By Pamela Moeng
Leaving the little black steed aka my Hyundai Getz to my man to chauffeur me this morning and risking the adrenaline rush of will- the-number-83-hit-the-bus-stop-or-not in the afternoon, I get a fresh perspective on city life and have time to let my usually rushing thoughts meander - no, actually amble - through my mind.
For instance, why does the Harrison Street taxi rank reek of pee? Who says 'thank you' to the Outsurance youth who stand in for the robots that so often don't work? Why aren't more streets turned into pedestrian malls to keep traffic on the outskirts of the city as much as possible? Why don't bus drivers have change for a R50, now that fares border R20? Is Ghandi Square really the pickpocket paradise I was warned it can be since I've been lucky to avoid mugging so far? Who was the idiot who planned that all the roadworks should happen simultaneously and which lame brain manager approved the plan? I mean really! Ask any woman and she'll tell you not to plan to renovate the house and re-design the garden at the same time!
The upside of public transport is the community of fellow passengers. I've ridden buses that featured morning prayer meetings and gospel sing-alongs and no one was more caring in the last stages of my late-lamb pregnancy than the women who rode the bus with me. I've had older women give me advice on child rearing and ways to deal with a bad man and I've had strangers pour their hearts out and thank me for listening.
I think the thing that makes Jozi great is the shared humanity of so many people. The rotten apples don't manage to spoil the apple cobbler the rest of Jozi's inhabitants create!