“Nine to five,” Gugu muttered under her breath after glancing at the time on her lit cellphone screen.
No one ever factored in that many of those who lived in townships, on the outskirts of Johannesburg, often had to catch at least two taxis to get to and from work. No one ever factored in that for many employees, this often meant waking up at about four o’clock in the morning in order to get ready and dash out the front door before the sun peaked over the horizon, just so that you make it on time for work.

“And they call us lazy,” Gugu mumbled to no one in particular.

The slightest unplanned delay had the potential to ruin your entire day. And then of course there was all the things that were simply beyond your control: a sudden traffic jam; a taxi strike; an accident etc. And if you’re female, there’s all the other nonsense you have to deal with: from whistles to catcalling; from possible wardrobe malfunctions, to having your personal space constantly invaded in snaking taxi-rank queues and sardine-can taxis.

Travelling back home was no fun either. While most of your managers were probably comfortably at home, well in time to help their kids with their homework and sit around the table with their families to enjoy a hot meal, you were standing in yet another queue at Bree Taxi Rank or Noord, after sunset, to catch a taxi home.

“Nine to five,” Gugu repeated.

The taxi rattled along, bright city lights now well out of sight. Just about all the occupants silently shared the same wish: to just get home and collapse into bed. Of course the time between when one passed out and had to once again drag oneself out of bed the next morning would feel like the mere blink of a sleep-crusted eye.

“Hello? Nana?” a woman two rows in front was on her phone.

“Hai… okay Sisi,” she said sounding a little defeated. She ended the call and tucked the cellphone back into her bra.
“Eskom, jou bloody shit!” she cursed, louder than she had intended.

The whole taxi erupted into unexpected laughter.

From somewhere in the backseat a drunkard shouted “Where’s the bloody Minister of Electricity now, hmmm?”
Passengers burst out laughing once more, several shaking their heads.

Loadshedding, power cuts, and cable theft often lay siege to black communities. While in the suburbs you might only experience loadshedding two or three days a week, in the townships scheduled and unscheduled power cuts were the order of the day. The loadshedding schedule was no guarantee that your household would only have to endure having no electricity only once on any particular day.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of a hooter up ahead caught everyone’s attention, as the car a few metres in front of the taxi swerved to avoid a terrified young woman in a fierce tug-of-war with a criminal over her handbag.

“Yoh! Ngi sizeni bo! Yoooh!” a woman screamed from somewhere in the dark.

Gugu craned her head in irritation trying to figure out what on earth could be delaying her from getting home this time?

The taxi driver, a man of thirty to thirty-five years of age, quickly switched on his hazard lights and pulled over as the taxi’s lights swept over the two individuals tussling in the street. He leaned down to grab something from under his seat and jumped out. By now the murmurs of passengers had morphed into slight alarm and concern for the driver as they watched the unfolding drama like people watching an action movie at a drive-in –when drive-ins were still a thing.

“Ye wena satan!” the taxi driver shouted as he ran towards the crime scene.

Realizing that if the taxi driver got a hold of him he would wish he was in jail, the assailant suddenly let go of the maroon handbag and disappeared into the darkness.

Clearly still in shock, the screaming woman was about to run into traffic to get as far away from the scene of her misfortune as possible. Fortunately, the driver grabbed her arm just in the nick of time, as cars swerved and hooted furiously at the distraught woman. A middle-aged female passenger jumped out of the idling taxi, and between her and the taxi driver they managed to calm the woman down sufficiently enough to convince her to get into the taxi so they can drop her off at home.

By the time the taxi got back on the road, the air amongst the passengers was thick with a mixture of commiserations; insults at the government; frustration at the high levels of crime; wild accusations at the so-called nyaope boys; and, of course, vague threats in the general direction of Eskom. In between all the venting, someone did acknowledge and thank the driver for his bravery and compassion

Having dropped off the traumatized lady outside her mother’s house, and waiting for her to go inside, the taxi was now headed for the local taxi rank. Gugu’s mind once again returned to her manager, probably sitting with his feet up in front of a large flat-screen TV, having just enjoyed a hot meal, and with just about every light in the house on. And if for some miraculous reason Eskom decided to implement loadshedding in his suburb, he probably wouldn’t even notice, because he had often bragged to poorly-paid employees that “you should invest in an inverter, like me.”

“It must be nice,” Gugu grumbled under her breath, as she wondered whether she’d be eating her cold supper in the dark again tonight.