African Story

African Story
When I was working at Ikwezi Lokusa School for the Physically Handicapped, one of my duties was to run errands and transport students and nuns to various places around Umtata, Transkei. The school employed an official driver but he was often too drunk to operate the school van. I was the only volunteer with a driver’s license so the duty fell to me. I didn’t mind though because the job took me away from the school and out into the real world of Africa.
Often, I would be required to take a trip away from Umtata to transport kids to East London, or even better, Durban. This got me out of Transkei all together and into The Natal, where tall, swaying green grass blanketed rolling hills which sporadically revealed villages and sugar cane fields. I would often be taking the students to be refitted with leg-braces which would take hours, and during that time I was free to wander around the city of Durban, a city not unlike Miami or Ft. Lauderdale. It was a very different place than Umtata.
The longest trip I ever took for the school was to Pretoria. Ikwezi Lokusa was sending its table tennis team to the South African Special Olympics and I was their official driver. Pretoria was approximately five hundred miles north of Umtata and we were to leave early in the morning and drive the entire day until we reached the hotel. Along with myself and the table tennis team, we were joined by Sister Consulata who stood about four foot nine and had the sweet disposition of the Thembu people of that area of the Transkei. She was in charge of Physical Therapy at the school and was along to make sure that we had all of our arrangements for the week long trip.
Sister Consulata had just received her driver’s license in Umtata which was encouraging because it meant that we could split up the driving a little. We left very early that morning so we could make good time. This was South Africa, so roads were of variable condition, and many times it would take much longer to travel distances than in the United States. Roads were often being worked on, and guard rails were rare. Drivers would pass on the right, (we drove on the left side of the road, like in England) regardless of blind curves, and one would have to be mindful of herds of cows and women walking in perfect posture with heavy loads balanced on their heads. One had to be very alert.
Around five o’clock in the evening I began to get drowsy. I asked Sister Consulata if she wanted to take a turn at the wheel. She said, “I don’t know Ian, I’m not used to driving on these types of roads.” I told her that if she took it slow, she would be fine. I would take a quick cat nap and resume driving for the rest of the trip.
It was about this time that I felt a frantic tap on my shoulder. It was Dappi, the captain of the table tennis team. I glanced back at him and he had a look on his face I’ll never forget. It was one of complete terror. He was wagging his finger at me and mouthing the words “no, no, no.” I took his warning with a grain of salt and pulled over to exchange places with Sister Consulata.
She sort of peaked over the steering wheel and gripped the stick shift with a look of uncertainty. In the back of the van I heard the table tennis team muttering to each other excitedly in Xhosa. I still didn’t quite get it. She had her driver’s license, she passed the test, and she was legal to drive in South Africa. What was the big deal? I slumped down in the passenger seat, putting my knees on the dashboard and felt the first lurch of Sister Consulata trying to get the hang of the clutch.
After coaxing her off the shoulder and onto the road I tried again to resume my sleeping posture, but immediately found myself sitting bolt upright saying “Sister, stay on the road, Sister, try to stay on the road, SISTER, watch out for that cow.” The muttering in the back of the van had turned into the universal language of “Whoa, Ahhh, Whoa, Ahhhh”. Soon we were veering off towards a shear drop off with no guard rail in sight. The whole table tennis team was emitting a high-pitched shriek by this time, and Sister Consulata was grabbing for her rosary beads instead of the break. In a rare instance of quick thinking, I grabbed the emergency break and yanked it up as far as it would go. We stopped. We were looking down a cavernous ravine.
We had traveled about a quarter of a mile. Sister Consulata and I exchanged seats again, and we resumed our journey. I never got my cat nap, but by this time, I really wasn’t that drowsy anymore.