archive - issue 18

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  • 10 Characters

    By Anton Krueger
    Nurse Marie Her lapel is a little faded and her lipstick slightly smudged in the corner of her mouth. “It’s an easy job,” she
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    • WRITING
  • A Cry for Help

    By Ross Fleming
    I come from a long line of great worriers. My earliest memory is of Father, the morning paper spread out before him, tearing his
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    • WRITING
  • A selection from a series of polaroids and paintings "We are Definitely Heroes" that calls into question our self-obsessed nature through the lens of
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • a perspective

    By Lucca Munnik
    she’s a contradiction:anxious yet fierce andchallenging yet sensitive. she carries emotions that she hides from people,but then bluntly spurts them out when it gets
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    • POETRY
  • A shortish life in 15 shortish paragraphs   1.       Birth From the start it was all hard work. Later her blue-eyed brothers and sisters made
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    • WRITING
  • All the World

    By Jeannie Wallace McKeown
    Hours spent dreaming herself a role in an infinite movie reel of lives; string theory says she’s living them; somewhere she moved to a
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    • POETRY
  • Commuting in Jozi

    By PALESA RAMEKOANE
    Coming from Polokwane, a small town in Limpopo, Johannesburg is a big city to me. It is a congested, confusing, concrete jungle compared to
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    • WRITING
  • Constellations

    By Caitlin Stobie
    For Ryan   We were meant to be characters: two queer geeks with a Tarot set.   Setting: the day of the velveteen stage,
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    • POETRY
  • de-identified

    By Kirsten Stolle
    de-identified examines the impact of facial recognition technology on individual privacy.  Using augmented portraits of 19th century women and an imagined narrative, de-identified explores how
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • do you

    By Anton Krueger
    do you also hold your breath in movies when a character’s drowning, to see if you can outlast them? do you also miss those
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    • POETRY
  • gogogo is in love

    By esethu esethu
    REMEMBERING HERE an excerpt from "A Long Story Short", an unpublished novella   It was not always as contaminated, the nature of the resentments
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    • WRITING
  • Hugh Hervey Walker

    By Molly Walker
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • I am very angry

    By James Chapangara Mugabe
     Part 1 - Introduction Please let me rant! I am angry, very angry! I am angry with you Comrades Ja! Ek is gatvol! Ini ndakadumbirwa
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    • POETRY
  • I doodled your name by force

    By Naggayi Lydia Sanyu
    I doodled your name by force. Yes please. I was not going to be that girl who'd pass through her teenage years without ever
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    • WRITING
  • It is

    By Kyle Allan
    It is.   It is a ball surrounded by lightning and the mercy of cosmic rays being hurled through space, again and again finding
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    • POETRY
  • Joseph: Starlin

    By Joseph Claassen
    Joseph: Starlin He rolls up on me while I’m whatsapping calls softly from the side to not scare meout here in the city’s dukderma man
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    • POETRY
  • Kinoti's Flower Bud

    By Michael Thuo
    A green writer is one in constant motion. This motion is in the state of mind: seeking ideas, inspiration and appealing to the yet
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    • WRITING
  • La femme obscur

    By Lunette Elle Warren
    She’s a natural brunette. She has an incurable case of Resting Bitch Face. She’s a poet. She’s a dirt road that stretches into the
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    • POETRY
  • 1.   I hid in the church after they left. Some of the stained glass had been broken, and the plain sunlight bled into
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    • WRITING
  • Meeting Kasiobi

    By Mariam Sule
    Few things have evoked my empathy like the evening I spent with a beautiful man named Kasiobi who has lost an ability that I
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    • WRITING
  • Mostly about a Beetle

    By Anthea Garman
    Ken’s red beetle 1963 – I am three years old. I pose against the beetle in the way I have seen my mother do. Fat
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    • WRITING
  • Mountain Heart

    By Maria Kjartans
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • My Grandmother's Name

    By Louella Sullivan
    In her 70s the rigid clack of a label maker stamped out her neat name to be stuck spirit-level straight on cupboards, Tupperware, biscuit
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    • POETRY
  • Nairobi Is A Quick Lover

    By Waiganjo Ndirangu
    First flash: a business-bright billboard smile; A suit far too neat for the jam on Jogoo Road; A suit too well knit, too well
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    • POETRY
  • There’s an old proverbial postulate that the commercial competitive market model seeks to create the best possible goods at the lowest possible prices (now,
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    • WRITING
  • Image Gallery Character resonating out hard into the environs: with physical manifestations in Heaven and Earth; for better or worse; meteorologically, geologically, technologically; synthesising
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    • AUDIOVISUAL
  • The Garden's Memory

    By Louella Sullivan
    A garden is harder than a marriage you can’t throw sex or wine at it to pacify the wilderness that threatens.   A garden
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    • POETRY
  • The Gathering

    By Emmanuel Uweru Okoh
      Now I ask... What do you see? Eyes with shades of variedness Eyes of diverse vision A hundred feet in this room A
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    • POETRY
  • The prisoner

    By Carla Chait
    The clink-clink of chains along the corridor of area 354 is indicative of the approach of a prisoner. A prisoner is approaching and I
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    • WRITING
  • The Running Man

    By Theodore Senene
    If you happened to be seated in the third coach of the 10 o'clock train heading west,  watching the luscious green countryside flash by,
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    • WRITING
  • By the time they reached one hundred kilometres outside Kamieskroon, on the way to Cape Town, the rhythmic tikketu-tikketu of train meeting track had
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    • WRITING
Thursday, 29 September 2016 14:49

Commuting in Jozi

By 
Coming from Polokwane, a small town in Limpopo, Johannesburg is a big city to me. It is a congested, confusing, concrete jungle compared to my somewhat clean, airy and less congested city. The taxis in Polokwane are in better shape and the taxi drivers aren’t so bad.

 I’ve been knocking on heaven’s door every time I ride in a taxi.  This is no joke. I find myself clutching my handbag and saying a little prayer for God not to take me away just yet. To and from work, it’s a constant battle with the grim reaper, knees bumping into the exposed and protruding sharp stainless steel corners of the tattered pleather covered seats, our bodies tossing into people, holding on tight… bracing ourselves for impact. We are never ready to join our Holy Father but we have to always be ready for anything can happen.

Pay up your stokvel, have life insurance and disability cover because it’s not going to be a smooth ride.

Taxi drivers drive like they own the road, they just takeover.  They’re always in a rush, cutting other cars on the road and they even drive on the pavement! Where are pedestrians supposed to walk?

I remember this one time when the taxi driver just casually said that the brake pads fell out. Zero fucks were given. Bathong! I cannot comprehend how someone would not care about their safety this much, what’s a vehicle without brakes if not a casket on wheels?

 “Hayi voetsek” rolls easily off almost every taxi drivers tongue I’ve had the pleasure of travelling with. They cross red robots, overtake in unovertakable situations, and no matter how questionable and wrong their actions, they will always, I mean always liberally bless the other motorists with spicy profanities that always make me wish I carried a bottle of Holy water to fire the demons out of these drivers!

Although I put taxi drivers in the spotlight, I’ve come to learn, after almost driving into a car that skipped a red robot, that almost everyone in Jozi drives like a maniac. Reckless and fast. But this is just my opinion.

 Accidents seem to be the norm here, this morning alone I came across two accidents on my way to work. Car accidents occur once in a blue moon in Polokwane. It is seldom that people are stuck in traffic because of a road accident scene, maar tjeses, Jozi is showing me flames!

 Talking about being seeing flames, there’s the bad traffic. If I got a 2bob for every time I got stuck in traffic I would be a rich girl! Since I came here I can finally join in conversations about being stuck in traffic for up to an hour.

Robots seldom work, there is always roadworks happening. I swear I stay about twenty minutes away from work but I need at least an hour to travel. Traffic is mean. But one has to adapt.

Trust me, there is no use ironing your clothes when you are going to take a taxi because your nice linens will only end up wrinkled from being squashed so go ahead and invest in some no need to iron clothes and save yourself the disappointment and the electricity.

Some taxi drivers have no respect for the people who bring them their business. They are making a living, I respect that, without them I would not be able to get to work, but damn they do not respect us shem. I hesitate every time I have to hand over my R11, this could either go well or it could just go left.

It is infuriating when the driver keeps picking up people off the road that time the taxi is filled to capacity because more passengers means more money and that is why sometimes I find myself squashed in a fourteen seater that’s carrying twenty people, the driver racing and beating his horn every time he sees a potential customer, oblivious to his customers discomfort and struggles to even breathe without taking up more space with the action of moving their lungs.

Riding a taxi in Gauteng is a sport that I find to be more like being in a dangerous and thrilling suspense tale that will have one reaching out and getting in touch with the Lord and sometimes enjoying the perks of beating traffic and getting to work on time. 


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