We don’t need violence to bridge the gap between us and them

Johannesburg – The bakkie in front of me at a green light was indicating right. So was I. Perhaps the driver was not mindful. I gently pressed my hooter once. Gave him leeway, and by the time I gently hooted again, the robot was red. I’m learning patience.

I was calm. I sat back. Now the driver of the bakkie is approaching. I am curious. I cracked open my window and asked if there was a problem – not including the riots, the fires, the ashes that are our townships, the stampedes, looting. The bread that became scarce, the trucks that spilt milk.

There is no use crying over spilt milk. Dairy farmers normally ship within 24 hours, anything after that it goes stale. It’s called fresh milk for a reason.

Big producers can’t move their products. But right now, small businesses can. Look at the SILVER LINING.

If you don’t understand a revolution, you are not its target, nor its affiliate. You are a bystander, a taxpayer. You speak because you have rights. But so do protesters. It is the damage to property that raises eyebrows. We are here because people are shocked.

In our not crying for the milk, we don’t forget the trucks it sprayed from. This milk is the fires we ignited, the shops we ransacked. The clinics whose equipment we stole, and what we couldn’t carry we broke. Like our dreams. What we couldn’t push, we pulled. We repeated this process until fences were down, and guards were up. We are always angry.

The stew that spewed in our townships was idle on a boiling pot. When former president Jacob Zuma was arrested, he tripped, fell and toppled the pot off of its axes. It tilted and the country spiralled sideways. Cars burning on highways. Vigilante groups not going down without a fight.

I guess we are all hungry. Many for food, the rest for power, and for others it is food for thought.

As the driver of the bakkie walked up to my window, he started shouting, “the bakkie stalls, man! Do you want to get out and push it yourself?!”

I told him not to be an idiot. The robot was green again. Still infuriated, he walked to his bakkie. It didn’t stall this time, he turned right at the robot and parked on the side of the road. I did too, in front of him. We were going to the same block of shops.

He stepped out of his car. I walked out of mine and kept my hands in my pockets as I walked towards him too. Not too long after another verbal exchange ensued, I heard a homeless old lady, sitting at a shop front across the road shout, “Hey wena!, yeka lento oyenzayo!”. This white homeless lady told me to stop what I was doing and I heard her. I apologised and walked away. The driver of the bakkie was white too.

I am going to land my plane on this; we don’t need violence to bridge the gap between us and them. We just need to start buying from us. Remember the SILVER LINING.

The Saturday Star