A few years ago two friends and I boarded a minibus in Durban to begin a 430km journey to Mthatha that we always took at the end of every academic year. Six passengers were already seated inside and the lanky driver made a point of informing us that we were extremely fortunate because it was almost sunset and his was the last taxi travelling from Durban to Mthatha that day.
We would soon find out why he felt the compelling urge to share this bit of information with us. After politely bidding farewell to the owner of the vehicle and then slowly driving out of the almost deserted taxi rank, the lanky driver’s true colours emerged as soon as he had put a safe distance between himself and his employer.
He started to drive as if the hounds of hell themselves were in hot pursuit, occasionally swerving as if he was rehearsing the cha-cha-cha for a spot on Strictly Come Dancing. He would overtake on hair-raising hairpin turns, execute dangerous manoeuvres on treacherously uneven parts of the road, leave very little room between his vehicle and the car in front of him, and increase his speed when he should have been decreasing.
Some of the passengers were in tears, and at one point I even heard an unrecognisable croak that one passenger later said had come from my clenched lips. But whenever anyone protested, the driver would retort: “I told all of you that it was almost sunset and this is the last minibus travelling from Durban to Mthatha. So feel free to get off if you want.”
We were still some distance from Mthatha and it became clear that the minibus would eventually be involved in some kind of accident — it wasn’t a matter of if, but rather when.
We had been sitting on the edge of our seats for more than two hours when the inevitable happened at around 9pm. He was in the midst of one of his manoeuvres when a huge truck suddenly appeared in front of us. He was on the wrong side of the road and he had a choice to make — drive the vehicle under the truck barrelling down the road or plunge it into a ditch.
He chose the latter, and the vehicle crashed over the barrier and landed in the ditch. To this day I have no idea how we all walked away without a scratch. The minibus was a wreck and this lunatic clambered through the shattered windscreen to inspect his handiwork. He suddenly burst into tears as reality set in. His boss would not be amused and he was certain to face more than a sacking. We were rescued by a bus that was travelling to Butterworth just after 1am and we left him still in tears.
I was reminded of that frightening chapter of my student days as I watched Eastern Cape strugglers Chippa United plodding along against Mamelodi Sundowns on Sunday. Folks, they will crash — it isn’t a matter of if, but rather when.
This club is run a bit like that minibus and it is a miracle the side has managed to survive for this long when the owner has pretty much done everything in his power to drive it off the cliff.
This club is run a bit like that minibus and it is a miracle the side has managed to survive for this long when the owner has pretty much done everything in his power to drive it off the cliff. The pained look on hapless coach Dan Malesela’s face after Chippa’s defeat to Sundowns told a thousand horrific stories. He doesn’t know how to fix things, and he admitted as much, and he’s now at the mercy of trigger-happy boss Siviwe Mpengesi.
He’s already been fired by the same man on multiple occasions in the past and the smart money is on him facing the guillotine again before the end of the season.
I used to judge Malesela harshly and wondered why he kept returning to the club after each of his many dismissals. I do not any more. The man has got to support his family, and I guess if it means returning to the scene of his humiliation on multiple occasions to achieve this goal, then who are we to judge.
It is a frightening thing to watch, just like that minibus all those years ago.
• Follow Ntloko on Twitter at @ntlokom
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