Inside the Van
The van driver has learnt patience, the van driver has learnt not to answer back when a sweaty face is thrust in his front window and his mother is roundly insulted, for his stinginess. The van driver has learnt calm, he knows to ignore the way they bang with their outstretched palms on the outside of his van, and hit his back window with their sticks. He does not stop - he drives slowly, placatingly, moving the van a few meters every time the crowd opens up around him. A group of kids dance in front of us, provocatively thrusting out their tongues and their little bums, the sweat and dirt on their faces. The van driver's face would win an International poker-face competition, no problem - he can see right through the kids. I keep looking at my watch - my appointment is at 2, it's a quarter past right now, and at the rate we're going I'll be at least an hour late.