Iimbali!

Acar guard in a tattered luminous-green reflective vest runs to my car as I begin to park it on Owl Street in Milpark. He is a veteran who knows my car as well as I know his face, even though I have not seen him in months. I get out of the car and he offers to wash it. I decline, explaining to him that I will not be staying long, but thank you.

I’ve come to learn that speaking isiXhosa to car guards and police officers usually charms their mouths shut. He accepts and starts running to another car that is turning to park. I take longer than expected doing my business in Milpark but all is well.