12 Hours a Masiphumele Local

Jesus Gifted me 12 Incredible Hours as an Insider

I’m writing this 24 hours later, still feeling like I stepped into something sacred.

Yesterday was the first volleyball tournament of the year for the Masi club. It was an hour outside of town and I couldn’t drive …you know, one car and a whole family, probably not a great solution to have it sitting in a parking lot all day.  This meant I was just another member of the “needs a ride” crew along with all of my players.

In Masi, transport is never a small detail. No one has extra money. Work shifts aren’t flexible. And if you’re getting back after dark, you don’t just get dropped at a central point and walk home. So I got to participate in the reality of one of the most difficult parts of Masi life.  The transportation puzzle

10:00 AM:

I stood in the parking lot outside our practice courts and climbed into a taxi.

I’ve watched taxis my whole time here. Aggressive. Loud. Commanding the road. There’s also a rumored criminal element to parts of the industry. No one ever lays it out clearly. There are whispers about route control, gang influence, family legacies, power structures. I don’t claim to know what’s true and what’s exaggerated. I just know the rumors exist.

When I told the team this was my first taxi ride, they laughed and celebrated me like I’d crossed some cultural milestone. Then, casually, they pointed out the two safest seats to sit in if something “went wrong.” (They were not talking about a crash.)

There’s something sobering about being welcomed and warned in the same breath.

10:20 AM:  

We hit the road.

For the next hour, I sat shoulder to shoulder with players I usually coach from the sideline. Music playing. Laughter. Real conversations. No façade. No separation. Just one more passenger.

11:45 AM: 

We arrived at a venue that felt like another world. High-end apartments. Manicured green grass. Sponsor tents. Coffee shop. A restaurant that felt like a small country club. My team walked around wide-eyed. So did I.

12:00 PM: 

Photos and the players meeting - they literally asked us to take 5 minutes and put on uniforms to make the photos look better. It became clear this was part volleyball, part marketing. I had some quiet internal questions about how it all worked and he real motives. But my community was excited, so I leaned in with them.

12:45 PM:  

After helping clarify some scheduling confusion, the announcer randomly handed me a R250 mall gift card because I was “the Jesus hat guy.” It felt strange, did I just receive charity?

But the fun part was that when someone asked who I was with, I got to answer simply: “Masi” I didn’t know anyone else there. That was my only identifying quality …Masi.  Pretty cool. And I felt it land.

2:00 PM:  

Both teams were heading toward playoffs. The men’s bracket felt unusually smooth. The women’s team waited for hours, officiating match after match, only to be told they’d finished third because their opponent never showed up.

Seven women, ages 25–35, had sacrificed income, paid transport, and given up their entire Saturday. The bronze medal was presented like exciting news. There was no acknowledgment of the cost.

One of the women later asked if she could leave early to catch her meat supplier so she wouldn’t lose her weekend side income. I attempted to communicate that she need my permission to make wise decisions of that magnitude for her life & family. Volleyball matters. I hope I empowered her rather than accidentally belittling the value she puts on volleyball.

4:30 PM:

The rain came hard. We stood in the cold officiating until the match was called. Everyone ran into the clubhouse soaked and laughing. Federation officials. Parents. Staff. Players from townships and players from wealthier suburbs. Shoulder to shoulder, shivering and joking.

5:15 PM: 

One of my players pulled me aside. Through repetition and patient listening, he told me:

“When you are here, I feel happy.”

He’s one of the only Malawians on a mostly Zimbabwean team. He said when I coach, he feels calm. Like part of the team.

That stayed with me.

5:20 PM:

We were asked whether we wanted to forfeit the championship because of weather or play in the storm, I made sure the decision was theirs. It was fub to offer the agency to avoid hiding behind me, or “group think” …I got each players’ input.  The answer was unanimous.

“Masi will play.”

They announced it over the loud speaker, then the team and fans began chanting it …MASI WILL PLAY, MASI WILL PLAY 

There’s a funny-to-me seriousness here that turns ordinary moments into something cinematic, I was laughing pretty hard

5:25 PM:

Then came a moment that could have gone badly.

In all the chaos of rain and competition, a camera was stolen from the table where we were sitting. Not like “someone’s camera” I’m talking about the event photographer that was hired for the tournament.  Easily a $10k USD camera + lens.  Suspicion moved quickly. And I was caught off guard by something I didn’t expect.

I was included in the suspicion.

Somehow, part of me assumed I would be insulated. That being the white American coach would create distance from accusation.

It didn’t ...I was with Masi. So I was Masi.

And strangely, that felt like a strange kind of inclusion.  And at the same time I could feel the heaviness of the moment.  This is the kind of thing that could change someone's life in a bad way.

I prayed quietly to navigate it well. What mattered most in that moment was that my players felt supported by me. I took charge of the language and direction of the conversation and we shifted from being potential suspects to being problem solvers. Two players shared observations that security cameras later confirmed. The real culprit was identified leaving the venue.  No question this was a miracle and Masi made the potential recovery of a $10k+ camera possible.

There were no apologies. No thank yous. Just quiet vindication ...and a team that got to see that when it was time to take sides, they were trustworthy in my eyes.

7:05 PM:

We finally played the championship. The rules were that the third game (if needed) would be a race to 15 (Not the usual “win by 2”). We lost 15–14. Silver medals. A little bummed, but then the music turned up. I discovered that this might not be the most technically dominant team I’ve ever coached… but they are absolutely the best dancers.

8:20 PM:

We loaded back into the taxi.

Driving at night inside a taxi is different than driving your own car. Roads that feel tense in a personal vehicle felt almost protected inside that van. Tailgating slow cars, flashing lights at them, even honking …and they just get out of the way almost apologetically.  Even in some areas I would be REAL nervous and driving extremely under the radar in any other scenario

So are the rumors true?  Are the taxis an extension of the gangs? Are they owned by crime families whose routes are mutli-generational legacy? I still don’t fully understand. I only know what I experienced, and it was fascinating

9:20 PM: 

We were solving the final challenge: getting everyone home safely since you can’t walk the streets alone after dark. Some were dropped in small groups. Others at their doors, but all of the safest solutions for the team had one key ingredient …I would be dropped last. And I was well aware that I would be alone in the taxi with a stranger driving.

9:35 PM:

It was just me and the driver that I had no relationship with.

I had tucked my phone away earlier, just in case, so I wasn’t texting Whit anymore. I felt her praying. I felt Jesus with me. I noticed a little fear, but it was easy to manage.  I chose to talk. If I didn’t feel comfortable in this situation with a stranger, then let’s make friends!!  I asked questions, I learned, I laughed, I helped him process a bit of work stress - it was great.

9:50 PM:

He dropped me at the security gate of our estate. Long “local” handshake. Shoulder tap bro hug. Eye contact. Good wishes & gratitude. Rain still falling.

I walked the final two blocks home.

Whit was waiting. I stepped inside. My nervous system calmed. I took a hot shower and felt warmth return to my bones.

And I wondered who on my team had that same warmth waiting for them.

Yesterday, I wasn’t the driver. I wasn’t the outsider observing. I wasn’t the one solving. For one day, I was simply allowed to belong.

I’m deeply grateful that Masi let me ride.