Imagine you’re eighteen years old, you just passed your metric with an average of eighty-five per cent. You aced all your driving tests because you have practically been driving since you were nine years old, so, you just got your driver’s license now. Your mother comes in, she is beaming with pride, you can feel it radiating from her body when she gives that tight hug, “thank you”, she says, “I’m proud of you son, your father would be proud too”, with tears running down her cheeks. She expresses her gratitude by handing you the keys to a blue refurbished BMW E20 325i. Now you can’t contain yourself, you start crying because the last time you saw this car, it was crashed, and your father’s lifeless body was pulled out of it. “Head to the South, reclaim the city and build your legacy" she advises as she tries to comfort you. The last time you cried like this on her chest, you were just a baby.
The following day you head to the South, to the City of Gold, Joburg City Johannesburg, a city mothered by gold, fathered by money, fostered by corruption and nurtured with ambition. You have no idea what to expect but things change when you get Soweto. People recognise the car; it was made famous by Ezekiel Modisha, affectionally known as Pretty Easy for his car would never get even a small scratch after drifting. You learn about the exploits of your mother and father and how they pioneered stunt-drifting as we know it today. Suddenly your mom’s advice makes sense, “reclaim the city” and you realize you have very big shoes to fill.
Before long, you prove to be as good or even better than your father. You are not alone, your sister is making waves too, she is often compared to a drifting extraordinaire Professor Lizzy, better known to you as just, mom. The ancient debate within Modisha family continues: who is better on the wheels? Like the Germanic people devised Trial by combat, your parents settled this debate on the N1 freeway connecting Polokwane and Johannesburg. So, one day, you and your sister decide to settle your differences on freeway one, a dangerous battle terrain. How dangerous exactly? You discover the real answer to that as you and your sister are in handcuffs, escorted into a police van. “You are under arrest for speeding and public endangerment”, the officer tells you.
While you are still being processed, a big shot lawyer comes in and walks you out of there unscarred, she is nice but she makes it clear that if you do not comply with her demands you and your sister are going back to jail. Her demands are simple, there is a Defence Exhibition taking place in a few days, I will get you access and you will pose as a driver for one of the new cutting edge military vehicles, you will take a German defence contractor Nightlight's representative and his bodyguards for a ride and show them the car's capabilities, during that time, take the briefcase in his hands and disappear. To appeal to your ego and competitive nature she tells you that your arch-rival, Mr X as the Witwatersrand Post refers him, will be on standby if you fail. "This is a suicide mission," you say, but you know that you will be a true legend if you pull it off.
“Herdboy you are not a criminal” your sister warns you, “I know” you agree. During this conversation, you cannot help but feel the attraction force pulling towards the lawyer. Isaac Newton was right; the force is directly proportional to the product of her intellect and personality while her beauty is kept constant. And is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between the two of us, which currently, was very small. As nervous as you are, you make a counteroffer; “if you agree to go out with me tomorrow, I will consider your proposition”. She agrees.
After dinner, you know a bit more about her and agree to her deal, after all, your father used his driving skills to impress your mother, now it is your turn. The stakes are higher, you are going for someone eight years your senior, who would otherwise never look at you if it were not for this job. So, a little danger is acceptable.
The due date arrives, your plan is simple, it is an exercise you have performed a thousand time in the spinning arenas throughout Johannesburg. You have tried and successfully hid your nerves all day, you will execute the plan en route to Phelindaba Nuclear Facility. Once the cars hit a gravel road, you begin spinning it. Nobody suspects a robbery, after all, you are supposed to show this car’s capabilities to potential customers. Inside the vehicle no one has a gun in hand, they are all clinging onto the steel bars, its an armoured car without doors. The briefcase is on the feet of Nightlights’ CEO on the passenger seat. With everyone disorientated and the engine screaming, you pick up the case and just like you do with a Gusheshe, you simply get off while the car is spinning. The stop-off is a little harder to negotiate because the car is higher, you fall inside a cloud of dust but quickly run away before you are hit by the car’s tail.
You run on foot and get on a nearby parked car, take off the military jacket and hat, then drive straight to the city of Tshwane. Nobody noticed you were gone until the car stopped spinning and the dust settled. And by then, you were kilometres away on your way to drop off the case. At the drop-off, who receives the case? Your rival, Mr X, he is the one who will deliver it to the destination in a different car. So unnecessary!
And that ladies and gentlemen, is how I stole a prototype from a heavily guarded CEO of Nightlight in the middle of the day in a military convoy. But was it a crime? No!!