Uber Tales (27)

My Uber SA

“The reason,’ I tell my new muse, Jax, ‘I can’t write at the moment, is that I’m swimming against a tsunami of shit hitting my South Africa.” She’s not amused. “Then there’s also the cat Patat jumping onto my lap continuously and preening over my keyboard as soon as an inkling of an idea forms,” I add, knowing she likes cats.

Of course I don’t tell her this. I tell myself that in my head as I stroke the Patat while it walks over my keyboard while I try to conjure up a positive about the state of the country on Jax’s instruction. A tough call.

I sit in the Xai with Jax. It’s a Sunday night a year ago and the place is fairly empty. This is strange because the national soccer team, Bafana Bafana, are playing somebody. I can’t remember who because I’m not watching as is nobody else. Not even Eddie, the sports crazy manager and soccer mad waiters. I ask Eddie about the disdainful disinterest and he says: “Bah! Bafana! Who cares?” The stands are also empty.

The Zupta sock-puppet who acted as MINISTER OF SPORT (I’MaVIP) is on TV saying something about TRANSFORMATION (his capitalisations) of rugby and cricket, two very successful codes. I pay little heed. I wonder about soccer, our national sport. Why is that transformed into our national disgrace? Why does the so-called minister not go on about TRANSFORMATION of soccer? The answer jumping to the lips is that it is already shit and clearly needs no further transformation by the minister.

That SELF-IMPORTANT FUCKER (my capitalisation) is now in charge of law enforcement. May Kurt Vonnegut’s apathetic and indifferent god help us all, but as you know, he won’t. So, I’m once again forced to put a positive spin on this ball of shit created by the ANC. Mbulula is but one of the many balls of shit created by the MERDOMASTER©™®© (my caps) Jacob Jackshit Zuma himself.

The late Suna Venter said one must never write anything when angry. The problem here is that whenever I think of our shit state government I GET FUCKING ANGRY! Sorry about that, let’s move to positive spin territory.

Jax and I sit in the Xai on a Saturday and the place is packed. This is not strange because there’s a rugby Test between SA and France on TV. Central to the crowd is a boisterous and vocal group of friends. They’re mainly young black guys with a sprinkling of coloureds, a whitey and a girl or two. They loudly praise and criticise the players by name and not by colour.

After the match, which the Springboks won convincingly for a series whitewash, they notice the portrait of me by Elsabe de Klerk on the wall and ask for a photo op. I gladly oblige, but when I tell them that Elsabe may or may not be FW’s niece, the one guy fakes choking and a mate does a joking Heimlich manoeuver on him. The fictional cause of his near death, he says after it has been removed, was the memory of apartheid. We all laugh at that.

This is My South Africa at its best. I always tell people in my car that Melville is what South Africa and the world should aspire to. It is a happy and inclusive place where all races, genders and ages mix freely and happily. The only people who would not be welcome here would be Victoria Geoghegan and any representative of Bell Pottinger. Why can’t it be like that elsewhere? I honestly do not know why. The barbaric stupidity of racism, I suppose. Yes, racism is indeed a barbaric and stupid impulse, but I digress.

I drive people around and drop many of them off in the parking lots of bustling malls. SA is apparently the country with the most shopping malls per capita and I can well believe it. There’s one wherever you go and they’re all bustling. I remark this to my Uber passengers and say: “When I see this, I think ‘junk status, my ass’.” They like that. We may well have a junk president and a junk government, but the country is fine. Take my word for it.

Talking about our junk president, I wonder if there will ever be a street or a square named after him? Who would want to do that once he is in jail where he belongs? Does he ever think of his legacy? Clearly not. What will it be? A statue of a giant turd may well be the answer. That will finally give the people something to laugh about when thinking of the Laughing, Stealing, Fucking, Looting, Dancing Ex#1.




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