Nabila Mayet-Cassim was inspired by a conversation between Brent Lindeque and Mandy Weiner on 702, and it inspired her to share a short story about a kindness she witnessed as a child.
South Africa (08 September 2023) – Every week, Brent Lindeque, the founder of Good Things Guy, joins Mandy Weiner on 702 to discuss the inspiring South Africans that make a difference to our beloved country. These stories are often highlighted here on our website. Nabila Mayet-Cassim happened to be listening to one of these inspiring segments and it shook loose a memory of her own. Determined to capture the kindness she remembered, she wrote a short story.
Nabila’s short story highlights the time in South Africa, when transition was taking place. Where change was happening although a little slower than needed. It is a glimpse back into her youth as she, her sister and the family’s driver July, found themselves on the roadside in the dark, needing a helping hand.
The kindness of a stranger brought them all through the tense situation. Take a read below:
~A stranger in the night~
By: Nabila Mayet-Cassim
During our younger years, my sister and I often took trips into the city to visit our maternal grandmother.
The day had arrived. I excitedly tied my denim jacket to my waist and double-checked that the extra set of batteries for my locked and loaded Walkman was in the princess Jasmine moonbag sitting on my waist alongside the birthday Tamagotchi named Mametchi that I received a few weeks earlier.
“Buckle up for the ride,” July, named in lieu of being born in the cold winter month, our driver always said. He tipped his black chauffeur hat in my direction, opening the door signaling for me to get in. Ready for the trip I carefully placed one pristine Fila Disruptor tekkie, sneaker, at a time into the car and settled in the backseat.
The 64km drive began from Delmas to Johannesburg, the city made famous by its gold.
The crunching tires along the dirt road took us to the entrance of Plaas Weltevreden, the hectare farm on which we grew up. I often took to reimagining the brown dust stains into fantastical creatures as it engulfed us from the car ahead and then settled against our metallic brown 1996 Honda Ballade. It was a treat to carve out different images made up by my mind’s imagination.
Once the Ballade cruised along the smooth open road we were on our way and no sooner made our customary stop at Rio the Delmas town Cafe, to stock up on Perky Nana and Whippy chocolate bars, Coke and Simba chips for the trip.
The scenic road was engulfed in rows and rows of corn maize which I always counted in sets of two as we passed a few padstals, roadside stalls, selling a range of fruit, home-made jam, nuts and mielies.
Holding my thumb and forefinger to shut the smell of ammonia from my nose, I signalled to my sister to do the same.
“The chickens,”I giggled, rolling my eyes in disgust, still holding my nose to block the smell emitted from the chicken farm nearby.
About 30 minutes into the journey the open countryside landscape turned into bustling shopping malls, the hooting of cars caught in rush hour traffic, queues of people waiting to take the minibus taxis back home. Once we reached the large clock on the East Rands Helvetia House, a mirrored city office building, I knew we were almost there. As twilight set in, the stars in the sky were substituted by the shiny city lights making my heart skip a beat at the thought of the exciting city adventures that awaited.
The rear window felt cold against my cheek and my eyes grew wide as though it was my inaugural trip to the metropolis. A woman dressed in a crop top and bootleg jeans waved to another wearing Doc Martin’s sipping on a cappuccino at the House of Coffees in the corner of the street.
On the other side of the road, a shaggy-haired boy pulls out a box of purple Chiclets from the pocket of his baggy jeans and pops it into his mouth and jumps on his skateboard into the freeing air around him no sooner filling into a full circle. My eyes grew wide, and I held my breath in a gasp as he made his way down to the ground.
While the journey towards the city was met with a buzz of anticipation, the one back home usually found us sprawled on the back seat dozing off in the secure knowledge that July would get us home. The movies, shopping, bowling alley fun, ice skating, pool-noodling, slip and sliding in the garden and battling arcade games at Eastgate shopping centre with cousins were some of the regular highlights from our trips.
It wasn’t unusual that the drive back turned into night. The darkness overwhelmed the road except for the stream of red brake lights ahead, it was now open countryside. This time around the city lights were replaced by stars in the sky as we took the off ramp that took us closer to home.
The musical voices in my Walkman skipped a note and were disrupted by a sudden jerk as the car swerved swiftly from side to side, landing off-road, deeply surrounded by the long roadside veld. July, unsuccessfully disguising the panic in his voice said, “Hold on tight girls, ” his voice bouncing up and down in unison with his body.
“What’s going on,” I asked in a high-pitched fearful voice.
“We hit a nail,” July braked heavily trying to stop the car from moving any further which in turn threw the vehicle off balance, the steering wheel taut and the car fishtailed out of control. Everything was spinning around me, my earplugs still in my ear but detached from the walkman. I struggled to breathe, the air sucked out of me. A hand-held mine, it was my sister’s. Her eyes wide and her mouth pursed shut.
Finally, the car stopped. The air finally came out and I heard a familiar screeching noise.
“It’s going to be okay… stop screaming. Everything is going to be okay,” my sister held me close in a reassuring embrace. For a few minutes, the three of us sat as still as mice. No words. Just shock.
The palpable cold within the confined space of the car was met with fearful, heavy silence but as July slowly opened the door, the loud sound of cars zooming past made its way in.
A few seconds later returned as if he had seen a ghost.
“No spare tire,” his face buried in his hands.
In the pitch blackness of rural South Africa all that was visible was the red brake lights on one end and the yellow of the headlights in the opposite direction as they sped by. The silhouette of the vegetation around us looked like giant monsters and I held a little tighter onto my sister’s hands.
I kept myself distracted by using my free hand to check up on Mametchi who was just as hungry as I was. Lucky for her a press of a button secured dinner and another secured a warm bed with a good night’s sleep. Still holding tightly to my sister’s hand – she continued to reassure me that everything would be okay.
About an hour passed.
“If the cops appear and start questioning us,” my sister broke the silence, “we removed the tire from the boot to fit in extras for our trip,” she said clearly emphasising on the we.
Confused, I asked why.
Exasperated, she responded, “Why do you think? – two fair-skinned girls with a dark-skinned driver at this time of night is a recipe for disaster.”
July knew it and so did we. Even though South Africa claimed democracy, in these parts the change had not quite caught on.
With two girls in tow, at this time of night and a lack of a spare tire, the odds were against him.
His eyes were constantly on the lookout for someone to help but also darting back and forth in fear of a police officer lurking in the area. The last thing he needed was for the situation to be misconstrued. What would come of the girls on a night this cold and dreary? What would come of him?
“July it may be better if I wait outside,” my sister left my hand and opened her window. It was as if she could read his mind, knowing that a dark-skinned male will receive no sympathy in these parts of town.
“No, no,” he said. “Don’t worry. Someone out here will help, ” he said, not entirely sure if this was true. She stood outside with him despite his protest.
The whizzing of the cars going by reminded me of the sound of a buzzing bee zooming past my ear. Loud as it whizzes off and softer as it disappears into the distance. The flickering of the emergency lights disturbed my eyes and I was beginning to get a headache.
Still cold, hungry and parched, I continued to check and recheck on Mametchi. Once she was asleep I looked up and out of the window and my sister and July, both still standing out in the cold, but now joined by the silhouette of a man in a biker helmet dressed in full leather propped on his Harley Davidson.
Who was this man? The slits in his helmet showed only his eyes. Dressed in full leather.
Anxious thoughts plagued me.
Would he take us away?
Would he report July to the police?
About a hundred cars passed by. Why would he stop and offer assistance without interrogating the situation?
Unable to hear what was being said I saw him get off his motorcycle, grab something from his bag. I peered out the window. Was he reaching for a gun? He pulled something out… Something thin and long… And went back in the bag searching for something else… As he pulled it out he slammed it against the window causing my entire body to shiver.
What was that?
Phew! The air filled my lungs again as a piece of paper slammed against the window.
An amazing strength that July possessed you see, was that he was great with directions and could remember a phone number after hearing it even just once. July did not require a map book, but he could find his way to a place no matter how complicated and he could memorize a telephone number, address or any other noteworthy detail. His photographic memory served us well, especially on a night such as this.
My tummy growls grew louder as I nibbled on the crumbs of a packet of Simba Salt and Vinegar crisps relishing on the taste of the salt and cheap vinegar on my lips and I craved the sweetness of a glass bottle of coke, cracking the top open and guzzling it down to counter my parched throat.
Unsure of what to expect I retreated back into the corner of the seat with only my jacket to keep me warm. Just then a whiff of cold air came into the car as July and my sister got back in.
The tall nameless white man popped his head in, causing me to back up a little, “hang in there girls, I will send help. ”
The emergency lights danced over his face. His eyes were soft and deep, wrinkled at the corners. Saying no more he hopped onto his motorcycle and sped off onto the open road disappearing, smaller and smaller as he moved further into the distance. Taking our only hope with him.
“Now we pray,” July said
My sister who had got into the other end of the back seat silently said a prayer and nudged me to do the same.
I often wonder who this stranger was and where he could be now. The one who stopped to help two little fair-skinned girls being driven home by a dark-skinned man, after dark, on an unmarked road in rural South Africa. All because a flat tire left them reliant on the kindness of a nameless stranger in the night to save them.
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