Nkosi was a car thief, not a great car thief, in fact, not even a mediocre one. Still, he was a persistent one and following his last failed escapade he was determined to do better next time. He spent the past month studying the techniques of the professionals and was now convinced that he was about to score big time.

He decided that he needed really flashy wheels, better than the silver Amabenzi's so beloved of his fellow car thieves, even better than the Valiant Regal which Smiley Joe has stolen all those years back from Baas Swannepoel in Brakpan. Nkosi was going to steal himself a foreign passion wagon. Long, low, with big music and leather seats. It had to be silver too, and sleek, it had to be sleek if he was to impress the boys at the shebeen and "Big Mama Maphuta".

Braving the morning crowds be boarded a taxi and rode into town, his eyes darting backwards and forwards beneath his mirror shades (stolen from a guy in a convertible), he tried looking cool, talking loudly into his TV remote control because his cell phone theft technique still needed work. His fellow passengers were suitably impressed as he discussed hitting the cash depot and icing the guys who were infringing on his turf. Sadly though, many saw through this façade, after all why would a big time gangster be riding in a skoroskoro stuck between Sofie the char and Moses the tomato seller? Hopping out at Noord street he swaggered across to a Hi-ace which was heading northwards to the affluent areas of Johannesburg.

He had settled on starting his search in Sandton… home of the yuppies, buppies and shop loving kugels. The parking lots were chocabloc full of mercs and beemers and every 2^nd car was a 4X4. None really suited his mental image and he loitered listlessly about, talking loudly into his TV remote as he scanned the ever-changing parking lot. He made 3 circuits around the block, rapidly exhausting his vocabulary of catch phrases and important noises. He paused at a sweet vendor and purchased a handful of chappies, which he chewed noisily, half-heartedly blowing badly formed bubbles.

Then there was light… not just any light, but a blinding sort of white light that momentarily stunned all around into silence. Clouds of smoke wafted upwards and revealed the car of his dreams.

There was swish, and a door swung upwards while Nkosi's jaw dropped downwards, his bubble gum slipping out and dropping onto the pavement. This was the car he wanted. He needed to steal it real bad, it would even make "Bra Swish" impressed, he would make all the local township babes drool at the mouth and climb all over him and whisper their cell numbers into his ear. He envisioned Beauty Mzimba as she fed him pap near the old power station on a Friday evening in his soon to be passion wagon. This was the stuff of dreams.

He sidled up to the car, it was silver, just the way he wanted it, the windows were tinted, just the way he wanted them, the look was predatory, sleek, dangerous… just what he needed (and what the sangoma had suggested). The open door was inviting and he quickly glanced around and stepped into the high tech interior. There was no steering wheel, only a handle shaped like a banana, but it spoke "Power, Phallic and German" to his uninitiated eye. He grasped the cold smooth handle with his hand. It was as if it had been moulded to the shape of his hand, this was definitely what he needed so desperately. Behind him the door smoothly clicked shut and there was a metallic hum which slowly increased in intensity.

Nkosi jumped, he hadn't expected the door to close like that, the lever came with him and he felt the car move underneath him. He grinned, he had come this far and nothing could stop him now.

He settled down in the drivers seat, feeling it conform to the shape of his body. He checked the rear view mirror and found that there wasn't a rear view mirror, fumbled for the ignition and found there wasn't one either, in fact, there were none of the usual carlike appendages. Nkosi wasn't phased. He was used to the Germans with their fancy innovations, and he was equally used to the many and varied anti theft mechanisms which most of the cars had lately. This one was new though, he had only seen taxis without steering wheels, never cars.

He noticed there was no brake or clutch either, this was new innovation and must be at least a level 10 immobiliser then. If he could crack that then he would be the number 1 man in the shebeen.

He pondered on how to switch the car on, running his fingers over the raised indentations on the smooth metallic dash. There was a click, the hum increased in intensity and the car seemed to move, not forward as expected, but more like upward. Another click and suddenly the windows were clear and he could see outside. People were staring into the car, some youngster was busy trying to steal one of the pointy appendages which were raised on the bonnet, a car guard was scratching his head in puzzlement, all were contributing to Nkosi's ever increasing ego. Grasped the banana handle he laughed out loud "This is my best score yet." And pulled the handle upwards.

The car lurched upward, leaving the bewildered people behind in a cloud of white vapour. The car guards hat tried to follow but gave up as Nkosi was level with the tree tops. Nkosi was flabbergasted, this was not supposed to happen, this anti hijacking was the most complex he had ever seen so far. He released the handle and the car stopped rising. He peered at the shopping centre far below, he had never seen it from this viewpoint, all those cars, all those people. "Hauw, is no good"

He looked at the handle and prodded it with a pudgy finger. The car moved forward a bit. He prodded it to the right and the car moved to the right. He now understood how the steering worked and he pushed it all the way forward. The acceleration shoved him back into his seat which, causing him to pull backwards on the lever. The car stopped instantly, and the unsecured Nkosi kept right on going, stopping only when he had squashed his face against the dashboard on one of the indentations. The radio must have been connected to that particular indentation and a cold voice broke in on his pain "initialising inertial dampener and engine diagnostics" the DJ announced. The dashboard came alive with flashing lights and readouts, very impressive it was too, almost like his brothers boombox but without the handle on top.

Nkosi peered out of the window, far below him the mess that was the M1 South crawled along at its usual snails pace. He was out of the traffic so it never bothered him that he was to blame for the traffic jam as people stopped their cars to peer at this strange apparition above them. Even the MTN lightship had not drawn so many crowds of gawkers. The local radio stations helicopter appeared from behind the smog and hovered uncertainly as the crew tried to make head or tail out of what they saw. Nkosi gripped the handle and shoved it forward and suddenly everything was left behind in a blurr of speed. Nkosi had never known such acceleration, even Ace Mabela's Zola couldn't go this fast. He could be in Petersburg in an hour… He peered out at the ground blurring past underneath him, the long black strip of highway unfolding so fast that he couldn't even begin to guess where he was. He tried pulling back slowly on the handle and the car lost momentum until it rocked gently to a stop.

Nkosi had to admit to himself that he was lost, he had been heading vaguely south when he had hit that handle and no there was no sign of the skyscrapers of Egoli, or the pall of smoke over Soweto, or even the comforting ribbon of cars on that highway. In fact, all he could see was the dry veld and a long stretch of tar road. Maybe if he tried reverse?

Nkosi spent the next 3 hours zipping backwards and forwards until eventually he recognised a large city in front of him. He suspected that it may not be his hometown so stopped the "car" and pushed down on the lever, the car lowering itself to the ground in front of a bullet hole riddled sign board. "Welcome to Mogadishu" it read. Nkosi sighed… not only was he lost, he wasn't too sure where Mogadishu was either. This whole car theft thing was beginning to look like yet another disaster to add to his catalogue of disasters. He had to admit that he was at a loss for ideas and obviously was not going to find his way home without lots of help. Even the weather seemed to be plotting against him, the sky seeming to loose its bright sun drenched look as a shadow crept over the ground enveloping the car in darkness. At least the rain wouldn't affect him.

A light, brighter than all the candles he had ever seen filled the car, even his shades couldn't keep it out. "Hauw, wasssup?" he exclaimed as his head spun and consciousness departed from him.

Nkosi came to in a large room brimming with strange dials and buttons and a big TV with a picture of the earth on it. He stood up, dusting his pants off and trying to look angry and irate without letting on that he was really scared. A strange figure, dressed all in black, turned from the control desk he was at and looked at Nkosi, his gray eyes expressing no emotion, his lipless mouth never moving. Yet Nkosi was aware of a voice inside his head.

"You have caused much harm by removing our craft. You have created an imbalance and disturbed our plans for the planet."

This was puzzling, he had no idea what this strange person was saying, he suspected the person came from Nigeria or Cameroon. "What you trying to say old man?"

The figure punched a button, enveloping Nkosi in light once again.

"Go back to where you came from, and please don't go around stealing that what doesn't belong to you."

Nkosi woke with a headache, his whole body was covered in ash and his eyes felt like somebody had emptied a bucket of sand in them. He recalled that disembodied feeling and strange person with the gray eyes. The car was gone, his TV remote was gone, in fact all he had left was his clothing and even that was looking less designerlike all the time. Picking himself up he instinctively raised a finger in the vain hope that a passing taxi would pick him up.

He felt really strange standing like that all day, finger in the air, no taxi's in sight. In fact he suspected that he wasn't in Egoli either. The suspicion was confirmed when an old man walked up to him leading a donkey on a rope.

"E'doro kayvanav ye'gig-icy dal adondo?" the man asked.

It was going to one of those days… Nkosi the failed car thief could just feel it in his bones.