SARAFINA

Read the words on the tip of the front wind shield.

“Hey cheese boy, itexi igcwele. The taxi is full,” screamed the queue marshal with the money in his right hand.

“Kuyafana ngikuhlulile. It’s over anyway, I won!” Declared Cheese-Boy, kicking the muraba-raba board, laughing. He was a blonde headed driver, with a red sportie on his head, wearing colorful ‘DMD’ t-shirt. He was famous for his driving and musically powerful taxi.

He opened the door, hopped in quickly and he gently banged it closed.

“Lotjhani. Greetings,” Cheese Boy saluted. There was a big sticker on the sliding door. DON’T BANG THE DOOR. THIS IS NOT YOUR TIN HOUSE! It read.

The engine started and was off to the filling station just around the corner.

“Ngithelela i93. Pour me a 93!” He ordered the attendant with one hundred and fifty rand notes in his hand. “You wouldn’t match my skill of murabaraba saan. Continued Cheese Boy, shouting across the window to a taxi passing by.

“Awa, ungidlelezele ndoda. Nangathana khenge uqede umdlalo njaya, ngabe siqoqa enye. You cheated man. Had you not ended the game the way you did, this conversation would be different now,” replied the other driver screaming loudly trying to get a point across.

Cheese Boy just crackled a naughty laugh.

The next thing were the loud hooters from both drivers, as the other one turned the corner.

“aah, ‘mthetho wabantu abalobako loyo, abafuni ukwamukela. You are such a soar looser my guy. Just learn to admit defeat and move on,” cheese boy teased quietly, throwing his right hand forward while the left selected a gear.

There was a lady next to him on the left passenger seat. A full figured yellow bone, dressed in a mini skirt showing off her big yellow thighs. A red checked shirt buttoned up to the third button from the neck, exposing her cleavage, on a sunny Saturday of Spring.

“Yo! ingoma le ngiyayithanda. I love this song.” She creamed gently to the music playing from the taxi’s USB drive on the radio. Her screaming wasn’t loud nor irritating.

“Khengi vula vule, let me honor you with a bit of a volume,” offered Cheese Boy. It was a hit song that year and everyone sang along to it.

Cheese Boy looked at her beautifully smooth face. The taxi had stopped at a red traffic light. Her face had no spots, just yellow skin that said I am a teenager.

“Kwenza njani!? What?!” she said blushing after she realised how he looked at her.

“I never knew that such beauty exists, yaz?” flirted Cheese Boy. “Ngitjele la, iingelosi zinamagama ezukwini? Tell me, do angels have names in heaven?” he continued in a soft voice.

She giggled looking out of the window.
“Angazi. I don’t know, she replied shrugging shyly.

“Wena unalo? Do you have one?” he asked, leaking his lip lightly while looking at her for a moment, then he looked back on to the road.

Every time he asked, she could not help but giggle softly. She hasn’t had a boy hitting on her since she got to the capital city, Pretoria. Her last boyfriend was Mhlanganyelwa. A boy she grew up with, but they broke up two years ago because they didn’t see each other often enough. So Mhlanganyelwa got a new girlfriend.

She didn’t know how to respond to being hit up on. But you could hear in her every reply that she gained confidence.

Dealing with teenagers was not a new thing to Cheese Boy. He knew what to say or do, to get attention.

“Oh, then they do have names. What’s yours?” He carried on with the question.

“Ngingu Thuli. I am Thuli, and who are you Mr. Flirty taxi driver?” she flipped the questions to him, still looking out to the people walking on the pavement as the taxi passed.

“Tshepo, the taxi industry call me Cheese Boy.”

“Oh, Tshepo. Cheese Boy. They are nice names, she said turning her neck to have a look at him.

Her smile was one of a million. Her white teeth could brighten any gloomy day.

He was matured, he didn’t think of her as a naughty farm girl, like all the boys in her school. She thought to herself.

The traffic light turned red again from a distance. He stopped the taxi behind the stopping lines and he looked at her again. This time he stared. “Pretoria mahlanyeng bantwaneng maboneng, praised the driver.

The two guys behind him whistled. “The city of milk and honey,” added one of them and they giggled.

“You always do this to girls, don’t you?” frowned Thuli in curiosity.

“What?” asked cheese boy as the light went green.

“Making girls feel like they are the only one left in the world,” she replied.

“Is that what I make you feel?” he acted surprised, but he was flattered. His aim was hitting right on the target.

She kept quiet, looking back out through the window.

“I didn’t realise, but you could return the favour by letting me see you again. Maybe tonight we can meet at the Spring Bash,” he tried his luck.

“You still have not answered me,” she said.

“No, I don’t. Unless their names are Thuli.” he replied. “So, what do you say?”

“Okay, drop me off after the robot,” she said.

She saw a pen on the roof of the taxi and pulled it out. She wrote her cell phone number on the McDonald napkin that was on the dashboard. “Sharp, Tshepo,” she said casually.

He winked at her and accidentally hit the hooter as she slipped off, and her short skirt was nearly blown away by the wind, but she quickly tried to pull it down.

Off around the corner the taxi disappeared.

***

Tell us: Do give your number to strangers? Would you trust a guy named “Cheese Boy?