Through My Eyes

While coming back from a fabulous party last Thursday morning, (2:30am to be exact) I came across a woman standing on the side of the road hitchhiking outside the Tongaat Tollgate Plaza.

I was driving in convoy with my husband Tomas. He was driving the latest sports car and having the open road used the opportunity to put its power to the test leaving me behind. With a heavy heart I looked away from the sad looking woman and I could actually hear her pleas as I continued driving north.

About two kilometres further my conscience got the better of me. I stopped the car and dialled my husband's number. Not having any luck with getting hold of him, I decided to help the desperate hitchhiker. I reversed the car, admittedly I am not very good at driving backwards but it does not matter, at this time of the night the N2 is devoid of cars.

When I reach the women, I could see she was scantly dressed in pink fishnet stockings, a short miniskirt and a light jersey. She was freezing and puffing on a cigarette. It was a scene from those 1970 American movies.

She was not young, I would say in her late forties, early fifties and she looked really scared. I open the passenger's window and called out to her.

"What the hell are you doing out here at this time of the morning?" Slowly she walked to my passenger window and said, "Thank God you stopped. You will never believe what happened to me."

The story was not very long. I listened and tried not to judge. Throughout our journey to Westbrook she continued to tell me her terrifying ordeal, which went something like this; She went out on the night with her lady boss who decided to have a fight with her boyfriend and left her at a nightclub to find her way back home.

At this nightclub she met up with some guys who offered to take her home and when they reached the Tongaat Tollgate Plaza, the guys dropped her off and told her, "Westbrook is over there."

"What happened to men?" she asked me with a serious look in her eyes. "They used to be gentlemen, years ago they would never do that to a lady. You have saved my life." She concluded.

The rest of the way we drove in silence. Slightly disoriented, she could not find her way home and after a few attempts we eventually got to the entrance to the gated community where she said she was staying.

As she got out of the car she attempted to make some kind of small talk and justifications, I was too tired to listen so I shooed her away and told her to thank Mandela, "Consider this my contribution for the 67 minutes for Madiba. Make sure that you do your bit when you get up tomorrow morning."

I do not think I would be able to recognise the mystery lady hitchhiking on the N2 last Thursday. I do feel bad for my husband who endured 67 minutes of trauma waiting for me to catch up to him.

Read all about the magnificent things others did for Madiba's birthday in this week's Bugle. Lets keep the momentum going and help others, not just on Madiba's birthday but whenever we can.