Author Archives: Ava Debe

No, not the place where JFK proudly proclaimed he was a jelly doughnut (remember his “Ich bin ein Berliner!” speech?), the other place that was on 7th street Melville, cramped right between Stripes on 7th and The Loft.

The blue, white and red sign enticingly glowing, welcoming you with promise that you had found the right bar. During the day, it was emptier than most European churches – those that aren’t yet turned into museums – and at night, especially Thursdays and Sundays , it got so full that most of the party happened outside this establishment – because it was small and cramped up and sweaty – but not the old fried onion kind of smell. These nights were wittily named Detox Thursdays and Sundays. Where a couple of slogans like “Sunday is the new Friday”  and “retox is the new detox” came about and put shame to all other phuza Thursday’s around the country

…and to imagine that I fell in love with the place on a lark; this one Sunday night (2008) after convincing people with cars that the braai we were attending was dying down and that Melville 7th street was a better place to continue celebrating the end of examinations!

The interesting thing about this establishment was that after a while, one realised that the same “creative” types – and some others – frequent the place, creating a myriad of attractive yet dysfunctional relationships of any kind, a kind of non-septic cesspool – that’s what drew one there. The thing is, after a while, one becomes highly acquainted with the order of the DJ’s and their playlists – with the DJ adding a couple of new songs here and there – so the music became excessive and the reason why one continued to frequent the place was because of the people, yes, people. Human beings are social creatures and that just makes us all so curious, which makes us ponder and wonder about the next person’s life, especially when you see them all. The. Time. It’s in our DNA. Therefore, I did understand why one would be so drawn to such a state of affairs, it made for a piquant life :

– Who is doing whom now?

– Who is cheating on whom and with whom?

– Would there be any confrontations?

– Who was going to act crazy or out of character?

– Were there going to be any drunken brawls?

– And the classic, who was going to get themselves banned that night.

The post-detox chill session would then take place at some friends apartment where people had been pre-drinking earlier and the conversation would mostly comprise of everyones notes on the latter questions, laugh a bit, drink some more and patiently wait for the next detox night!

It was a way of life.

It was fun.

It was a distraction from the reality that is life but like all distractions,  it’s legacy still lives on but now there’s Kitchener’s (and Braam).

– Ava

…those are the terms you usually hear in a taxi, here.
No, not a cab where it’s just you and the driver, the mini-bus ones that range from new Quantums to very old types which you cannot make out what make it is.

The taxi’s that most South Africans use as a primary mode of transport, the ones that went on strike after the announcement of the Gautrain and BRT.

The taxi’s whose violence is legendary.

Those that drive bad and stop almost anywhere without warning because the passengers tell the driver to stop there.

The ones with the passengers that stare at every passing car and won’t open the windows on a rainy day and it smells like freshly relaxed or permed hair.

The taxi where the person next to the window has smelly feet and refuses to open a window.

The ones where if you’re sitting in the front you’re forced to count everyone’s fare even if you aren’t too sure about it yourself.

The taxi’s that know their way around rush-hour traffic.

Yeah, the ones with the drivers from hell!

I usually sit in the front to avoid having to shout out any of the commands to indicate my stop, but, if I’m unfortunate I usually sit at the back and pray and hope that someone is getting off where I need to get off.

In my experience of taxis, I’ve rarely seen the drivers as most people say they are, except in the case of the woman whose R50 got ripped because the driver didn’t have change. The last few times I’ve been in a taxi, the one driver tried to sell me Golden products, the other lectured me about how important it is to stay in school, another tried to sell me airtime and most of them are rather helpful.

The worst thing about taking a taxi is sitting next to someone who feels like they have to tell you their life story! And they won’t shut up! You can’t tell them to stop since they’re pouring their heart out and you become the joke of the rest of the passengers and they snigger because they understand how you feel after a long day.

But for all bad taxi experiences, there’s always a funny one that makes you take a taxi again so one can have a story to tell, because after all, don’t we live to tell stories?

Unfortunately, this didn’t happen to me nor  Coin  or Try but to *dramatic music* Sang.

She decided to take a taxi from work – since her lift club left her behind as she took too long to pack up her belongings. So, at that time of the day, her only option was the comforts of the aforesaid taxi’s – although she had hoped that one of the new ones would come by first, but instead it was a jalopy. She gave her signal and it stopped. She climbed in and saw that the only available seat was next to the slide door that didn’t close properly and left a gap so she had a lovely view of the tarmac at the step. Now, Sang, being who she is, was probably being harassed by Coin to “get back to chat”, which she did once the vehicle drove off. It drove in a manner that vehicles of its type do, swerving and driving on the yellow line until it did a rather interesting manoeuvre that left the passengers swaying and Sang’s delicate fingers lost grip of her shiny mobile which fell on the step and tumbled down through the gap it went.

Unlike her reclusive friend, who would have looked up and mumbled “oh!” and anticipated that another passenger saw what had happened and stopped the taxi. Sang shouted “Stop the taxi!” and like a Tom Cruise (or even Will Smith, these days) in a traffic scene, she opened the door with great force, jumped out and dodged the on-coming traffic while running in heels, to get her precious cellphone which was at the mouth of a drain. She took a deep breath and picked it up and saw it was still on Yeigo with ten “oi’s” from Coin and told her the story.

For those who haven’t been in a taxi, what are you waiting for? BRT and Gautrain are coming, taxi days are numbered… or not!

– Ava