On the hassle of traveling in smelly kombis

This other day I took a combi and as soon as I had seated myself on the available space I was assaulted by a smell of “hotwings” (smelly armpits). I was overcome by a wave of nausea and my head started aching. The culprit stared right ahead like all was well. Ke fa a gagametse e kare selo sa phakela. But my woes were not over. At the next stop, the combi picked up some chap who came with his own problems, in the form of “singing” shoes. He squeezed himself next to me at the instruction of the driver who insisted that we make space for him. I was forced to squeeze next to the hot wings fella to make space. I pleadingly turned to the woman sitting by the window and asked her to open it but she told me that the wind would spoil her hairstyle.

I nearly broke into laughter… she had what looked like a sparrow’s nest on her head. I could not figure out if the weave was about to take off and fly or what, because the hair was coffered in front and the side looked like wings being flapped. Trump’s head-do has nothing on that hairstyle, which I doubt has a name. I cursed under my breath and sat quietly trying to control myself from muttering something uncouth. The worst was yet to come. The man with the smelly boots started shoving against me. For some strange reason, he thought he could sit comfortably in a cheap combi with no space. By now he was openly molesting my thigh. He squirmed like an eel and shoved violently against my thigh. He seemed to be enjoying this Fifty Shades of Grey moment until I harshly reprimanded him. He gave me a bloodshot daggers look; the way he looked at me, if looks could kill I would be an ancestor by now. By the time I got off, I had to take a moment to gather myself and recover from that episode. Meanwhile, the other passengers sat quietly like everything was fine. Phew! I battle with several anxieties that include vehophobia and as much as I have had uneventful experiences on public transport, I have also had a share of drama, like the time I got peed on by a baby who was not wearing diaper. Her mother could only exclaim: Shee, mme kana ga nke a rota... (what the?) … to an incident when on a bus from Francistown this other weird guy

who perhaps thought I looked like his bed, put his head on my shoulder and fell asleep, snoring until spit ran down his chin. Many people hate public transport, although it’s cheaper and affordable, not only because driving around in a car is a necessity and is also perceived as a status symbol, but because our public transport system can be uncomfortable, inefficient and range from irritating to traumatic. We need an efficient, affordable and comfortable public transport system. I lived in SA for many years and not only were the inner city combis more comfortable (strictly Quantum combis) the drivers were organised, cleaned up and would not hesitate to refuse a lift to a smelly guy because chances were he would come between them and their money. Whenever I travelled to Joburg for example, I used the Gautrain or workers’ train, which although pricier is quick, clean and you won’t bump into folk with hot wings. Some time ago, the then Transport Minister Mokaila got some slack when it was insinuated that he had said that grey imports would be scrapped. As long as public transport is not up to scratch, people will continue to purchase and drive these fong kongs. It is better to stick your elbow out of MaoFit than deal with singing shoes and strange men shamelessly molesting your thigh. Where you find yourself having to contend with these smallanyana challenges like “hotwings,” just hold in your breath and hum hymns - uzoba strong!