Riding to school

When I was in kindergarten I would get dropped off at my uncle and aunts store.
Parak and son. 

I always wondered who the son was, since they were actually two of them and neither of them in the store.

I must have been about five years of at the time and the highlight of my day was the trip from the store to school.

His name was Ndotha which meant "man" and he was a crazy bugger.

Ndotha and his sister Funani worked for my uncle as general helpers around the store.
Funani by the way means "what do you want in Zulu".
The really fun only began when we got out of the shop.

 
He made his deliveries on what we called a carrier bicycle.
And in the mornings I was the cargo.
With my legs dangling user the front wheel he we would whiz through traffic on the way to school.
And Ndotha didn't believe in stopping, for anything.
So we would weave through traffic, and avoid stop streets by climbing the pavements.
Robots were for old people he would say as we skirted around them.
The thrill of the ride.
The near misses.
The other drivers hooting at our antics.
And most of all Ndotha loved the ladies.

For them he would stop the bike.

Like a dog who couldn't resist the fire hydrant, every girl he passed got something from him.
And if he really liked them he would tell them to wait for him.

He was full of life and spoke English fairly well.
Except at that age I spoke very little English myself.
But that's a story for another day.
Ndotha and his sister Funani worked for my aunt.
But they felt like part of the family.