot to him,” I argued.

“Don’t listen to him. He has become senile. There’s no way that he knows anyone in Sandton,” My father insisted, this time I detected a hint of irritation in his voice.

“But what if he knows someone there. And if I refuse to drive him what would my excuse be Baba?”

“Say whatever comes to your mind man. You can even say you don’t know that area! He’ll relent and life will go on.” I was not convinced.

“But I am a taxi driver Baba, so he’ll suspect that I don’t want to take him there. I can’t let the old man down. You know that I love him.”

My father chuckled. “Ok, go on and waste your petrol then, Mduduzi. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you about this. He is my father; I know him better than you son. He’s going to waste your time.”

I ended the call still agonising about turning Mkhulu down. I realised how being at the threshold of death can give people like my father the right to reject a plea from a dying person. Even if that person was a revered parent. I realised that once you are grey-haired and about to die, suddenly even the weaklings have courage to refute what you say, turn your views into senseless declarations, and render your deeds of many years useless.

If it wasn’t for Mkhulu’s sacrifices, astuteness and hard work, my father wouldn’t be the successful entrepreneur he is today. Mkhulu had to slog in the farms, broke his back for his family, scrimped and saved. He would later buy himself a truck to start a rubble removal company after he lost his job. He later went on to buy more trucks. Then after a few successful years, he passed on his business to his only son, Rob Gumede (my father), to keep his legacy alive. But the same son thought Mkhulu’s requests had to be ignored?

At Gogo’s suggestion, I agreed to use my taxi to drive Mkhulu to Sandton. She and my brother Bongani agreed to go along. After we shared the news of our journey with my mother, she said she was coming with us as well. Mkhulu and Gogo took a seat behind my driver’s seat while my mother chose to sit right at the back, and I was in the front seat with Bongani. It was a bitterly cold morning, but a number of protestors had taken to the streets of Daveyton to voice their anger. They blocked our street, Gambu with burning tyres. We were not sure what sparked that protest, but my brother said it had something to do with housing.

The traffic heading towards N12 was sluggish. We noticed workers wearing traffic reflectors in full activity, fixing the road for the 2010 World tournament. There were only two lanes opened for cars to get on the freeway. It was whilst following that slow traffic when Mkhulu started entertaining us about a former co-worker, a weirdo called Phia Morake. He said they worked with this man at a maize farm in Putfontein, in the early 60s.

Tell us: Who do you think Phia is to Mkhulu?