Across Country in a Bush Taxi

May 7th, 2006

        ”Hey taxi, do you have room for us?” Gary and I asked. “Sure, why not!” the taxi driver responded. “What time do we leave?” we questioned. “Whenever we have enough people,” the chauffeur replied. So we waited and waited and waited, until eleven people were crammed into that rickety old bush taxi!
      The driver placed his left arm out the window, hoping to relieve the pressure on his squeezed-in passengers. The rest of the occupants were tightly entangled to conserve space. Gary and I were sitting in the very back atop the wheel humps, with a very large lady between us. A gas tank jostled behind us, spreading its vicious fumes into every nostril.
      Suddenly the taxi took off with a screech, racing jerkily down the pitted dirt road, frequently encountering potholes of red mud as big as the taxi itself. With determination the driver plowed through the holes, splattering red mud everywhere and jamming our heads into the ceiling. Then of course, there was the challenge of those open windows, blowing red dirt into the vehicle until our faces were plastered, giving us the appearance of entertainers masked for a mime. Oh well, who cared about how we looked. At least we were alive!