"George and I" Chapter 9 (part 1) - The story of a Dog and his Man-My road to success from the dangerous South African townships to real estate asset

Love this quote by Seneca...makes me think about each day

“Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life.”

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We arrived at Simon's tavern and I parked right outside the tavern window so I could see the bakkie (van).

George followed me out of the bakkie and into the tavern.

It was a small room, 4 x 7m in size, the pool table taking up most of the space.

Bolted to the back wall was the jukebox, a red caged box filled with a high tech amplifier and mp3 player.

There were 5 guys sitting against the wall closest to the door on a bench, smoking "white pipe" and drinking black label quarts.

I could see they had been at it for some time as their eyes we glazed and bloodshot.

I asked Simon to tell them to leave but he was afraid they might not agree and cause a scene so he refused and left, walking out to his house which adjoining the tavern

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I set up my counting machine on an upturned beer quart crate and sat down on another crate.

I told Muzi to open the machines and fetch the cash.

The 5 guys were talking amongst themselves watching us.

George came and lay down next to me, eyes open staring at the guys.

As the coins started pouring through the coin counter, I looked up. The 5 guys were taking a keen interest in me now.

I understand Zulu and had been listening to them but all of a sudden I found it difficult to follow their conversation.

I looked over at Muzi and asked under my breath

" Bathini manje?" (what are they saying now?)

"Tula Boss" (keep quiet Boss) he said and carried on cleaning the pool table.

I put my head down and carried on counting the coins.

They made a racket as they churned through the coin counter. The counter has a loading tray into which the coins are poured. They fall from there onto a circular spinning tray, and then get spat of through a thin Shute, past a clicker counter which counts the coins as they tick past. This a very noisy process as the coins fill the bags.

Sipho had wandered back and was standing at the open door listening to the 5 men.

Suddenly he turned to them and started speaking animatedly, waving his hands.

After 5 minutes they got up and filed out, looking back at me as they left the tavern.

We finished the cash up and as we drove away I asked Muzi what had just happened.

The reason I hadn’t followed the 5 men's conversation is that they had switched to speaking “Tsosti”, a slang dialect particular to every town, that allows the criminal gangs to communicate without people understanding them.

They were a hijack gang, and they had come to the tavern earlier that morning to drink and do drugs, getting their confidence up before going off to Amanzimtoti to hijack a car.

Their conversation had gone something like this.

“Kungani kufanele siye eToti lapho singabulala uMlungu sithathe iveni nemali yakhe?" (Why should we go to Toti when we can kill the white man and take his van and money)” said Scarface, a pimply youth with a scar across his left eye and cheek, the result of a broken bottle stabbed into his face.

“Yebo" (yes), said leather jacket “ umqondo omuhle lowo" (that is a good idea_

Their deliberation had been intense, as they weren’t sure how to tackle me while George was lying next to me, both eyes watching their every move, his ears cocked.

Sipho had walked in on this and said to them

“ Nina bantu kungcono niphume lapha. Uma uthinta noma yini kaMitch, uMaputsa uzokubulala. UMitch ungumngani kaMaputsayou" (you guys had better get out of here. If you touch anything of Mitch’s, Maputsa will kill you. Mitch is Maputsa’s friend)

Maputsa was the leader of the local car hijack syndicate that I had made a point of getting to know and befriend.

Months before when I heard about him I had approached him and bought him lunch.

He was a large, jowly character, always laughing and dressed in designer clothes.

Always surrounded by 4 bodyguards, he was ruthless and was feared in the township, and commanded great respect.

Every morning his hijack crew would assemble outside his house on the lawn, some 20 – 30 men, and get their daily orders of the vehicles he needed for sale.

If I was in the township I’d buy 4 or 5 2 liter cokes and some loaves of white bread and drive to his house to drop it off for their breakfast.

A bit of PRO goes a long way...(have a Coke and a smile)

I heard years later Maputsa had run foul of some territorial issue with another gang and had been shot and killed in an ambush and burnt in his car.