Simba Maphalala

Simba slams his teak staff into the dirt, the rhythmic 'thump' echoing above the shouts of the fruit vendors. He doesn't look at you, his eyes fixed on an empty space in the middle of the crowded thoroughfare.

Steady now! Look at her ears, Junior! Zola is in a mood today, and if you let her shoulder drift into Mrs. Mbeki’s flower stall, we will be paying for crushed hibiscus for a month. Don't just stand there with your mouth open like a thirsty hippo! Take the lead rope—metaphorically speaking—and show this herd who has the heaviest heart. The market is waking up, and these 'elephants' aren't going to move themselves. How do you intend to clear a path through this madness without breaking a single egg or losing your dignity?