DRIVE AFRICA

Today Ellen and I decided we would go to the mall to get bedding and other necessities for our room. One of the cheapest modes of transport here is sketch-van-cabs. I think people might refer to them as minibuses, but let’s call them what they really are: sketch-van-cabs. The only instructions I’ve received about these are “don’t get in one at night,” “don’t get in one during the day if nobody else is inside,” and “don’t worry, they are absolutely fine—just make sure to take money out of your wallet beforehand, and not inside.” Alone, these tidbits are alarming, but together, they are downright comforting. These sketch-van-cabs are always operated by a duo. There is the designated driver (this title doesn’t necessarily mean he is sober, he is just the one driving), who pulls over when he’s told and then there is the man I like to think of as a professional rallier. His job is to recruit passengers to join his sketch-van-cab community. He leans his head out of the window and waves and yells their destination at pedestrians who might be converted to passengers. Every street you walk down you hear either “Cape Town!! Cape Town!!” or “Wynberg! Wynberg!” being yelled out the window as these sketch-van-cabs book it down the street. When we first arrived, one kid on our program mistook their waving and shouting as general enthusiasm for his arrival and gave a chipper little wave back. Big mistake. Immediately the vehicle screeched to a halt, and the professional rallier slid the door of the sketch-van-cab open to usher him in, while simultaneously recruiting others and demanding money. It took a lot of explaining to convince him that the kid in our program actually was not in need of a ride, just an ego check. Anyways, Elle and I decided this would be the cheapest and fastest way to get to the mall so we hopped in one yelling “Claremont!” and made our way there. Now these sketch-van-cabs are not large. They are probably the size of a Previa, but with 4 rows instead of 3 on the inside, and without Juno driving. When we got into the van it was packed, I took a quick headcount and there were 15 people and one baby. And yet, the rallier still had his head out the window and was close enough to the sidewalk to physically pick up anybody who wanted to join. I admired his ambition, but I didn’t understand. There were no more seats. It was like meeting a Tupperware saleswoman trying to sell more Tupperware… when Tupperware is all sold out. And there is an embargo on plastic from Istanbul. Let’s say best-case scenario he were to find more passengers—where would they go? As I was thinking this, his prayers were answered and Ellen’s were denied. He hit the side of the van twice, which is apparently sketch-van-cab Morse Code for “Jackpot.” The driver pulled over and the rallier ushered 3 more people into this van. Which is good, because I am sure the makers of this vehicle made this vehicle with a family of 18.5 in mind. At this point, the ralier is perched with his tush a few inches above Ellen’s face. I wanted to tell him to make himself comfortable and just tell Ellen what he wants for Christmas this year. Thankfully it was a short trip, and after a little while longer we were unceremoniously deposited on a street corner in front of ShopRite.

While shopping we realized we needed to start planning our trip for this next week. Now that orientation is winding down, we have a free week before class starts on February 8^th. Most people travel along the Garden Route, which is down and around the coast of South Africa and stretches along the beach towns of the Indian Ocean. People have been renting cars and lining up hostels and we were talking with Heather, Sophia, and Danny about doing the same and then caravanning with a bigger group. So we went to an auto garage to book a car and ran into a slight problem. The only cars they had left are manual and Ellen and I are the only ones that can drive stick shift. Ellen and I took another sketch-van-cab to a neighborhood called Observatory and braved gale force winds and the South African version of tumble weed to try and find a cheap, automatic rental car. Out of the cuts we see a sign that says “Drive Africa” and are both immediately decide we want that. We found one for more than double the price of the stick shift, but decided it might be worth paying more to not have just the two of us splitting the driving for six days. When we got back home, we found out that there were more people who wanted to join our car. After making a few calls, Danny secured our very own version of a sketch-van-cab for 500 rand a day. So Ellen and I will now be driving a 10-person van across the African continent. This is either the best or worst news I have ever heard. I fully intend on entering Ellen into a children’s beauty pageant, making Sophie or Heather dress up as her wise grandpa, and telling Danny he is colorblind and can’t be a pilot.