Your article "How to prevent a hijack attack" (Grocotts Mail 6 February Page 20) contained lots of good advice I'm sure. But the fact that it was next to the picture of a long-distance cyclist who had somehow survived riding through Africa from north to south without being hijacked or murdered, suggests your article is not the whole story.
Your article "How to prevent a hijack attack" (Grocotts Mail 6 February Page 20) contained lots of good advice I'm sure. But the fact that it was next to the picture of a long-distance cyclist who had somehow survived riding through Africa from north to south without being hijacked or murdered, suggests your article is not the whole story.
"Always drive with locked doors and windows closed," says the article.
What kind of a place do we think we live in?
What kind of paranoia is advice like this fostering?
Sure, there are places where I will lock my doors and close my windows, but "always"?
So I would like to counter the sentiment of your article by telling you that whenever I can, I do the opposite: I stop and give lifts.
Whether you feel guilty about it or not, if you are driving a sparsely occupied vehicle past people standing at the side of the road, it probably has something to do with your history.
To continue on your merry way merely exacerbates the resentment among poor people that is daily becoming more apparent.
To stop and give a lift does just the opposite.
Of course, common sense must prevail, but as I drive around I find many occasions where there are just one or two people in clear sight at the side of the road who obviously want to go in the direction I am going.
If there is space in my vehicle, I stop and give a lift. It is easy to do and it costs nothing.
And when a stranger gets into my vehicle, I find that barriers of class and culture are immediately swept away and it is easy to have the sort of conversation that would be very difficult otherwise.
And I have always had a good experience. Indeed I have been humbled by the gratitude, goodwill and appreciation I have received.
On many occasions the people I pick up are very interesting to talk to and give me an insight into the lives of fellow South Africans.
I have quickly become convinced that 99.99% of this country’s inhabitants are peaceful, kind, friendly and law-abiding people who just want to get on with their lives.
So what I am proposing is that those of us privileged to be driving large vehicles with empty seats start a campaign to give lifts in the interests of sowing good will.
This is a practical way in which we can show our fellow citizens that we see and acknowledge them and that we want to continue to live here and share this country and its resources with them.
Richard Grant
Meet some of Richard Grant's travellling companions:
Seven languages and God's blessing from Babacar*
As I left Grahamstown on New Year’s Day I saw a man who was obviously not local at the side of the road and gave him a lift.
Babacar told me he was from Senegal but had been living in South Africa for about 20 years. He was in the cellphone business – sales and repairs, but said the business was not what it used to be.
He was on his way to meet a Zambian friend at Summerstrand for the annual visit to the sea and had been waiting for a lift for several hours. Babacar lives in Cathcart with his wife, who was staying at home that day.
Babacar is fluent in four languages: Senegalese, Arabic, English and French, and can get by in at least another three: Afrikaans, Portuguese and isiXhosa.
Babacar had travelled extensively in Africa so we chatted about life in other countries. In particular we examined the comparative use of bicycles for transport as I am a keen cyclist. He asked me what he should pay for the lift. I told him I was going anyway.
I was not planning to drive into Port Elizabeth, but by making a small detour I was able to drop him at a taxi rank where he could get a taxi to Summerstrand, rather than next to the N2 on the outskirts of the city.
He was extremely grateful for this, as the day was getting on.
He hopped out when I stopped for a red light and I could still hear him calling down God’s blessing on me when the light turned green and I drove away.
Rhythm City and catching fish with Bulelani*
As I turned on to the N2 outside Grahamstown, I offered a lift to a young man wanting to go in the direction of Port Elizabeth.
As he climbed into my vehicle I thought at once that I had made a terrible mistake.
His face bore several scars and his sunken eyes had obviously seen a very hard life. The prison is nearby and I imagined I had just picked up an escaped convict.
However it turned out Bulelani had been visiting his elder brother, who was doing time for housebreaking and had already been in prison for four years.
As we drove along, Bulelani told me his brother still had some time to serve.
Bulelani was going back home to his girlfriend in Motherwell and he called her on his cellphone to tell her he was on his way.
He told me about his ex-girlfriend who lives in Soweto with his daughter and about his dogs that he needs to protect his house.
He is unemployed, but sometimes drives his aunt to places she wants to go in her car, as she can’t drive.
One day he hopes to get a driving licence and a job as a driver.
It turned out we both watch Rhythm City, so we chatted about the characters and the sub-plots.
He spoke about going to live in Europe and was surprisingly well-informed about what life would be like in various countries from Spain to Germany.
Bulelani said he wanted to learn how to catch fish, as he had watched anglers along the Swartkops River, so we chatted about that too.
He was critical of my lamentable lack of isiXhosa and said the best place to start was with the words for body parts – so he taught me a few.
Bulelani said I should drop him where the turnoff to Motherwell intersects the N2 and as I stopped, this impoverished, unemployed young man reached into his pocket and pulled out some crumpled banknotes which he offered to me.
I told him he should rather go buy some hooks and fishing line.
We parted with a handshake and smiles.
The schoolgirls – "Yaaaaaa….!"
I was driving along the gravel road from Seymour in the Eastern Cape towards Elundini near Alice and it was starting to rain.
Ahead, I saw a school had just come out and a line of children in their maroon uniforms stretched from the school buildings to the road. As I drew near, those closest to the road waved at me for a lift, so I stopped.
I said I was only going as far as Elundini.
“Yes, yes, Elundini” they chorused.
I looked around and saw I was in the middle of a small group of girls, aged about 8 to 12.
“Okay, hop in,” I said.
The biggest, who seemed to be the group’s leader, got in the front. The rest crammed onto the back seat. No one else sought to share the front seat with the Leader.
Somehow the doors were closed and we set off.
The vehicle filled with the fresh smell of soap.
A little way on, we approached a group of boys of about the same age who had set off a bit earlier and there was lots of laughing and giggling from the back.
As we passed them, all my passengers let out loud yells of “Yaaaaaaaaa……..” and pressed their faces against the windows.
I decided I would join in the game and as we approached the next group of boys I wound down the windows.
“Yaaaaaaa……….”
Up with the windows.
Next we passed a group of boys getting wet on an open trailer being pulled slowly behind a tractor.
Wind down the windows.
“Yaaaaaaaaa……..”
Wind up the windows.
After several kilometres of this we arrived at Elundini Backpackers.
As my passengers disembarked, I was reminded of those competitions to see how many people could be packed into a telephone booth.
Off they all went to their homes nearby with waves and smiles.
And me?
The warm buzz I got from giving this lift stayed with me for days.
* Not their real names
Richard Grant
