CHAPTER 15
DRUG MULE
En route to Johannesburg I decided that I would stay over at Norman’s place. Norman is a guy who I have known for some time since we both lived in the same area but I had last seen him almost a year ago at Bongani’s funeral. Although Norman is 10 years older than me, I and him, have a lot in common. He came to work in South Africa about a year and half ago. He once stayed for a few months at Bongani’s place whilst looking for a job. Upon arrival in Johannesburg I then headed for the taxi rank so that I could board a taxi for Alexandra where Norman lives. Norman was going to wait for me at the bus stop which he had instructed me to get off at. As I disembarked from the taxi I was greeted by the ever smiling face of Norman who was clad in blue work-suite and black safety shoes. “Nomara, how’s the going?” I asked as I was greeted with Norman. Nomara is the sobriquet for Norman. That’s how most people refer to him, except of course for his mother and father who call him Norman. “I am fine. How was life in Durban?” replied Norman “Life in Durban was good until the accident.” I said. “Let me carry you bags to the car.” said Norman. “You bought a car!” I exclaimed. “It’s nothing much just a modest second hand Toyota tazz.” replied Norman. “I can see it’s in good condition.” I said. We embarked into the red Toyota tazz. A few minutes into the journey we arrive at the house Norman is staying. Norman is living in area where there is a large cluster of closely packed shanks. The houses are either made from plastics, cardboard, zinc or wood but from the outlook of things plastic seem to be the most preferred housing material. In the years I had lived in South Africa I had never been to the slums, I just saw them from a distance whilst in a taxi or a car. Norman’s shank is a wooden one with two rooms. Electrical wires cress-crossed the house. All of the houses here had illegal electrical connections. Norman’s bathroom which also serves as his toilet is assembled from cardboard boxes. It is detached to the shank and it does not have a roof covering it. People in this area live hand to mouth. A greater percentage of them don’t have tertiary education. We sit on the bed which also serves as the couch as we watch some football as we conversant. The other room is the kitchen and it is very small. The stove, fridge and a kitchen table are squeezed into the room. The bedroom is slightly larger but still it is a small room. As I spoke to Norman I found out that he was working at construction site. What I got from Norman was a great sense of optimism that soon rather than later he would soon have his work permit. For now he had to watch his back and avoid been caught by the law enforcement agents. The optimism he has is one I no longer have. I have just become a pessimist to the core. We continue our conversation late into the night before we both retreated for bed. A large chunk of the money I had on me I placed it in the travelling bag before I slept and the remainder in the satchel which had my personal documents and certificates. I had something of a shout as I was awaken from my pre mature sleep. Norman also got up as we both approached the door and saw some people a few meters from we were standing holding knobkerries and huge pangas shouting on top of their voices “Sifuni Makwere-kwere.” This people were lighting up houses that belonged to foreigners they didn’t care if there was someone in or not. I quickly took my satchel in the confusion that has engulfed me I forget to wear any shoes, as I run for dear life. Norman also followed behind me as we both took to our heel. We ran as fast as we could, I could see Norman’s house burn up as we ran. There was no time to even start the car because these people were on a path of destruction. Whilst we were fleeing from the whole fracas I saw a man who was burning right in front of in the road. That graphic image of a person burning, will forever be enshrined in my memory. The screams of the man as he burns away make my heart skip a beat. What had the man done to deserve such dehumanising treatment? It was all done because he was a foreigner but at that point as I ran I thought to myself, South African people are the great pioneers of the spirit of Ubuntu but where is it when they behave like rabid people. I finally stopped when I saw that I was safe from the mob. Along my escape I had gone different ways with Norman I didn’t know if he was well or not. As I sat down on the ground to rest. It dwelled upon me that I had left a huge amount of money in the travelling bag in the house which had burnt down. As they say in my culture a poor man never ceases to run into misfortune. Sweat pours down my head as I struggle to breathe properly. As I gain my, breathe back I think again of happiness. Come to think of it my only key to joy is through money all those thoughts that I could be happy without money were just wishful thoughts. My answer in finding happiness lays solely on my ability to have as much money as humanly as possible. First I have to carry myself out of this mess I am in and then find a way to make money I don’t care if it’s legit or not as long as I have money in my hands. All those principles and moral teachings I had, were burnt down just like that shank. I thought if one makes money through illegal dealings it does not mean that there will be doomed for eternity, but what would I be If I continue living this way, a life of a common beggar always scrabbling for left overs. The consequences of an honest straight forward life are just unbearable, nothing you can have to show off your efforts except for those permanent physical scares. I have reached this point in my life that I am prepared to jump into the deep unforgiving waters of criminal life. I have tried this honest route and I have failed miserably if it was a test it would have been a straight F. One thing I know for sure is that with money I can do virtually anything I want, but one thing I am not sure about is if I can put a price tag on happiness. Do I have to cry out loud for this misery to end? I just sit there beside the road on the grassy ground as I ponder my next move. Now I don’t even have enough money to return home, the only thing I managed to escape with was the trousers and shirt I slept with, my mobile phone and a few rands in the satchel on my back. I get to my feet and I continue walking as far as I can from the marauding group. Walking bare footed it feels like I have been robbed of all the dignity I had. What now, where am I going to go from here I am walking aimlessly in a foreign land. As I walk I remember what Jeffery said to me. I swallow my pride and put aside my morality as I call Jeffery with the little air time left in my phone. Jeffery’s phone rings for a long time without an answer, when I am about to hang up that’s when I hear the horsy voice of Jeffery “Tinashe, what’s up this hour?” asked Jeffery in a sleepy tone. I remain silent as I think about hanging up. “Yoo, Tinashe are you there?” “I-I” as I mumble my words before I continue. “I ran into some trouble. I want in.” I said. “Change of mind. Do you have a place to sleep?” replied Jeffery. “No.” I said. “Okay can you meet me in town like in thirty minutes time.” said Jeffery. “I will be there.” I replied. “Okay let me dress up.” said Jeffery as he hang up. So I was going to meet Jeffery a few blocks from the taxi rank. I boarded into a taxi, headed for the town. All of the occupants in the taxi just kept their eyes glued on my shoeless feet. The taxi was less than half filled. After disembarking the taxi I made my way to Queen’s Café by now it was closed. It was where I was meeting up with Jeffery. Just as I arrived I saw Jeffery’s Lamborghini aventador arriving. “Jump in.” said Jeffery. “Thanks.” I replied as I entered into the car. As we drove to Jeffery’s place I told him why I wanted to join him in the drug business. The Lamborghini pulled into the garage and we then made our way to the lounge. “We can discuss more in depth later. Now I think you need to rest” said Jeffery. “Okay.” I replied. “You can sleep in the room you slept in. Let me go and continue my love affair with my bed.” said Jeffery. “Let me also hit the sheets.” I replied as we made our way into the elevator. Unlike the last time I was here I slept like a motionless log without any fear of a police raid. Morning was soon upon us. I woke up and cleaned my face in the bathroom ensuite after which I went to the lounge where I saw Jeffery still dressed in his pyjamas eating cereals as he saw news. “Morning.” said Jeffery. “Good morning.” I replied as my eyes were transfixed by the visuals on the television. I saw houses of foreign nationals’ burn down to smithereens and some Spazas belonging to foreign nationals looted right to the bottom. All of this sent shivers right up my spine. I could feel the tingling sensation in my heart that piercing pain just as if a sharpened up knife had been lodged into my abdomen. As I sat on the recliner chair I had the news anchor saying that the number of foreigners who had died in the Alexandra attack had risen to seven. The recent spate of xenophobic attacks had sent shock waves amongst the foreign nationals especially those living in the shanty areas and high density areas who were more prone to these attacks. “I could have been one of those seven” I said. “What were you doing there in the first place?” asked Jeffery. “I was visiting a friend of mine.” “So where is he?” “I don’t where he is. We went separate ways when we ran off.” “So tell me are you sure you want to do this line of work, because once you start there is no turning back.” said Jeffery looking deep into my eyes. “I am more than sure.” “Okay here is a deal today I am going down to the warehouse. That’s where the merchandise is stored.” “What type of drugs do you sell?” I asked. “Cocaine, heroin and some hestalics. Do you have your passport with you?” “Yes, why do you ask?” “I want you to deliver some drugs to Bangkok.” “But isn’t it a bit risky, should you have someone who is tried and tested and has done it before.” “This is something you have to do so that I can see if you are trustworthy.” “What about the visa. It needs time to get through.” I said. “Don’t worry about that I have contacts at the embassy and you visa will fast tracked.” replied Jeffery after which he ate a spoonful of the cereal. “So if I am successful how much do I pocket?” I asked. “You get 15 % of the merchandise sell.” “It’s a deal I am all in.” I replied. “Let me tell something the greatest drug lord is not one who relies on a lot of guns to evade arrest but is one who uses his wits to outsmart the police. I don’t murder I ponder. Remember that.” said Jeffery. I don’t know why he told me this maybe he thinks I have what it takes to be a drug lord someday. Jeffery told me the key to be a successful drug trafficker was always to stick to what he termed as the 3Cs, being calm, collected and cool whenever delivering the goods. What I learned from Jeffery is that to survive and evade arrest one must always act in a stealth like manner and never to sell themselves short. I also learned that Jeffery had shops which sold household appliances and furniture dotted across the country. His shops were his cover. So people thought that, that’s where he was getting his fortune from. He told me that his businesses exclusive of takings from the drug industry accounted to 1% of his personal income of the past year. We arrived at a warehouse located just a few kilometres out of Johannesburg. The warehouse a large building constructed in the late seventies is also where Jeffery’s company manufactures furniture including beds and wardrobes. A group of men are briskly doing their jobs some cutting wood, some measuring and a few who seem lost in their own thoughts as they sit on chairs idly. All the guys working in the factory are foreign nationals. What I discovered is that Jeffery had warned them that if anyone of them tried some funny business by reporting to police the illegal stuff they were doing, he would sort them out. The way Jeffery smuggled drugs out of South Africa was astute. Behind the curtains what seemed like a normal furniture making warehouse lay a covert operation. “Aren’t you afraid that one of them is going to sell you out?” I asked as I stood near the entrance. “I am not. There are well paid. They know the consequences of being a sell-out.” replied Jeffery. As the beds were assembled drugs were fitted inside them. “This particular bunch of beds you see here are headed for Maputo I have a few shops there.” said Jeffery as he lit a cigarette before continuing. “Once the beds arrive in Maputo there are disassembled and all the drugs are removed before there are reassembled back.” said Jeffery as smoke puffed out of his mouth and nose just like steam train. This is the same trick he uses to smuggle a large amount of drugs into Zimbabwe, Namibia and Botswana. All of the furniture is transported via the road. I know what I am about to do is risky. Living on the edge always trying to be a step ahead of the law enforcement agency. I sit on the sofa in the supervisor’s office on the second floor as I peep through the see through glass I see men doing their jobs most of them with high levels of efficiency and proficiency. The supervisor is also a foreign national hailing from Zambia. He has been working for Jeffery for over 4 years and started as a carpenter before he was promoted by Jeffery to his current position. “Follow me. There is something I want to show you.” said Jeffery as he stood up from the chair which lay adjacent to where I was sitting. I followed him to the ground floor were we walked towards the western wing of the warehouse. At the end of the western wing lays a door which leads into a disused room which has three chairs and a table in it. Jeffery removed a carpet on the floor before he opened a door which led to the basement. We then made our way into the basement as we descended down into the well-lit basement. Jeffery then opened up a dark brown door in the basement which led into another room on the same level. As the door opened up I was astonished by what lay before my eyes. The room was a state of the art laboratory and there were three guys adorning white dust coats and goggles. One of the three guys stood out from the rest his hair resembled that of the hairs of an electrocuted cat, he had this Einstein look about him a bit of messed up hair dangling all over his head. The Einstein looking guy was scribbling down on, a chalkboard chemical reactions which all seemed like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics to me. Recollections of my physical science lessons and science lab forgettable experiences started to trickle in, back in high school I never understood any of the stuff I was taught during this lesson. I still remember this other particular day in high school my Physical science teacher Mr Rokwe who was a living specimen of a walking brewery. Some students had even gone as far as suggesting that if Mr Rokwe was in an accident alcohol and not blood would come out of his body. He had this sleepy kind of look coupled up with his red eyes and his usually un-ironed clothes which appeared as if they had been spit out of a cow’s stomach created that sight that he was not a person who was much into personal grooming and hygiene. Mr Rokwe was what you would describe as a no worries type of person. A person who doesn’t listen to what people say. Now I believe you have a bit of an idea of the type of person Mr Rokwe was so let me get back to my story. So on this particular day Mr Rokwe picked me to finish a chemical equation on the board. I can still precisely remember his words, how could I forgot with his stand out horsy voice which many attributed to the high intake of opaque beers he took. Legend had it that his larynx had cloaked up by the opaque beers he took. “Mr Mushayabasa can you come upfront and write up the proper chemical processes that occur in the blast furnace.” As if I did not hear what he had said I kept rooted to my chair. “Mr Mushayabasa please can you come upfront and write up the proper chemical processes.” Against my own will I stood up because I didn’t want to test the full wrath of the “Drunken Master” the alias we had given to Mr Rokwe. Mr Rokwe was known for his legendary double clap slap. If I remained siting I was going to be slapped and if I went in front and failed I was going to be slapped either ways I was going to slapped by Mr Rokwe. With my shorts hanging way below my buttocks I started writing with my hand shacking uncontrollably. I could smell the smell of stale beer which was emanating from Mr Rokwe, a smell he always had. I knew what I was doing was wrong. “I have finished sir.” “These are the consequences of daydreaming in class.” said Mr Rokwe as he folded his long sleeved shirt. This was his pre-beating ritual. Mr Rokwe signalled for me to come where he was sitting with his pointing finger stretched out towards me. Dragging my feet in a bid to delay the inevitable I made my way towards where Mr Rokwe was sitting. I looked him directly in his ever red eyes as I tried to amass enough courage to deal with his punishment. Mr Rokwe then started playful moving his right leg with his black and grey socks clearly showing. “Mr Mushayabasa I will let you off this one but before that take this cup and get me some water to drink.” said Mr Rokwe as he sat on top of the teacher’s desk. The feeling I felt at that moment was one of happiness I had been let off but I was about to get a rude awakening. Just as I was about make contact with the cup with my head facing downwards I felt the hardest contact I had ever felt on my chicks. It felt like I had been hit by two bricks, my cranium felt like it was going to explode. The sound produced by the double clap was enough to overshadow the sound produced by a Concorde on take-off. Utter silence swept through the classroom, everyone was dumb folded. I could hear ringing sounds in my head as I saw the proverbial stars moving around me. I made my way back to where I was sitting, with my cheeks simmering with the white chalk dust which had made its way on to my face after the double clap I had received from Mr Rokwe’s hands which had chalk dust all over them. It was never Mr Rokwe’s intention to send me to fetch water he was more interested in giving me a beating. This was no daydream it was rather a daymare. So let’s flip back to the present moment now that you have a rough idea of my bad experiences with science labs and chemical equations. Inside the lab, at the other end of the room one of two guys was typing on a laptop whilst the other one was cleaning some apparatus. I shake Jeffery’s right shoulder blade “What is happening here?” I asked. “We are building a nuclear weapon.” replied Jeffery. “You are not serious.” I replied looking more incredulous. “I am pulling your leg. This is where I manufacture the high end drugs.” “So you prepare your own drugs?” I asked. “Not all the drugs are manufactured here only the high end stuff.” “Can you tell me who, are those guys?” I asked. Jeffery then narrated to me the background of the guys who were in the lab. So it turned out that the guy who resembled Einstein was the one who was making the high end drugs which Jeffery referred to as the magic powder. The guy’s name is Itai most of the guys here call him Nikola because they say he is just magnificently mad like the American-Polish scientist Nikola Tesla. Itai is a genius, wrote his A-level at fifteen passed with five straight before been awarded a scholarship to study at Harvard. Itai was then awarded another scholarship at Harvard were he did his postgraduate degrees including his doctorate all before he was twenty three years old. He and Jeffery grow up in the same neighbourhood. Itai left the States because he could not get funding to do his own projects. Jeffery was then able to persuade him to work for him, in producing a new drug string at the same time Jeffery and Itai’s working agreement was quid pro quo because Jeffery agreed to give Itai funding for his other research projects and in return Itai mixed up the magic powder. The other three guys were lab assistance who had been employed by Itai to help him in his work. “Itai.” said Jeffery as he waved his hand to get Itai’s attention. “Hey.” replied Itai as he waved back. We walked towards were Itai and his lab assistance were working at. “How are you today?” asked Jeffery. “Fine and you.” said Itai as he removed his goggles. “This is Tinashe he is friend of mine. Tinashe this is Itai and the guy to his right is Patrick and the other one is Norman.” said Jeffery as he made the formal introductions. “Nice to know.” said Itai and the two guys simultaneously. “Same here.” I replied. “How far with the gaudium.” asked Jeffery as he sat on a lab chair. “Two bunches done, one to go.” replied Itai. “What is gaudium?” I asked. “Gaudium is the name of the drug been manufactured here, it is Latin for happiness.” replied Jeffery. Jeffery had named it gaudium because he said it teleported a person to a place of endless happiness, a place of pure bliss. “Who buys this stuff?” I asked. “Mostly rich people, already we have pre orders from famous actors and singers in the States.” replied Jeffery. “The states!” I exclaimed. “Yep the states.” coolly replied Jeffery before he continued. “This stuff is worth millions. The people who use it say it’s different from the other stuff. Gives them a high state of euphoria and great sense of control.” said Jeffery. “So how do you make this stuff?” I asked “I use leaves from the cannabis plant I add different components. The end product usually affects how you portray yourself.” said Itai before continuing. “It alters one’s sense of awareness, for example if one has low self-esteem and uses the drug. The drug will change their esteem.” said Itai. “But doesn’t it have any side effects?” I asked. “All drugs if used in excess of bodily requirements will affect you.” said Itai as he removed his white gloves before placing them in a bin which lay behind him. “Even your normal cough syrup can be abused by a drug addict take for instance the cough syrup Broncleer. Many addicts in Zimbabwe use it.” said Itai. “So what are you preparing now?” asked Jeffery. “I am trying to concoct a fluid which can be used as a spray.” replied Itai as he took a break before continuing. “The purpose of the fluid is to confuse sniffer dogs to throw them of one’s trail. Take for instance if you spray the fluid on a person carrying drugs. The dogs sense of smell will be confused.” said Itai. “Can you elucidate further when you say confused.” asked Jeffery. “As you know dogs have a keen sense of smell, so what the fluid does it covers the smell of the drugs and instead of picking up the drug’s smell the dogs pick up the fluid’s smell. “So have you finished?” I asked. “Yes I have, and one thing to note the fluid has an aloe-vira smell.” replied Itai. After a few more minutes discussing in the lab we left Itai and his assistance to do their after which we left for Jeffery’s place. Three weeks later and the day for my assignment to Bangkok arrived. I was feeling a bit nervous as I prepared to smuggle the drugs. Some of the drugs were sawn into the soles of my shoes, some into the hat I was wearing and the remainder where packed into the two laptops I had on me. I had stated the reason of my visit to Bangkok as pleasure. As I walked along the corridors at O.R Tambo international my heart rate started to increase. Jeffery had accompanied me to the airport but I was going alone to Bangkok. With a small suitcase in my right hand and a laptop bag strapped across my shoulder I made my way to the check in booth. I could see the police as they patrolled the airport, this made me a lot jittery. As I lay in wait sitting on a bench in the international terminal section I hear on the loud speaker a feminine voice sounding out, “Flight H320 to Thailand Bangkok has being delayed. We are sorry for any inconvenience caused.” The reason for the delay was that it had being earlier grounded at Heathrow because of a volcano which had erupted in Iceland. The fumes, produced by the erupting volcano reduced visibility and flying in such conditions was suicidal. The waiting increased my anxiety levels. Four hours after the initial fly off time flight H320 arrived. I had to wait a further hour as the plane got refuelled and had some engine checks. As I made my way into the business class of the Fly Emirates Airbus A380, I started to feel a bit jumpy. For years I had always had a phobia of heights. After almost 15 hours the plane arrived in Bangkok at the Suvarnabhumi Airport. This is the first time I have been on an airplane and it was courtesy of under hand dealings. I strode along over the ever gleaming floor as I made my way out of the airport. With only Itai’s fluid which I sprayed to evade the sniffer dogs as my only cover I felt more insecure mostly because I was the first person using it. Theoretically it had been proven to work but there was no practical use of it. I was taking a huge leap of faith. Maintaining my cool I glided past four German shepherd police dogs. Just as I walk past the sniffer dogs I see them tag down a black lady. The lady was in the same plane as I was and was sitting a few rows back. Just at looking at the lady’s skin who I estimate is in her early twenties one would be forgiven to think that she was adorning camouflage. Her skin is reminiscent of the side effects of skin lighting creams. Some patches of her skin are lighter some are darker. She is dressed in a yellow miniskirt, and from her knees to the top part of her skirt she is light as an orange, but from her knees downwards her skin is dark as ebony. Her face is very light in complexion and I could see clearly her dark skin tone on her backside since she was wearing a green blouse which reveals the backside. I can hear her scream and plead, “I didn’t know, It was on me, please, please let me go” said the lady as the police officers carried her up. Personally I couldn’t make out what the lady was pleading for or what she had done wrong. I walk out of the airport and I then hire a taxi which ferries me to the house address where I am meeting up with the buyer of the merchandise. I have travelled during the wrong time it’s rush hour and the traffic is just unbearable. The traffic jam looks like a network of unending sprawling cars. Finally after almost 3 hours I arrive in the subtle location I am supposed to make the drop a few kilometres out of the CBD. I knock on the bell. An oriental guy opens up the door, he is the one I am supposed to meet and he is dressed in a blue jean and a red polo shirt. Jeffery had earlier shown me the picture of this guy so I knew him. I don’t say anything I just give him a paddle lock and he passes me the matching key and I unlock the paddle lock after which he gives me a sign to follow him. The paddle lock and key thing was just to make sure he was the right guy. I follow the guy into door which is directly opposite the entrance door. The door is opened up and leads into the kitchen where the exchange is made. Very few words are said between us. The oriental guy sniffs the cocaine, “Good stuff.” said the oriental guy in an Americanish accent. Who is quite short in height, before he dials up a number. After few moments the phone is answered and he places it on his right ear side. “I have got the stuff I will make the transfer right now.” said the oriental guy. I receive a conformation message from Jeffery that the money has successfully being wired into his Swish account. “Thanks.” says the oriental guy as he opens up the entrance door. “You are welcome.” I replied as I made my way out of the restaurant. I hire a taxi as I make my way to Gem hotel where I will stay for two days before I return to South Africa. I arrive at the hotel and take an elevator to the 10th floor where my room is. The hotel room is just beautiful with an almost penthouse feel. I can see clearly the skyscrapers which dominate the skyline of Bangkok as I stood outside on the balcony as I sipped a wine glass full of Johnnie Walker whiskey, as the light breeze swept past my face I felt completeness. After finishing my wine glass full of whiskey I entered my bedroom as I lay on the big queen sized bed with the bright lights of Bangkok quite visible through the huge French sliding door which opened up to the balcony. As I lay on the bed which ranks as the most comfortable bed I had ever slept on. I watch the news. The bed is big enough to accommodate five guys of my weight and height ratio. As I scroll up and down the channels I stop on this particular news channel on which I see the black camouflaged skinned lady who I had earlier encountered been handcuffed by police officers. I learnt that the black lady was a Namibian national and was found in possession of 1000 grams of cocaine which was stuffed under her clothes in her suitcase. The fact that the lady was facing up to thirty years at least in prison made me realise how easily I could have ruined my life for good. The spray that Itai made really worked like a charm, it threw the dogs off my trail. For the next two days I spent most of my time in the hotel enjoying the room service the only time I go out during my stay at the hotel is when I left for the shopping mall where I bought some clothes. The two days were up and for the first time in a long time I felt extremely happy. If crime makes me happy then so be it I am going to dedicate my life to crime. A day’s pay is equivalent of 4 years pay at Singh’s. I have being searching for happiness now I think I have found it. Now I can relax enjoy the good life. All of my life I have worked like a slave so as to live like a king but I never succeed but for once I have worked like an outlaw and I am living like a king. I enjoy the top of the range wine as I lay on the bed in my red coloured rob. This kind of feeling is the one I have been yawning for. I am headed for the top and with fame and fortune accompanying me I will forever be happy. All these years I had been looking for happiness and security in the wrong places now, I have found the fountain of happiness. Why should I worry the money I have earned is not blood stained. I am doing a good thing for society selling drugs to rid of sadness in people. I am now in a line of work where I am giving euphoria to the people who buy my merchandise. I walk out of the luxury hotel as I make my way back to South Africa. I board a tri-cycle better known in this part of the world as a tuk-tuk. Sitting at the back of tuk-tuk I just visualize sitting at the back of my Royce-Rolls being chauffeur driven. I can feel I am just within touching distance of achieving it. The tuk-tuk steams away as I walk into the airport. I phone Jeffery as I sit waiting in the departure area, for my flight back to South Africa. As I walk out of O.R Tambo International I can see the ever radiant face of Jeffery. “Hook line and sinker. Nice job.” said Jeffery, patting me on the back. “It was a piece of cake.” I reply. We heard for Jeffery’s Land Rover Discovery 3 in the parking bay of the O.R Tambo and I am quickly whisked out of the airport.