Kasi Cargo.

I was in a taxi this morning…
Listening to the domestic Auntie’s latest critics,the pattern of their shaming talk has an intense diversity…
“NaMabuza got beaten brutally..” the concerned tone is cushioned by agony ,their analysis varies from newly recruited Nyaope addicts and latest teen pregnancy.
Behind them sits two drunkards ,flaunting their ability to keep a woman…one believes its wealth ,the other praises the skill of a man in bed…from their heated argument reeks a pungent scent..a mixture of booze and sweat….
…the driver manoeuvres his noisy cargo through blurs of puddling drizzles….with ease he twirls his wheel to avoid half burned tires,stones and trees ,the weapons of yesterday’s service delivery protest..
Two teenagers in uniform brag about how many cherries they harvested, one beats his chest proudly ..counting the number of foetus his girlfriend have aborted..
….next to me sits an Indian ..he looks at me and his mouth bend into a bitter scowl…is it sympathy? ,he has a sinister smirk ….observantly he indulge on the deceitness of the self destructed Africans..
…the khumbi’s creaky speakers blusts out in Simphiwe Dana’s voice painting the aura with a background harmony “Mayine..mayineeeee…”


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