Memorable Taxi Rides
Last April, my husband and I visited Togo and Benin, West Africa. Ancient
Peugeot 504s are the most common cars used for cabs and it's a wonder the
cars stay in one piece. No safety belts, undependable doors, and tricky
windows. Of all our taxi rides, three stand out.
I. Ouidah to Cotonou, Benin (a couple of hours)
After agreeing on our price to Cotonou, Brian and I sat in in the back of
the black Peugeot 504. The
driver quickly picked up two more women, who shared the front seat. I was
startled to see that the
passenger door wasn't properly closed and alerted the driver. The driver
pulled over to the side of the
road and leaned across the passengers to re-close the door. Suddenly a
group of men appeared on the
driver's side and thrust their hands into the driver's face!
The strangers struggled with the driver for control over the wheel. They
almost bent the key. An
imposing man in a red shirt approached the taxi. The men argued and
gesticulated vigorously until our
driver was forced to leave the car. Big Red Shirt took over the car and
moved it off the road next to a
small building by the road.
"Monsieur!" we asked. "What is going on?" He imperiously turned and showed me
a laminated pass that
hung from a chain around his neck. "Je ne suis pas 'Monsieur'!" Oh, so he
was someone important. The
area where we'd stopped seemed to be the taxi union office. We gathered
that our driver was behind on
his dues and the union decided it was time to collect. Money exchanged
hands, receipts were written and
we were finally on our way to Cotonou.
II. Bohicon to Abomey, Benin (9 km.)
After a blissful three-hour train ride from Cotonou to Bohicon, we needed
to catch a cab from Bohicon to the Royal Palace of Abomey. In Africa, one
doesn't find a taxi -- it finds you. Before we knew it, we were packed into
a taxi with seven passengers. My husband shared the front seat with a woman
and her
baby. The poor woman was practically sitting on the stick shift and her
baby was pressed against the
dashboard. She turned to me and asked me to hold her baby. I was glad to!
The baby sat quietly in my
lap while she hung on to my necklace like a train commuter.
After all the other passengers descended, it started raining quite hard.
The taxi's windows couldn't close and the windshield wipers had been
exhausted years ago. The rain slanted into the car at a 45 degree angle. By the
time we arrived at the museum, I was completely soaked on one side.
I was in a sour mood but the truth is that it's pointless to stay mad. I
was wearing linen and my clothes were completely dry in 15 minutes.
III. Cotonou, Benin to Lome, Togo (3 hours)
Brian and I shared the front seat while three Ghanaians sat in the back.
We were stopping at Lome and
they were continuing to Ghana.
Mango season comes twice a year: around late April and in November. The
highways are dotted with
roadside food stands. This being mango season, the fruit was available
everywhere. When our driver
stopped to buy a sack of nine mangoes, Brian asked me if I'd like some.
"Nah. They'll be too messy," I
said.
Our driver proceeded to eat eight mangoes one after the other while he
drove! First, he spread a cotton
cloth across his lap. He pulled a small yellow mango out from its bag and
gave the fruit a perfunctory
polish on his lap. He held the mango in his left hand as he steered with
his right. His first bite opened
the mango. He chewed at the skin and then lopped it out the window. He then
proceeded to gnaw and
suck at the fruit down to its hairy pit. He did this eight times, devouring
each voraciously. He did not eat his ninth mango; that was for later. After
the eighth mango, our driver vigorously sucked his teeth for 10 minutes.
At another quick road stop, he discouraged the Ghanaians from buying food.
They were having trouble
making change and the driver was anxious to keep driving. The young male
Ghanaian complained,
"Why get angry at us! You get to mango chop and we don't get to chop!" The
driver grudgingly said
they'd have time, closer to the border.
True to his word, our driver stopped at a bridge near the border. A group
of women were selling prawns
and various sweets. The Ghanaians chopped and everyone was happy.
Erika
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