Chapter 16: The Broken Car

 

Narrated by Mapaseka Mokoena

The morning had already started badly. I was running late for one of the most important meetings of the month. A major client was waiting for me and I hated being late. I had prepared for that meeting for days and now Johannesburg traffic was terrible as usual every minutes that passed made me more anxious.

As I drove my car suddenly began making strange noises.

“No, no, no,” I whispered.

Then the engine lost power.

I exclaimed as I carefully pulled over to the side of the road. I tried starting the car again nothing and the second time still nothing was happening .

I leaned back against my seat and sighed heavily.

“Not today Morena. Please not today.”

I immediately called my insurance company. After several minutes of being transferred from one person to another the consultant finally spoke.

“Good morning  ma'am. Assistance will arrive within approximately one hour.”

“One hour?” I repeated in disbelief.

“Yes, ma'am.”

I closed my eyes.

“We pay so much money every month, but when we are in trouble nobody comes quickly,” I complained.

“I apologise for the inconvenience  ma'am.”

I ended the call  frustrated. I stepped out of the car and checked my watch. I was already late.

“Wonderful,” I said sarcastically.

Just then  a white Toyota Amarok slowed down and stopped in front of me. The driver's window rolled down. Without even greeting the man I spoke quickly.

“Please can you help me? My car broke down and I am already late for an important meeting.”

The man replied “ Kulungile nkosazana”

He was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore blue overalls stained with oil, and his hands clearly belonged to someone who worked with machinery. Despite the dirt there was something confident and relaxed about him.

He smiled warmly.

“My name is Qondanisa Qwabe,” he said, extending his hand.

I shook it politely.

“Mapaseka Mokoena.”

His face brightened.

“Unehlanhla nkosazana enhle,” he said with a smile. “You are lucky. I am a mechanic. I will help you now.”

For the first time that morning, I smiled.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Really.”

He opened the bonnet and immediately got to work. To my surprise, he had a complete set of tools in the back of his Amarok. For the next thirty minutes he worked quietly while I stood nearby answering work emails on my phone. Occasionally I glanced at him. He seemed completely focused, thirty minutes later he closed the bonnet and wiped his hands with a cloth.

“Try it now,” he said.

I got into the car and turned the key. The engine came alive immediately. My eyes widened.

“Oh!”

I climbed out and smiled with relief.

“You fixed it!”

He smiled.

“Ngikutshelile.”

“Thank you so much,” I said sincerely.

I opened my purse and took out five hundred rand.

“Please take this.”

He looked at the money and shook his head.

“No thank you.”

I looked at him confused.

“You spent thirty minutes helping me.”

He smiled.

“You can thank me another way.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“How?”

He folded his arms and looked directly at me.

“Give me your number and go out with me.”

I almost laughed.

This man had confidence.

“Sorry, abuti,” I said politely. “You really helped me and I appreciate it. But you are not my type.”

He smiled mischievously.

“Oh, so you are one of those women who have a type.”

I crossed my arms.

“Yes.”

He laughed softly.

“We will see.”

I shook my head amused despite myself. His confidence was unbelievable. He stepped back and said, “Hamba kahle, nkosazana. Sizobonana.”

“Goodbye,” I replied. “And thank you again.”

I drove away  finally heading to my meeting. But as I sat in traffic again I found myself smiling. 

“Oh, that guy has balls,” I whispered.

“He really thinks I can date him.”

I shook my head.

“Typical Zulu man.”

And with that I put the strange mechanic out of my mind.