Choosing chauffeur-driven trips comes with its own drama

In the past while, I’ve been using the Bolt e-hailing service to and from work – and to other places.

That is thanks to my once-was-reliable bakkie that I’ve had for about a decade. It went across provinces with ease and comfort, and also was available to carry furniture, building materials, animals even.

The Red Bull (do people still have names for their cars?) has sadly given up on me – again – but I am not giving up on it yet.

And, believe me, that has nothing to do with how much I love the red Mitsubishi Colt Rodeo.

My travel to work is thankfully a mere 15km – I have colleagues staying further away, including Pretoria – but it is quite a mission for me to use other modes of transport.

I have a couple choices (and they don’t include the train, of course – trains are nowhere to be seen: their tracks have been removed to be sold for scrap and make some crook rich).

The options include the Rea Vaya (which means adding almost 45 minutes to an hour to my travel time).

Or I can hop into a minibus taxi (adding even more time, as I have to take three taxis, including the waiting for it to be full).

There’s no direct public transport from Pimville in Soweto to Industria West in Joburg – despite it being so near. However, I am enjoying the rides. The drivers have been great so far.

The conversations have ranged from religion and football (some say it is the same thing) to politics and the youth of today…

Recently the one driver was disinterested, only singing along to the maskandi music he was playing. Then one was preaching to me and quoting scriptures from the Bible.

And probably the most talkative of them all so far was telling me about the goings on of drug dealing. He knew people who have been arrested and continue to push the drugs in prison…

The other day, another driver and I agreed we had to end the trip just a few minutes after he picked me up from home. He asked me how much the fare was and grumbled that it was “too little”.

Perplexed, I protested: “I do not determine how much I am being charged?” “Hhayi. No, timer (elder). It is too little. No. Hhayi,” he insisted.

“Is that my problem?”

“Hhayi, no, timer, no… Would you agree to that amount?” It went on like that.

“Lord, I would not have any more this,” I thought to myself but then he offered: “I don’t think we can continue with this trip.”

I got out and called another cab and the driver who responded was appalled to hear the story.

My heart goes out to the e-hailing taxi drivers. They risk their lives every day just for doing their jobs. Almost all of them (I ask them) have been hijacked or attempts have been made.

They have all been robbed of cash, cellphones and other belongings. It can and has been worse for others.

The other one told me he was shot but the bullet fortunately razed his hand. He was lucky but he says he has no choice but to continue working.

They all say they would rather do something else but would continue if there’s some guarantee of safety (which is unthinkable when private security guards are hired to guard police stations).

I have had a driver from Palestine (who “complained” about being called mlungu) one from Somalia, Uganda, many from Zimbabwe…

While it is relatively expensive if, like me, it has to be every weekday, being chauffeur-driven in the madness of our roads, is a convenience I am prepared to sacrifice not having Dear Augusta’s delicious chips and wings or her rib shawarma in the canteen, for my home-cooked meals – which I enjoy a great deal.