Shark-cage diving… not scary.
Walking on coals… not scary.
Singing in front of a crowd… not scary.
Driving in peak-time East Rand traffic… wig snatching, tummy rumbling, throw-up-your-breakfast kinda scary.
I come from a town with about five cars during peak-time traffic.
You know, those drive around town and the CBD in 20 minutes kind of towns.
Out of the five cars, two are donkey carts, one is a pedestrian and two are vehicles.
So you could say traffic was non-existent.
Jumping from that blissful heaven into traffic on the East Rand has been a baptism of fire.
My own version of hell on wheels.
I thought I could I drive, but judging by the amount of swearing and over-zealous gesturing thrown my way these past two weeks, I’m a novice.
What I was doing before I got here wasn’t driving, just steering the car in the right direction.
But the manoeuvres I’ve pulled off in traffic lately would make Lewis Hamilton look bad.
I’ve dodged several taxis, avoided playing tag with those demons who suddenly brake in front of you, and become a master of dodging potholes.
When I’m not doing that, though, I’m getting blissfully lost on your intricately connected highways.
The other day I headed out of Springs on my way to Carnival City.
I took one teeny tiny wrong turn and found myself at Lakeside Mall.
As luck would have it, my cellphone battery was flat, so no GPS.
How I missed that calm automated voice during that time.
So now I’ve resorted to almost always having a full tank of petrol, just in case I get lost.
I thought sticking a learner sign on my car would buy me some time or be my saving grace.
Ha! No such luck.
The L sign has no relevance in this part of the country.
My fellow drivers still drive too close, hoot at the traffic lights and become positively deranged when I turn suddenly.
It’s not my fault, you guys.
I’m just following the GPS.
You know that lady sometimes says, “Turn left”, meanwhile you can’t see the turn.
The question I’ve been asking myself is, where are all of you rushing to?
It doesn’t matter if you leave the house at 6am or 7am.
It’s all the same.
There’s always traffic and everybody is always in a hurry.
And by everybody, I mean everybody.
The granny, the stressed looking office worker and the learner driver.
This being in a hurry comes across in the most extreme form of road rage I’ve ever experienced.
You would think the old grannies and parents with children in the car would be less aggressive, but nooo, they put the rage in road rage.
I’ve learnt how to swear in different languages now.
I’ve become immune to the insults.
I just let it roll off me and keep driving.
In my head, I can hear Dory from Finding Nemo singing, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.”
That’s Dory speak for keep the faith, and keep your eye on the prize.
The prize in this case is my car and me getting to work in one piece.
I know, I’ve made all of you sound like a nightmare, but you aren’t.
Not really.
East Rand drivers have been my saving grace when I’m lost.
Your directions, although contradictory to each other, have led me to the right places.
I’ve managed to get to work on time every day, and I’ve learnt that following a taxi will almost always lead me to the main road.
Now, if we could just work on a being a little patient.
That would be great.
