Nqobile - The Story of Becoming

References

CHAPTER 01

So, you’re a black man in 2016, a year that is intensifying racial debate sparked primarily by the #Blacklivesmatter campaign in the US—where you spent many years as a student—and the #Rhodesmustfall campaign here in South Africa. Yet you aren’t too optimistic of what could come out of either movement?

In isolation, no. I’m not. I think both campaigns are a natural response to issues that have been bubbling beneath the surface for a long time and eventually spilled over after unfortunate events. However, while these movements have been voluble and have brought about the necessary awareness of their concerns, essentially universal black concerns, to the public domain, I feel they come up well short in their diagnosis of the issues, and subsequently their solutions to achieving their aspirations.

By that, do you mean that these movements, some would call them revolutions, will not yield the desired results in changing the socioeconomic landscape for black people in these places?

Yes, exactly that. Not another revolution, please!

Hmmm, but isn’t a revolution precisely what’s needed though? I mean look at Africa. It is revolutions that brought about the independence of most African countries. The majority resorted to warfare and ubiquitous bloodshed to bring about the necessary change to enable us to realize our ambitions as fully sovereign nations with our destinies in our own hands. Look at America too. The Civil Rights Movement successfully ended racial segregation and overt discrimination against black Americans. Don’t you think revolutions or perhaps revolutionary movements are necessary in bringing down the status quo? I would think this would be obvious because there’s empirical evidence everywhere to support their outcomes.

Well, first, our destinies are only seemingly in our hands and I will qualify that just now. Second, we have to realize that there will always be a status quo, and it will work either for us or against us, whoever is at the helm. In colonial times or during slavery, the world was more black and white, literally. It was easier then to know what or whom we were fighting against. Now the so-called enemy isn’t that easily identifiable, marginally because of our comingling with liberal whites. The colonial imperialists have simply been replaced by a new black elite, stemming from liberation parties that were responsible for removing the white ruler from his skin-privileged perch. The status quo is therefore nothing more than a mechanical variation of what it previously fought against, and our destinies are only superficially in our own hands as they remain tied to the whims of the present situation. A revolution against the system, against the status quo, requires the physical toppling of the individuals who most embody the philosophy—or a major amendment of the laws—responsible for the present circumstances. Yes, historically revolutions have brought about change, so it is very logical to assume they are the best means to get results, but I challenge that notion. I see it as too simplistic, too shortsighted, and uninspired particularly in its linear rationale when considering the vastness of our true human condition that we seek to fulfil. The people running and following these specific movements, what is their transformational philosophy? What do they want? What exactly do they aspire to? A seat at the table?

I think a seat at the table, as recognized equals, would be a great start. We also want to have our cake and eat it too! Is there anything wrong with that? We are tired of watching someone else enjoying the fruits of our labor! Seriously, I’m no Dr. Khalid but how long have they plundered our lands, made us pay tax on the paltry wages we receive, and yet we can only scrounge for scraps around the table floor that bounce off their fat mouths. They have created their heavens on the whipped backs of our free labor and then they have the audacity to turn around and call us lazy and good for nothing?! It’s simple really, we need to change our circumstance. We should be dining at that table as well. We deserve more than scraps and petty donations from what they have stolen from us, as if they are doing us a favor. That’s how blacks will eventually overcome adversity, when we arrive at the table economically empowered as equals.

Well then, McDonalds has a black CEO. Is that the kind of seat we are talking about? Maybe we should be asking if that’s even the table we want to sit at, where wealth is created by products and production methods that knowingly endanger the people while destroying the environment at the same time, all for increased profit. Do we simply want an opportunity for our people of color to substitute the whites making those same kind of decisions? It seems that as we have become more obsessed with productivity, technology, profit, and creating shareholder wealth, we have forgotten the very basic aspects of our humanity through which we assume our pursuits are supposed to be improving. Yes, while it’s necessary to want to change our circumstance, we also need to transcend the idea that material concerns which cater to the body are of exclusive importance. Our problems might begin in the material, but our diagnosis should prod a little deeper into the very fabric of nature itself i.e. consciousness. So, it is consciousness, not circumstance, that we need to change. Will the people in these movements learn that their desired change can only be superficial, since their new philosophy, a mere revision of the current one, flows from the same basic assumptions of human nature that give foundation to their existential paradigm, essentially the same frames of mind responsible for their predicament? Hope and history within this paradigm are destined to be forever light years apart. The very same mentality or mental framework that placed them in bondage, they tacitly subscribe to by actively sending their children to schools that educate and mold their malleable minds in the form of past revolutionaries who epitomized the ideal, achievable within this particular paradigm. This frame of mind, the myopic desires of which necessitated the suppression of whole generations of different color slaves, now sustains the materially comfortable way of life they are so accustomed to or aspire to. And judging by their affinity for materialism, they clearly aren’t ready to let go of it. Our ancestors worked their entire lives to buy their freedom from the chains that held them in bondage. You see, we live in the age of the famous entertainer, not the famous philosopher. We have deified our entertainers to the extent that we associate with them by their philosophies, however shallow. Now, ironically, our most popular black entertainers spend their time showing the world their success by how many chains they own?! Black aspirations, it seems, have always been weighed down and grotesquely skewed by chains worn around our necks. Will the people in these movements ever realize that their revolution—an aspiration to a new ideal, albeit philosophically founded within the same existential paradigm—is a futile exercise? I mean winged chickens have a better chance of flying!

"Winged chickens have a better chance of flying, I like that. And I think I hear some of what you are saying. So in your international best-selling book Nqobile, you do focus on a paradigm shift which you are talking about now; can you expound on it briefly. Is it really necessary?"

Simple, the time for the closed fist held above a black or red beret, with maybe a weapon in the other hand, has long expired. While necessary in the past, it is no longer capable of continuing the evolutionary progression of our human species. Societal revolution is not, and has never been, enough, at least in terms of the kind that we have seen before. The entire cognitive framework upon which the social order is constructed, and within which children are conditioned and educated, needs a thorough re-examination first. Urgency and desire for broad change by some of the movements we see today, though well intended, must be vastly supplemented by diligent spiritual introspection at the local level: namely the individual, where all life is experienced. Evolution of our understanding of the true human condition must be as necessary in our daily living as breathing itself. All our efforts must be directed toward grasping the epistemological framework and paradigm that doesn’t center but aligns us harmonically with universal truth, laid bare only when we are brave enough to shake off our conditioning, and open enough to see and accept things as they truly are. So yes, a total paradigm shift is absolutely necessary.

Evolution? Explain that please because the one I’m thinking of is that theory which suggests a slow natural selection process whose results will be negligible within the individual’s lifetime, considering the billions of years it has taken to get to the life forms and understanding we have now.

"Well, I’m sure you have seen how quick the technological evolution has been due to intentioned focus, getting to the moon within a few decades of flying. So I’m not talking about a passive process whereby we are naturally selected in our innate ability to adapt to volatile external processes, nor even the manner in which technology has significantly influenced our interaction with the environment. I’m talking about conscious evolution, as in internal, highly focused, and explored within a much broader paradigm anchored primarily in humanity’s compassion, above the considerations for narrow and exclusive egoistic desires; conscious evolution in a highly concerted effort to realize our potential and our unity with all living things, autonomous of the constrictions society currently places on our instinctive imaginations. Following Gandhi’s advice on turning the spotlight inward, we can expect tremendous human relations advances through adhering to this radically different approach by consciously focusing on the internal world. The Greeks had two words for time: Chronos, the linear passage of time, and Kairos, the appropriate right critical moment in time. Contrary to what some will have you think, we aren’t evolving inevitably toward some kind of utopian society. Rather than passively relying on changing circumstance and inevitability, we can, and we must, consciously grab the reins of our evolution by imagining the grandest vision we have of ourselves and focusing all our energy in determining how to achieve this vision. This is our Kairos moment!"

Hmmm, your approach might be different but you definitely have fire in your belly about all this. I’ll let you expand on conscious evolution later, but before I forget, let me get this: when you mention being brave enough to shake off our conditioning, my guess is there’s a not so subtle insinuation that we are partially to blame for our role in the perpetuation of these paradigms you speak of.

Exactly. Yet not by any active desire, but more so by a passive lack of knowledge. One first has to become truly aware of the proverbial box before one can decide what to do about one’s position therein. Have you ever heard of Macaulayism or Lord Macaulay?

No, not really.

Lord Macaulay was a British politician who shaped the education system in India. In simple terms, his worldview was dualistic, divided into civilization and barbarism. Naturally, Britain represented the highest point of civilization and India was but another barbaric land whose entire collection of books in the Sanskrit language he deemed less valuable than the most trivial condensed book used at prep schools in England. Imagine that.

Oh wow!

And yet we don’t realize the major role we play in perpetuating the lies that have divided us over the centuries because our systems of thought and paradigms have been created by people with similar sentiments to Lord Macaulay. The one thing I clearly remember him saying was, ‘We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern; a class of persons Indian in blood and color, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect. To that class we may leave it to refine the vernacular dialects of the country…’ Doesn’t that sound so close and so familiar? You could virtually replace Macaulay and India from that statement with almost any colonial era politician and any one of our beloved countries, and it would hold haunting truths about what we have blindly turned into. We have been educated in these systems and subsequently developed ambitions valued by the very society that created this Eurocentric paradigm. This paradigm, through systematic education, was superficially superimposed over our traditional worldview. Vernacular languages now exist only as arrows to the precolonial world our ancestors lived in, as they too have become allegorically archaic, removed from the context of empiricism. For instance, we know what Ubuntu is, but now can only academically dissect its lifeless body of knowledge and wisdom, as we would a frog in a science lab, because we have failed to naturally implement its precepts in this new world that encourages self-aggrandizement as a measure of progression. It is no more than a feel good catchphrase. We call upon Ubuntu only when it favors our agenda, and not as a genuine fix when its solutions are likely to inconvenience us personally. How small our outlook has become! Whereas the whole would be immeasurably greater than the sum of its parts were they operating in full knowledge of true unison, instead, within this Eurocentric paradigm, the parts have been isolated, blinkered, and incentivized to maximize their own self-interest no matter the cost, under the assumption that this competitive behavior will enhance the whole. Yet where have we ever seen this work? The rich forever overpower the poor. The biggest douchebags are lauded for their material achievements and the youth then seek to emulate them as clear role models for what they deem to be success, celebrated by a shallow society that has attributed more value to accomplishments, however achieved, than to moral personhood.

True. I know more people would want to emulate a cut throat like Donald Trump than, say, a Gandhi like figure.

Yea, and what’s sadder is that we the educated are now the police of civilization against our own. Did you ever get crucified for butchering an English word in high school?

Oh gosh, at my school they were brutal, my fellow blacks worse than the whites. However, with social media don’t you think that’s changing a little? I mean, wasn’t Barnes the news anchor fired not too long ago for making fun of a black minister’s pronunciation? Someone on twitter noted that he couldn’t even pronounce her name. It therefore seems there’s new awareness and growing anger against such double standards. This is important because we are now beginning to value our own languages equally to those of whites. Black consciousness is slowly creeping back into the minds of this young generation and we are waking up or ‘getting woke’ as they say. At least that’s what I think with all these revolutionary demonstrations every other week.

Hmm, I don’t know if these public purges of white offenders caused by an emotionally volatile black twitter storm equates to the black consciousness that will emancipate us. The problem will neither be solved simply by vicarious perception, nor reactive anger. Reactive anger, though justified, is simply not enough. It can’t be the source energy causing the birth pangs of this new world we wish to live in. We know the destruction it will leave behind, as well as the irreparable damage it will cause to the relationships of the people involved. We need to diagnose this entire situation at the root lest our angers reach boiling point such that we can no longer coexist peacefully with white people, or any other race for that matter. It’s amazing how we can conceive of our problems and seek solutions in the same educational paradigm as they were intentionally created and yet expect to come up with real change. That will never happen. Heeding Einstein’s advice when he suggested that we cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them, we must then change the context of the understanding of our problems by placing them in a broader scope that recognizes the true human condition. Failure to do so will only result in perpetual revolutions seeking to oust a previously installed status quo that has failed again to deliver the change it promised. Best believe that right now angry sentiment is brewing at dangerous levels, and we need to proactively take control of our power to create the world we want to live in, instead of reactively cleaning up the mess that results when this anger finally spills over, as it inevitably will.

I don’t know. I’m glad black people have found a voice of expression through social media. Despite what you say, people are finally starting to listen. That’s progress. I hear you though. There’s so much I want to ask you, Lwazi said, then paused reflectively for a second. I think I’m digesting a little too much too soon to fully understand and appreciate the breadth of your material, she continued. To summarize your book, through the journey of your main character Nqobile, you discuss identity, race relations between blacks and whites, tensions between black Africans and black Americans, and religion. Nqobile also experiences a spiritual transformation that inspires his ideas about a paradigm shift, a social consciousness singularity and a black social consciousness singularity. There’s certainly a lot to take in, so how about we start from the very beginning Sipho? Where did you get the name for the book, Nqobile?

Well, Miss Zulu…

Please call me Nolwazi, or just Lwazi. ‘Miss’ makes me feel old!

Fair enough, Lwazi. You know what Nqobile means right: victor. So it’s a story about the overcoming of ideas, limitations, and compounded societal lies that prevent us from truly understanding who we are and what we are capable of. The main character is one such victor, one who has overcome. While his story might be contextual in that his vantage point forces him to see the world from a primarily black perspective, his victory sees him arriving at the doorstep of humanity’s potential, the highest insights humanity is naturally capable of attaining regardless of race or background. So any person might read this and relate to the journey one normally undertakes through maximizing ideas suggested by their artificially separate identities, their skin color, their faith, but discover that the destination for all beings beyond these superficialities is singular. Also, I wanted people to have fun with the clicking sound for all the 500+ times they will have to read it in this book, Sipho joked.

The story takes place in Zimbabwe, where you’re from, South Africa, where you have friends and relatives, and the US where you attended college. Is this an autobiography? Lwazi asked curiously.

Semi, Sipho responded, while waving his outstretched hand back and forth as if he was balancing a scale. The main character borrows a lot from some of my personal experiences but he is certainly much smarter and more vocal than I ever was. So I may interchange his name and ‘I’ quite a lot especially for the things that really happened.

Ok, you will have to run me through what’s real and what’s not, said Lwazi as she placed her pen down, clasping her hands together and supporting her chin. What made you write it to begin with? What began your journey?

The book is a response to the genuine desires of the masses who want change, but lack vision as a result of diagnosing society’s ills in a responsive manner, rooted in history, as opposed to a creative one. The journey began with something I couldn’t make up, the border event that occurs in the first part of the book. That was surreal. I thoroughly remember it. It was the catalyst for the change in my personal trajectory…

Sipho’s voice was drowned out by the loud ring of Lwazi’s office telephone. Excuse me one second, she said politely. She picked it up and spoke briefly about re-assigning tasks to subordinates and confirmed the non-essentiality of meetings she was supposed to attend later in the day. Sorry again for that. So, the first ten minutes of our conversation have been interesting and I have cleared the rest of my day, assuming of course you’re able to stay as long as necessary.

Sure, Sipho replied. I am free today and travelling out in only two days so it’s best we talk as much as possible now.

Great! So it’s you and me all day. And don’t worry, lunch is on the company, she exclaimed with a smile.

I’m not worried, Sipho suggested, coolly returning the smile. He abruptly lifted his right index finger in a ‘pause’ position while looking to his left jean pocket and removed his vibrating mobile phone. Hello, he answered his phone with his left hand and hesitated momentarily. He then brought the phone directly in front of him and covered the mouthpiece with his right hand, Sorry, this is important, let me step out and take it, he said, already on his way to the door. I might be a few minutes.

No worries, we have all day, Lwazi said, smiling and motioning him to a door outside her office and immediately on his left, which led to an empty conference room. Take your time, she added as he stepped out.

He disappeared from sight as he closed the door, feigning a smile.

She picked up a fresh copy of Nqobile from her top drawer. More handsome in person methinks, she whispered beneath her breath, then exhaled exaggeratedly and shook her head in admiration. She turned on her tablet device where she also had an electronic copy of the book, plugged in her earphones and pressed play from chapter one, The Border, and began listening. Despite her best intentions, she had neither read nor listened to the book and now wished she had for a more meaningful interview:

The Border

Their speed had now slowed to a snail’s pace. For Nqobile, the midnight bustle faded to the background as he barely returned subtle approval nods from both friends and acquaintances passing by. He knew he had a lot of updating to do with his peers. He had suddenly become aware of his own mortality as his heart almost hammered through his chest, his palms turned slippery, and a cold bead of sweat flowed down the right side of his forehead, revealing his nervousness. How do I make this appropriate? He quizzed himself. It’s just a goodbye, he thought, while stealthily wiping his forehead with the back of his palm and hoping Jade had not seen it.

Well, said Jade, as she stepped directly in front of him then stopped, signaling that this was as far as he would get this night. With her arms gesticulating up and down in the direction of Carmel Hall, she exclaimed, This is my all-female dorm, as you know, with no visitation after midnight.

Yea, I’ve never been in there, Nqobile responded inquisitively.

Well you haven’t really missed anything, she replied nonchalantly.

One day soon I’ll invite you into my room, buuuu…-

But what? he interrupted, wearing a curious grin on his face.

But I have to see your room first! Agreed? Jade asked as she raised her face, revealing her pronounced dimples that amplified the warmth of her smile. Her frizzy hair danced in unison with her expressions while the tepid orange parking lot lamp complemented her bronzy skin tone. She was absolutely beautiful, and under this light she seemed to glow angelically. Whatever state your room is in, mine will have to be better!

Yeaaa, you got a lot of work to do then Nqobile retorted. He was still trying to figure out how to comfortably initiate physical contact with her.

The two had just met at the tail end of an orientation concert sponsored by the Student Government Association. Not only was Jade friendly and welcoming, perhaps because of her own curiosity toward his seemingly polished accent, but she also laughed at his jokes. They had already exchanged numbers and Nqobile was using this new connection to reinvent himself. While he would normally say goodnight with a universal church hug, which him and his friends had since come to associate with the friend zone, Nqobile was now ambitious in his desire to initiate more intimate physical contact with a cheek kiss as default; a cultural appropriation of sorts that he had his Arab friends to thank for. He could always hide behind cultural naivety if Jade objected, and yet if she didn’t he could confidently do it with everyone without being suspected of inappropriateness. It was, after all, rude to part with or greet a female with any less a way, or at least that’s what he was prepared to tell her if she disapproved. His problem, however, was all his own making. In his head, physical contact betrayed his intimate feelings for people. Yet this was all so high school, and immature, he thought. He had to grow out of his fear of touching people as it was as common to talking to them where he was from. He had always been the exception.

Anyway, he sighed, let me not keep you. I got your digits so I will call you soon. And don’t pretend as if you don’t remember me, he joked while playfully wagging his finger at her. My name is unique; you could never forget me!

I swear I’ll practice it tonight. It’s just that clicking sound that throws me off, especially in combination with a consonant, she remarked. Her face strained in an attempt to say Nqo, Nnnni-kho? she tried. No?

Nope. His response was curt but forgiving. These are tongue skills you are yet to master, he said, smirking, knowing how cheesy that sounded. I could teach them to you if you want, he continued invitingly, growing in confidence.

I would like that, Jade giggled. Goodnight.

See you soon, Nqobile added as he reached out for her hands, puckered his lips and motioned toward her right cheek where he kissed her softly and swiftly, which he then repeated on her left cheek. Jade reciprocated; her lips shaped like perfectly cut figs were now a shade lighter than before.

That was different, she blushed, while embarrassingly removing the lipstick she had unwittingly stamped on his cheeks.

Before Nqobile could respond, an inexplicably bright light illuminated their surroundings, obscuring Jade and melting everything into one homogenous hue of bright orange. Even while closed, he strained his eyes to evade the light. All that remained was a familiar, dry starchy taste that he felt like spitting out. He felt three taps on his shoulder, opened his eyes, and immediately shielded them with his right hand from the flash on Michael’s phone. With his left hand, he calmly removed the piece of bread from his lips as it dawned on him that it had all been a dream.

What is wrong with you?! Nqobile queried, annoyed and still wiping his mouth.

I think you’ve slept enough, Michael responded bullyingly. Besides, catching you both on camera sleeping with bread in your mouth is just priceless! he quipped.

Noma, their long-term friend from early high school days, was equally annoyed to discover bread in her mouth after a similarly rude awakening.

Really? Noma remarked, with an undirected amplified whisper as she too wiped her mouth. Very mature, she added, her tone discernibly annoyed, despite seeming unsurprised as it was well within the realms of possibility for Michael to do such a thing.

Can I show you the pictures? Michael insisted. I swear they are TASTEFUL, HA! See what I did there huh, huh? he bellowed while nudging and winking at both Nqobile and Noma, as if it would induce the few cackles he felt his witty statement deserved.

Man, you play too much, you still ain’t funny though. Why you wake me up like that? Nqobile asked in his subtle African-American lilt while feigning a smile. Looks like we’re almost there, yea? He rinsed his mouth with the remaining flat coke he had bought a few hours before.

Yep. We will probably arrive at the actual border post in the next five minutes, Michael answered. So you have me to thank when you won’t be the last people to get off the bus.

But that’s ridiculous, Noma chimed in, we’re all getting our passports stamped at the same place, so why wouldn’t people let us out from our position knowing they would still have to wait for us if we got stamped later? This is the most expensive and prestigious bus company, she continued, surely the passengers in here are more civilized and self-conscious than that.

Ah! Michael exclaimed, I see you don’t know how people’s behavior degenerates in situations where anxiety reigns. The border ain’t no picnic, so tamper down your expectations missy, he advised.

Nqobile agreed reluctantly, Yea, I think it…

No. That’s the problem, don’t think. Get ready for a stampede off the bus, in the immigration line, then back into the bus again, Michael interrupted Nqobile, as was customary in their conversations.

Why say no like that yet I’m agreeing with you? Nqobile said to himself, feeling agitated. Mxm, it’s just not worth it, he thought; some people never change.

Noma had grown close to Nqobile over the years and could sense his annoyance subtly hidden by his abrupt glance into the darkness outside the bus. Tapping his shoulder lightly, she gave him one of her earphones and motioned it toward his right ear. Listen. Nqobile took it and waited for her to press play. He looked outside again and marveled at how undeveloped Beitbridge was, which he determined by the sparse lights illuminating the town. Pleiades was still as visible over the town center as it had been deep in the bush. This is beautiful, he thought. He could not think of the next time he would be able to see the constellations so clearly as every city he would be visiting in more developed countries just had too much light. The twinkling stars calmed him down, yet also made him sad and sentimental. Despite its troubles, Nqobile was going to miss Zimbabwe. He peeped at Noma’s iPod and caught ‘…Mellow Influence, Wayne Gardinier’ flash across the screen. The song perfectly embalmed his thoughts of the moment while the tempo lifted his spirits before the real journey began.

If anything crazy happens, I’m sticking with those white people, said Michael, pointing behind them with his head. He was still looking back at Nqobile and Noma from his seat in front, interchanging between twiddling his thumbs and typing away on his phone with loud keypad tones, clearly restless.

I’m actually with you on that, Noma supported.

Nqobile, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the window, still lost in his thoughts and the song, glanced at Michael and, realizing they were travel buddies for the next two days, decided to endure and entertain him for the duration of the trip. But you know, he began, those white folk won’t even be able to understand you.

Why? Michael quizzed, squinting his eyes and leaning forward, genuinely confused.

Man, your accent is pretty thick. Those ain’t regular white folk, they are Americans, Nqobile explained.

So what? My English is definitely better than yours, maybe even theirs! Michael argued.

Possibly, said Nqobile, shrugging his shoulders indifferently while pouting his lips. Don’t forget, I have lived there one year and faced struggles in understanding. The accents and colloquialism might throw you off. I heard them when we stopped in Gwanda, they’re from the south.

I also heard them, Noma added. I bet that kid is adorable, I just couldn’t get what he was saying.

Just then, the lights were turned on and one of the attendants walked upstairs to their level. He walked a little farther to the middle of the bus, holding onto the overhead baggage compartment for balance and dodging protruding knees, until he stopped right next to Michael who was still leaning over. Sit nicely mfana, he commanded in a tired but aggressive voice. His eyes said more though, and Michael complied at first request, avoiding an unwinnable confrontation. The PA system is still down. We have arrived at the border post.

We can’t hear you, came a distinctly American shout from the back of the bus.

The attendant paused, cleared his throat, and began again in a louder, more nuanced tone, We have arrived at the border post.

Better! the American voice shouted again.

As you have probably heard, there are thousands of people trying to cross the border every day. Those reports are true, so basically, when the bus arrives let’s get out and walk straight to immigration with our passports ready. Get your passports stamped then walk straight back to the bus. Make it easy on yourselves and don’t stray. Let’s do this as quickly as possible.

The passengers grumbled as they jostled for positions in the aisle to get out.

Guys, said Michael with his passport in his hand, let’s be smart and get out now. Don’t let them cut in front of you Noma.

Thanks, but I’m not doing this today, she responded arrogantly. I’ll gladly wait.

Your fault then. You’ll remember me when you’re languishing at the back, said Michael. You don’t deserve an aisle seat. You’re blocking Nqo who could have jockeyed your way out the bus. And don’t you think I’ll let you in the queue after this display of elitism.

I still need to get something from my bag overhead so I’ll wait too, said Nqobile, diffusing their exchange before it escalated.

Michael swiftly cut in front of a middle-aged woman who continued ambling ahead in a slow procession that made no space for anyone still seated and trying to get off. Fine, he said as he raised the back of his hand to them in a peace sign and made his way to the steps before disappearing downstairs.

He doesn’t see that he’s as much a cause of the problem, said Noma while also shaking her head.

"I bet you wanted to say SMH so bad, huh? Anyway, if you can’t beat