Enjoy the view. You might be here for awhile. Again.
I pretty much have a hate-hate relationship with the taxis here, but there are certain moments when amusement sneaks in and I can’t help but write about them on a routine basis. Truth be told, taxis in their own right warrant an independent study- and maybe that’s where I should be refocusing my Olmsted efforts. Unfortunately for me, I don’t think the Navy would look too kindly on my thesis if it only explored the challenges and triumphs of this ubiquitous mobile transport option.
I’m finding that the bulk of my blog entries originate as scraps of paper that I scrawl on while rolling around in these marvels of rusting black and yellow metal. It’s hard to explain why inspiration comes while tucked in a dusty backseat, but I have finally copped on to this pattern of recording and now carry a small notebook with me wherever I go. On my way to the office this morning, I cracked the book and for the first time recorded what sits before you now as a synopsis of typical taxi rides.
Things that happen while riding in Dakar taxis
(Note: After fifteen months, all of this has become standard fare. Lord help me when I must return to the Western world..)
- The taximan must put some gas in his perpetual near-empty tank. Taxi rides rarely exceed four miles, yet we stop for gas more often than you would think (most gas gauges are broken and permanently stuck on “E”. Still, people only put in about three bucks’ worth at any given time.
Here we are, having just rolled into the Oil Libya.
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The driver will suddenly stop for a roadside coffee. Instead of asking whether his patient passenger would also like a cafe touba, he turns and asks for your fare in advance so he can finance his latte factor. You give the money but think, “But what if you break down before we get to my destination?” This is a valid concern. In that case you’ll have to pony up another dollar or two to get to where you need to go. Breaking down sucks.
- The taximan pulls off the road to go and take a leak. Next to the car. Really. And in this case, I leave his fare on the console (if there even is one) in lieu of touching his hand. No ablutions factor in when nature calls. Seriously though, I find public urination the most reprehensible sight out here. I don’t wanna see your Senegalese wang -ever- and it makes me want to show a little more knee in the hopes of perverting their sense of modesty.
- As mentioned already, the taxi stops because, aw crap, we really have broken down. The engine overheats because we’ve been sitting in traffic for too long- or perhaps the clutch has at last said ‘no more’ to the driver’s poor piloting skills. Either way, I’m walking or finding another cab.
- The taxi stops at the gas station but is then unable to get started again. Luckily there are always dudes hanging around who are happy to push the car out of the station and thus enable my driver to pop the clutch. And with that we’re moving again. Awesome.
- I hate this one: The taximan opts for “shortcuts” that in reality add interminable minutes to your commute as you ramble through quaint neighborhoods like Medina. The streets are nothing but sand, speedbumps and broken up pavement; combine that with a car devoid of shocks and it’s a fun time. I will say that the first dozen times a taxi does this, you find this detour culturally interesting: children are walking to school, you pass partially-flooded streets, and there’s a thriving market with slaughtered sheep hanging in stalls with their living counterparts tied alongside and munching on cardboard in oblivion. It’s all pretty cool to take in, but after awhile it just gets tiresome and renders my notebook completely illegible.
- Getting into a taxi where the door doesn’t stay shut and I conduct my transit without knowing that one errant lean will have me laying on the corniche road. You think there are seatbelts in these cars?
It’s impressive that this one had a seatbelt. It’s more for show.
You try to get into your taxi but the door is stuck shut. The driver needs to reach back and open the door from the inside. This is not some fancy reverse child safety lock feature. It’s called the Door No Longer Functions As It Should option.
You and your driver count on whatever form of religious icon or keepsake to safeguard you from aspiring suicidal motorists (and other taximen) surrounding you on the road.
Prayer beads, stickers, soccer ball…one of these trinkets should keep me safe.
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Ahh, a brand new experience has just occurred- one that I am happy to add to my list:
What’s wrong with this picture?
While driving through Sandaga Market, I suddenly heard my driver call out to one of the millions of roving vendors. “Psssst!” he hisses loudly. This is what people do in this country when they want to get your attention. I hear it all the fricking time and thus completely block it out. Still, the vendor comes over, and is doubtlessly excited at the prospect of a sale. His wares? A twenty pack of disposable razors. He fishes a single razor out and my driver pays whatever was being charged (anything that is sold in a pack- like cigarettes- is broken down and sold in single units- this makes products more affordable for the average Senegalese person).
No sooner does my guy get his razor than he sets to scraping his face. I’m thankfully not a member of the face shaving population, but I’m kind of aghast at his choice of in-car multi-tasking. He’s not talking on the phone, stopping for coffee, or bringing me to the wrong spot (that has happened too). He’s not even splashing water on his face- he’s just scraping away as if this is what he does every morning when he comes down to Plateau. And maybe he does.
My driver is in stop and go traffic- but he does a terrific job of shifting, shaving and tapping his razor on the stickshift to release whatever skin, blood and hair he has removing from his head. I am trying to coyly take photographs of this feat of dexterity, but I’m afraid he’ll notice. After awhile I realize that Mr. GQ is in his own world, and I set my camera to video:
I’m getting more and more brazen about these things. Even if he turned around and caught me, this was way too good of an opportunity to pass up recording.
These are mornings that I count as starting off on the right foot. I love to be entertained, and in this country such entertainment usually takes the form of unintentional comedy.
His three dollar fare was well-earned indeed.