ONE

There are certain clothes I can't wear when I get into some taxis. I had a job interview at the SABC and I wore my beautiful silk wraparound skirt and that day I learnt, ‘Don't wear soft clothes in a taxi headed towards Auckland Park, they will tear’. I can't wear certain dresses or pants if I‘m going on particular routes because they just worsen the taxi rank abuse I‘m already prone to. The night before, I think long and hard about the outfit that will make me disappear or make me less enticing to the queue marshals and the taxi drivers. An outfit that will make it easy to sit in front with the driver should that be the only seat left. But it is not about sex, it is about power. And the taxi driver‘s power doesn't really care what I‘m wearing, it only cares that I‘m female.

TWO

The taxi driver and the queue marshal are cruel to us young women, but when a person with a disability comes, their hearts soften. The men who called you names, from fat to bitch, all drop their ego and plot to make the trip comfortable for the person with a disability. They help get the person in the taxi, ask during the trip if the person is OK, and help them get off at their destination. They are soft, gentle and caring, but with the same mouth they abuse you for being present in this world. These men know right from wrong, they choose who deserves their kindness.

THREE

The driver talks with his hands. He does what Shakespeare calls ‘sows the air with his hands’. Next to him sits a beautiful woman, the kind you feel compelled to talk to, and as a result the taxi is driving itself.

FOUR

The taxi driver hands the woman his phone for her to enter her number. She looks at the phone and waves her hand to say no: ‘Huuuu, my boyfriend, every day checking, checking my phone,’ the woman says. ‘Mhhmmm, checking your phone?’ the driver says, suggesting that he does the very same thing to his girlfriend, and puts away his phone.