The Good Samaritan

It’s been almost four years since I owned a car. I’m lucky to live in the one city in South Africa where you can survive on public transport, granted you live in the city bowl!

Without a car a mountain of stress is eliminated from your daily existence and in time, whenever an opportunity to get behind the wheel is presented to you, you actively avoid it, because you know the level of awareness required along with the associated stress, just isn’t worth the convenience and perceived sense of status.

But in our greater Western Cape world of ineffectual, pitiable, mortifying, basically non-existent public transport, two things I miss dearly: First, the opportunity to escape the concrete “world of surfaces” to quote Ralph Waldo Emerson, and be transported to wide open spaces and quaint, unknown territories. Second, to visit some of my most cherished friends in the neighboring towns of Muizenberg, Somerset West, Stellenbosch and beyond the mountains, Wolseley—some of whom I haven’t seen in more than a year.

This weekend such an opportunity presented itself, where a car was graciously made available to me to rekindle these flames of old. Having expended my resources on my inexhaustible dream of contributing to the world of cinema, I barely had enough money to afford the fuel for my journey. With every step I took towards the car that would help me cross the divide, my levels of awareness rose to meet the demands of... The Road.

I got behind the wheel, adjusted my seat to comfort, turned the key... and nothing happened. I turned it again...

Nothing.

What else? The battery. Jump start the car? No, it’s an automatic. Did I have jumper cables? No.

I flagged down the nearest driver. He was willing to assist, but he had no jumper cables. The next driver—he also had no jumper cables. Eventually an elderly Jewish man drove by slowly and listened to my plea. He’s got cables! Next step, where was the battery located? It was not under the hood. It was not in the boot. My Jewish friend called his mechanic who suggested it’s under the back seat. I investigated the German engineered baby seat. It’s immovable. I pressed buttons and pulled leavers, but it wouldn’t move. I glanced at my patient Jewish friend, fumbled my phone and watched it descend towards planet Earth and cracked its screen.

Deep sigh... No, more like... Fuck!

Then, as much as I wanted to believe it, time is not an illusion. I asked the good Samaritan’s name. “Avi,” he says. I thank him for his patience and willingness to help. “There’s no need to say thank you,” he responded. “This is the only way. This is the Way. It just is.”

I assimilated this pearl of wisdom and returned to the baby seat with a fresh perspective. I tried a few new knobs that looked like leavers, and finally, the seat was released. I lifted the seat out, to reveal... that there is no battery.

Does this car even have a battery?!

Yes. Eventually it revealed itself, tucked away neatly underneath the driver’s foot well. The last place to look is the place where you started, right?

Thank you “Avi”. To help your fellow human being, is not just a nice thing to do... This is what humans do. This, is the Way. I.e. there is no other choice, no alternative. It just is.

Lots of love,
Pierre