For Stacey-Lee May, spinning is more than the screech of tyres, the roar of an engine or the spectacle of a car moving sideways. It is a language she grew up speaking long before she understood what it meant to be part of a culture that has become distinctly South African.
A female spin and stunt driver from Eldorado Park, May describes herself as a quiet and shy person. Put her behind the wheel, however, and another side emerges.
The contrast captures something essential about spinning: what can appear chaotic from the outside is, in fact, built on control, precision and an intimate understanding of the machine.
May's relationship with spinning began when she was a child. Around the age of five to 10, her parents would take her to Kimberley over Easter weekend to watch the spinning and drifting events at Monster Mob. At the time, spinning was illegal but the annual gathering offered a glimpse into a world that would eventually become a defining part of her life.
"I grew up around spinning," she says.
Her childhood was steeped in cars. Her father was a car enthusiast and her mother worked at a dealership. Her father also owned a towing company, meaning cars were not something she encountered occasionally; they were part of the environment in which she was raised.
Watching her father get behind the wheel of an E30 BMW never frightened her.
"I honestly love the noise. It's like distracting music," she says. "I've always thought that this is so cool and fun."
When spinning was legalised, her father encouraged her to get involved. By then, she had years of exposure to cars and driving. She says learning to spin came relatively naturally.
It took her just half a day to learn.
But May is quick to challenge the idea that it is easy.
"There's so much more than just getting into a car and letting the wheels spin," she explains. "It's precision. You have to know what you're doing, you have to be aware of your surroundings, you have to always make sure that everything is safe and you have to know the car that you're spinning as well."
The distinction is important in understanding the culture around the sport. Spinning has sometimes been reduced to its most dramatic visual elements — smoking tyres, revving engines and cars rotating in controlled circles. For drivers like May though, there is a technical discipline underneath the spectacle.
"There are rules and regulations. Drivers do not spin on public roads because we are not the only people using them. A purpose-built spinning car is not the same as an everyday vehicle and understanding how the car is built is part of becoming a responsible driver," she says.
If someone approaches May asking her to teach them, she starts with the basics.
That means understanding the mechanics of the car, how it is built and what allows it to spin the way it does.
For May, teaching is also tied to representation.
Spinning remains a male-dominated space and although she does not have the funds or facilities to run formal lessons, she says she will offer advice to women who approach her.
Her long-term dream is even bigger: an all-girls spinning school.
"Once I do reach this stage where I can afford to teach other women and I do have the facility, it would be an absolute dream of mine to start an all-girls spinning school," she says.
It is a dream that speaks to the changing face of the sport. May is not only participating in spinning; she is helping challenge assumptions about who belongs behind the wheel.
Yet her ambitions are not limited to gender representation. She wants spinning to receive the recognition she believes it deserves as a South African sporting and cultural phenomenon.
"It's a proudly South African sport," she says. "It was born and raised in South Africa. Nobody in this world can spin cars like South Africans do. It's in our blood."
For May, the South African identity is one of the reasons she remains committed to the sport. She sees spinning as something local, an expression of ingenuity, performance and audacity that deserves to travel beyond the country's borders.
She has experienced the reaction to South African spinning overseas. She points to fellow spinners, including Samkeliso "Sam Sam" Thubane, who have travelled internationally and demonstrated the sport to audiences unfamiliar with it.
The response, she says, has been one of amazement.
"That has strengthened my belief that spinning can grow into an internationally recognised discipline."
"I'm hoping that spinning could one day become something like Formula 1," she says.
But the pursuit of spinning has never meant abandoning everything else. May has a law degree and believes in education as a foundation. Her passion for motorsport does not erase her understanding that a career in sport can be unpredictable.
"As much as I love my sport and I love what I do, I have to have a backup plan," she says.
For her and her family, education is essential — something to fall back on if life does not unfold as expected.
There is a similar discipline in the way she prepares for competitions. Before an event, the practical work begins with confirming the booking and securing a deposit to cover costs.
"Spinning is expensive, particularly because of tyres and fuel. Then comes the mechanical preparation, often involving my father and younger brother," she says.
And then there is prayer.
Before competitions, May and her team pray for safety, protection and the ability to perform at their best.
That combination of preparation, faith and adrenaline reflects the person behind the wheel. Spinning gives May something she describes as freedom.
"When you're doing it, you feel like nobody can tell me what I'm doing is wrong," she says. "It's my sport, it's what I do. This is what I'm good at."
That freedom is perhaps the deepest reason she continues.
She wants more women in spinning. She wants South African spinning to be better understood. She wants international audiences to recognise where the culture came from. And she wants the sport to grow without losing the character that made it South African.
For May, spinning is not simply about making a car move.
It is about movement as identity, the car as an extension of self and the smoke rising from the tyres as a distinctly South African declaration: this is who we are and this is what we can do.