Now Batting for Team America

It is amazing how complete strangers will step up to the plate for you here. This evening a group of six of us was traveling home on a taxi from Khayelitsha where we were tutoring the Firefighters soccer players. At the taxi rink (essentially the taxi station, and remember, “taxi” really means 15 passenger public transport vans and not what we refer to as taxis in the States, those are cabs) we grabbed a taxi bound for the city, and while we waited for it to leave Alex and I bought a piece of hot corn from a local kid. Though it was only R7 (just under $1) we were having issues coming up with enough change so the girls we were with started digging in their purses looking for another coin. Much to my surprise one of the women sitting near us also was digging in her purse for a R1 coin for us. The taxi was leaving so we ended up just giving him an uncounted handful of small coins, hoping that it totaled the R1 we needed, but it was still awesome to see a random woman willing to give us money when we needed it.

Later in the drive two of the interns with me paid the driver a R20 bill to cover their R12 fee, but the driver never gave them their change. The same woman from before went up to bat for the Americans and called out the driver. The entire conversation was in Xhosa, the predominant local language among the black community, but it was animated enough to follow along. The two went back and forth and the conversation gradually elevated; this woman was really going after the driver for not paying us. Having heard enough, the driver pulled the taxi over on the highway and told the woman to get out, which she flatly refused to do. Instead, she tried to pay the two their change out of her own earnings. Eight rand to us is pocket change, but it’s a different story to a lot of Capetonians where every penny counts. It was a sincere and heartfelt gesture, but the girls politely declined her offer.

The outbursts calmed but the tension was still in the air. When we got to the place where we were getting off the woman wouldn’t let us leave until we had our change. The girls ended up getting their money and we left, but the woman was left to fight her own battle to get her R8 change back from easily the rudest taxi driver I’ve ever encountered. We were strangers to this woman, no names were exchanged and more than likely we’ll never see her again, but she put us before herself and made sure that we were taken care of. It’s common practice, but it still surprises me.

This was an interesting lesson that I think a lot of American’s could use, especially in our treatment of foreigners.