Well,
my life is never dull. Yesterday at about ten in the morning, I was no more
than three minutes from home in my car when I was stopped by the traffic lights.
There was one car in front of me.
I heard a thud followed by another. It was a smash-and-grab
attack. A grubby little fellow was hammering away at the passenger window with
a spark plug. As my windows have a protective shield he could not break through
so he eventually pushed in the entire window. He came right through into the
car and of course was going for my handbag which was at my feet. I hit him
twice on the nose but he eventually grabbed my bag and was gone. Obviously
fuelled by adrenalin, he scaled a garden wall. By then cars had stopped and pedestrians
who had witnessed the attack, came to my aid. The man in the car in the lane
next to me (funny, I remember it was a red Volkswagen and that he had highly
polished black pointed shoes), was the first to react and he rushed to where
the criminal had climbed over the wall. He was joined by a bunch of men from
the back of a garden- service bakkie.
At that stage I was shaking with shock
and rage. My bag… well you all know it holds much of one’s life. A lady who
works at a business nearby, came and took me into her arms and although I
thought I might smother in her bosom, that embrace is what held me together. So
many cars had stopped and pedestrians and workers had all gathered to see how
they could help. Never say South Africans turn away and won’t get involved.
Rodney, the red VW owner, came around the corner with my bag held above his
head in victory. My relief was indescribable. All but a few hundred rand was
there. Apparently he was stuffing notes into his mouth when they apprehended
him.
The thief was brought back by about six
men and tied to a tree. The rope was supplied by a homeless man!
The
local Lynnwood security, Brinant, arrived followed by the cops from Garsfontein
station. They took my statement and the criminal was tossed into the police van.
The lady, my hugging friend, said, “I do not see colour, I see victims, we must
all stand together and show that every decent person is gatvol of crime.” Bravo, Bali!
What was a very traumatic situation
turned into a positive show of togetherness - touching and somewhat amusing - only
because it turned out so well for me.
* * *
It
turns out angels don’t always wear white celestial nighties and sport huge
white feathery uncomfortable-looking wings. No, they wear black, highly
polished wing tipped shoes, purple kaftans and red stilettoes or a very dirty
ragged t-shirt and oversized shorts; probably hand-me-downs from some outreach
church many years ago. Or they wear blue uniforms and pack two lethal-looking
guns slung low on their hips. All these angels came to my rescue and many gave
me a goodbye hug and a ‘take care Tannie’
or ‘hamba khale, gogo’. These are my
fellow South Africans. Not the scum that shoot you for ten rand. They held me
together with their caring.
My
favourite angel, though, came skidding around the corner in a cloud of dust and
burnt rubber, the smell of which hung in the air. He jumped out of his bakkie
and yelled ‘Who’s the tannie with the
dead Toyota battery? My ma sent me.’ I had left my hazards on for the two hours
I was there and my car battery died. He was wearing the ubiquitous distressed
jeans and a red t-shirt with the message ‘Shit
Happens’.
© Mary Drabbe