DEPARTURE LOUNGE // AUTUMN 2018
ILLUSTRATION © NATASHA JOHNSON
A Gap
IN THE MARKET
BY TO MOLEFE
Picture it : my mother is at the mirror adjusting her headwrap for the fifth , final , time . My dad ’ s settling down for coffee . My brother is … I ’ ve no idea where . All I know is we ’ re late and I , having lost all patience , am yelling at everyone to get into the damn cars . Check-in closes in 20 minutes and we ’ re still at my place , 30 minutes away from OR Tambo . Don ’ t be late – they ’ re ruthless with the 6:15am flight to Mthatha , my brother ’ s soon-to-be fiancée had warned . Though working class their entire lives , my parents had flown before . They once succesfully navigated the US visa system to get themselves and four young children through the four airports and six airplanes it took to get from Johannesburg to Pittsburgh and back – with a two-year gap in between . They ’ d overseen countless trips to visit family , and jaunts to the Rand Easter Show and Pretoria Zoo . The Airlink check-in desk was indeed ruthless and I was livid – not at them , but at my parents . Now , as pensioners , they not only expect their adult children to do the planning , as I had done ; they also expect , it seems , to be parented . My mother affirms as much aloud , in an attempt to lift the disconsolate silence that has descended in the rental car . We ’ d missed the flight by five minutes and had to rent a car . Now we were driving
to Cala , our destination in the Eastern Cape . None of our own cars were in a condition to make the trip and we had no other flight options , so it was either drive that day or possibly not at all . Our future in-laws were waiting to engage in lobola negotiations and we had to be there before sunset . “ Roles swap as parents age ,” Ma says , the nothingness of the Free State
“ Treat parents like children when you grow up . tell them what to do and when to do it .”
countryside yawning ahead . “ Treat parents like children when you grow up . Tell them what to do and when to do it .” Sensing a sideways glance from Dad , she , the family clown , hastily adds , “ I , of course , speak for myself .” Despite my frustration I play along . “ You ’ ll live to regret those words ,” I cluck , reminding her that my brothers nicknamed me “ The Dictator ”. I have a habit of cajoling and sometimes browbeating people into doing things my way . ( I can ’ t help that I know best and am always right .) Pretty soon the car is rocking with laughter and political debate – threads
that hold our family together . And before long we cross the anachronistically named but beautiful Hertzog Bridge . The lush , rolling hills of the Eastern Cape rise up to greet us . The craggy mountains and tree-lined valleys of the twisting Cala Pass alone are worth the drive , as is the tranquility of the town . “ The biggest employer here is government ,” the father of the bride-to-be says over dinner , once negotiations are concluded . That night , at a guesthouse , I wonder : in a place this beautiful , why isn ’ t the biggest employer tourism ? Then I remember the hole we ’ d burnt through my credit card to make the trip . It wasn ’ t the missed flights that stung ; it was the car rental and deposit . The only car able to carry four adults comfortably , and high enough to survive Cala ’ s untarred roads , was an SUV , which , while well equipped , was excessive . The 200km-per-day limit didn ’ t help the cause either . A spartan car of similar proportions and more generous daily kilometres would have done fine . Maybe in our rush we went to the wrong agency . Maybe one exists that rents affordable , large , high-riding cars , with payment options that allow the travelling group to share costs among them . Or maybe , just maybe , the car rental industry is missing a trick .
22 // MAKE MEMORIES FOR LIFE