I don't know how many of you have travelled on Cape Town's buses but I can assure you it is an experience. Golden Arrow or Sibanye or whatever they're called now maintains (and I use the word advisedly) a motley fleet of buses. Some are new(ish) and fairly comfortable and I always say a quick prayer that I'll catch one of those. The bulk of the fleet, however, is made up of those vomit orangey beige rattletraps that trundle noisily along our roads. 

Here is my account of taking the bus on a typical workday when I worked in Ottery.

The morning wait at Cape Town terminus starts with a queue of anxious people, all glancing at their watches every few seconds and nursing a collective hope that the bus will just turn up, never mind turn up on time. Timetables are basically like wish lists. Here's a list of what you'd like to have but you're not necessarily going to get it. Every time a bus comes along we straighten up expectantly, only to slump back in disappointment that it's yet another Rocklands bus (what is happening in Rocklands?). After numerous disappointments our bus finally arrives. We all stand up straight and prepare ourselves.  

We're queuing between two barriers and there is a narrow space to go through to get to the bus. One of three things usually happens.

1. The person at the head of the queue realises that she (it could be a he too but sadly it's almost always a she) is not sure she must take THIS bus. She hovers uncertainly while the queue backs up behind her, unable to get past. There is a marked increase in tension, of which front-of-the-queue lady is blissfully unaware, as she looks around helplessly and tries to make up her mind whether or not to move.
2. Front-of-the-queue lady suddenly decides that NOW would be a great time to indulge in a spot of meditation and she stares dreamily into space while, yet again, we back up behind her, unable to get past.
3. Front-of-the-queue lady dramatically and suddenly forgets how to board a bus. She faffs around, occasionally uttering squeaks of distress, as she tries to figure out how to move and get on the bus.

What are we doing during all this? You guessed it. We're backed up behind her and cannot get past! 

By now I'm beaming homicidal thoughts at her and just when I'm about to lose control and stab her with my eye pencil she moves forwards and we all make a polite rush for the door.  

But it doesn't end there. She gets into the bus and then has an unhurried discussion with the driver about whether or not she should be taking this bus, where she will be dropped off and is he sure that's where she must go. Once that is out of the way she asks what the fare is. Now you'd think she would have her purse out, ready to pay. But no! She fumbles around in her bag, muttering to herself and then finally, finally locates the cursed thing. After a few more long seconds of carefully counting and recounting her coins she gets her ticket, moves down the aisle and then stops dead in her tracks, trying to decide where she must sit. Once again the queue backs up behind her. By now my heart rate has skyrocketed and I'm vibrating with impatience. I want to pick her up, put her on a seat and tell her firmly to sit, stay. Finally she settles on a seat and the rest of us squeeze our way down the freakishly narrow aisles to the nearest available seats.

Once we're all seated we start glancing at our watches again, waiting for the driver to move off. He sits. Nothing happens. After a while he gets out of the bus and there is an immediate increase in tension. Where is he going and will he come back? Is there something wrong with the bus? Two minutes later he's back and we all relax. He just went to buy a cup of coffee or a newspaper. 

Finally the bus moves off with a series of violent jerks and a crashing of gears. Within minutes I fall into a trancelike state. I feel safe in the bus. Our only real threat is the SAB breweries trucks that stand back for no one. Other than that we'll come out tops in any encounter. I sometimes read or else I watch the world passing by and I've seen a few odd things in my time.

The bus rattles and thunders its way from Cape Town to Wynberg. Sometimes the driver, for no apparent reason, decides not to stop at certain bus stops and as we pass, I look on helplessly at the confused and angry faces and waving fists left behind. We get close to Wynberg and I make my way to the front, hanging on desperately so that I'm not unceremoniously flung forward on my face. I get off at Wynberg and don't think about the bus until the evening when I have to return home. 

After work I travel by taxi to Wynberg and walk at a frantic, sometimes nearly pee-inducing pace to the Main Road , where I will catch the bus back to Cape Town. I have to rush because my regular bus doesn't always turn up on time and is sometimes early but more often than not is late, when it shows up at all. I can't take chances so I hurry. I get to the bus stop after negotiating my way along crowded pavements and repeatedly waving off attempts by taxis exhorting me to get on board.  

Now the wait begins.  An amiably disorderly queue waits for the Cape Town bus and you can recognise us by one distinguishing behavioural trait. Every minute or so someone pops out of the queue, stands at the edge of the road and peers anxiously down the length of the Main Road, in an attempt to spot the bus. Occasionally someone will report that they see a bus in the distance and we all visibly perk up. It's been a long hard day and we all just want to get home. Finally the bus gets close enough to read the sign and we deflate in disappointment because it's yet another Makhaza, Harare (the township, not the City) or Phillipi bus. The wait continues. More popping in and out of the queue until, at last, it's the City bus!  

We hastily prepare ourselves to get on board and money appears from purses, wallets, pockets and the occasional bra. The bus stops, the door opens, the driver prepares to issue the first ticket…to the woman at the front of the queue who hasn't even taken out her purse yet!