The Journey
03.12.12
Taxis- There are no rules…
There comes a point in life where you have to put your trust and faith in the hands of others. We’ve all experienced that feeling of truly letting go and realizing that everything is completely and totally out of our hands. The best we can do is hang on and enjoy the ride. That I have come to believe is the basis of my theory about riding in taxies in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.
I know my facebook friends are aware of how I have been spending the restful days of my R&R in Addis. Other followers may not know. The first week of R&R was great! I had the opportunity to catch up with old friends and make new friends. By the middle of the second week, my arm hurt so bad I couldn’t stand it anymore and couldn’t put off going to get it looked at any more, so off I took on my first contract taxi drive across town to the Korean Hospital. Where, by the way, I have received excellent care from an American orthopedic doctor and an Ethiopian physical therapist – Robo – is his name.
PT is nice – if that is what you want to call paying for the privilege of being tortured and forced to stretch muscles that say they don’t want to stretch anymore. But it is working, I can use my shoulder again and mostly it doesn’t hurt. It is just those reminders that it is not healed when I move certain ways I it feels like I have hit my funny bone from the top of my shoulder to the tips of my fingers. It is a small price to pay for the joy of experiencing Addis taxis and their drivers.
Addis taxis are NOT like anything you Americans have ever seen unless you have been here or perhaps other places in Africa. They are small blue cars called Lada’s. They are Russian made and I am certain they probably are all left over from before the Derg. They come with as varied a décor as they do drivers. After four days of going across town and back I have had the honor of driving with seven different drivers, in seven different taxis. I thought I might try to explain a few of them.
First there is the one I called “MIA”. Abebe, a friend of John and Gwen’s, summoned his friend on the first day. MIA never showed.
Second there was “Grandpa”. Abebe summoned him off the street. Now Grandpa might have been all of about twenty years old, 25 if I push it. He was great -very nice, very polite, very clean cab and very careful driver. I suspect that some drivers secretly chew chet – a stimulant. Not Grandpa. There must be something that is the exact opposite; something that makes you go extremely slow. Don’t get me wrong. I liked him. He was very methodical and very safety conscious, coming to a complete stop in the middle of every roundabout. That sounds great unless you know the secret of roundabouts is you work your way to the center and then back out again to get off at the street you need to be on. You can’t stop and wait for a break in the traffic! He faithfully stopped at every cross walk and let the pedestrians go. People get angry. They honk. They wave. They shout at you and shake their fists; especially when they go around you. It took every ounce of self control I had not to reach over and push my foot on the accelerator to make that taxi go faster. Grandpa did deliver me safely to the hospital for my first visit. He even told me where to catch another taxi when I came out.
Sure enough, you walk out the front doors of the hospital, across the parking lot to the street and there are taxi drivers of all shapes and sizes gathered around the curb, just waiting for someone to come out and need a ride. It appears to be a jumbled mess of taxis parked every which way and drivers siting on boxes along the side of the road or gathered chattering over the tops of their taxis, some are enjoying a cup of tea while they wait.
That is where I met taxi driver number three. I think we will call him “Chatty Cathy”. Chatty was very, very entertaining. I am not sure I ever understood much of what he said, but he chatted all the way across town. I should have known he would be that way. He was the one to say “yes”. The first driver – Mario – emphatically said “no” when I tried to bargain with him. I asked how much. He said 250. I said no. I paid 150 to get here. He said 250. I said no and walked off and asked the next driver. He said 200. I said no; 150. He said 200. I started to walk off and he shook his head and said ok, with a smile on his face. He was making money, the other guy was left standing with an empty taxi. I did understand a few things Chatty said, now that I think about it. One was that when driving in Addis the rule is there are no rules. I believe it.
Taxi driver #4 – Chatty Cathy was kind enough to return to the guest house and pick me up for the trip back to the hospital the next day, although he was quick to point out, that I can take any taxi in line for the trip home. I understand. It is a long trip across town and back. Especially, when something has traffic backed up for a long time at one of the roundabouts.
On Friday, I met driver #6 – the Cheater – now I should explain the Cheater…I took a mini taxi up to the Piazza and did some looking around and shopping before I left for therapy. Since I was much closer to the hospital I didn’t think I should pay the full price. So, being finished with all I had to do, I looked for a contract taxi. Cheater says “250”. I say, “No 100”. He says 200, I say no, 100, I pay 150 from Pastuer (that is how you identify the part of town I stay in) He says 150 and I say no 100 and walk off.
I hear OK 100, get in. So I get in. I am very impressed with the Cheater. He is kind, he is considerate, he is polite and respectful. His cab is immaculately clean, even has white, fluffy seat covers and you can see out of the windows. I was sure I was going to like him, especially when he crossed himself as we passed a church and held his hand up to stop me from talking until he crossed himself again as we crossed the far property line. I did like him. Right until we pulled up at the door of the hospital and he demanded 150 birr, not the 100 we agreed to. I argued with him.
I even lost my temper, which is really hard for me to do, when he pulled out his cross, held it up to me and said, “I won’t cheat you.” I told him yes he did. We agreed to 100 or I would have come another way.
You know what I really didn’t like about the Cheater? I didn’t like myself and the way I was acting. Just as I almost said “Don’t show your cross to me if you aren’t going to be a Christian, it doesn’t mean a thing.” God slapped his hand over my mouth and I realized I wasn’t being a Christian either, so I paid him the 150 and got out.
Taxi driver #5- “Mario Andretti” – he was almost driver #3¸but he didn’t want to reduce his price. I should explain here. It is the same bunch of drivers waiting for passengers every day when I come out the front doors and across the parking lot. Thursday, I had to argue with them. My 150 was not enough. They wanted 250. I am not paying it! I got here for 150 and I will go home for 150. So I walked off down the road. All of them were telling me “you can’t go”. Yes, I can. If you are going to charge me 250, I will walk. No! You can’t walk. Yes. I can. And that is how the conversation went as I walked off down the street.
One chased me on foot. “You can’t walk! Wait. I will do it for 150”. As he raced back up the hill to get his taxi “Mario” pulled up next to me and said “Get in. I will do it.” So I got in. Now, I should stop here and explain Mario. Most Ethiopians are slender. Mario is overweight, he hunched down, both hands securely on the steering wheel, belly hanging out of the bottom of his too tight shirt with the buttons about to pop off, dirty spots on his shirt and dirty fingernails. He was the B rated movie version of a typical taxi driver. Laughing as he sped off from the curb and said “The rules for driving in Ethiopia are there are no rules”.
As careful as Grandpa was, Mario was reckless. Maybe reckless is a harsh word, more like daredevil. Hunched over, chin almost propped on his steering wheel, eyes popping out, he careened down the road, daring any pedestrians to cross his path. I am sure I saw white eyeballs on a few as they jumped out of the way. Where oncoming traffic seemed to be a little close for me, it was a challenge to him to see how close they could get to each other and who was going to pull over first. Size didn’t matter – little taxis like his regular city busses, mini taxies or giant dump trucks – all were the same to him as we went zooming past or around or straight into.
Where Grandpa cautiously made his way around the roundabouts Mario sped through them daring anyone to cross his path. Foot on the accelerator, car leaning into the curves, we sped through and heaven help the cars that were in his way when it was time to make his exit! That is what a horn is for – to honk and tell them to move – we are coming through! And come through we did.
The main streets and ring road (our version of a loop around the city) were an experience as well. Center lines are not dividing lines. You do not stay on either side of them. They are something to line up the center of the car with and anything on either side are targets. They are usually straight shots with other streets intersecting them. The general “rule” is that the vehicle going downhill has the right of way. Not for Mario.
Those are targets too and you can completely forget about stop signs and red lights for traffic control. They either don’t exist, don’t work or are completely ignored. I don’t know why, but there is just something about Mario’s sense of adventure in driving that I really liked.
Driver #6 – The Coaster – he will probably be the last. I picked him up on the main road outside the compound yesterday, after I walked off and left him too. 250 seems to be the going rate to go across town to the Korean Hospital, but I am still not paying it. 150 is my top price. The end. I am done and I can walk or take a mini taxi, if I can figure out how to get there on one. But that turns out not to be necessary. There is just something about being chased down the road by a man saying “don’t go, don’t go, I will do it.” I got in.
The Coaster is very nice. He doesn’t speak much English, but in the first few blocks I knew that he was very excited about his brother coming from Washington DC. He told me at least a dozen times. I was beginning to think that was all he could say in English. It turns out, he can say a little more, not much, but a little – “British Embassy” and “No Rules” are two of his phrases. I don’t have to worry about rules with the Coaster. He is very slow, very methodical and he takes his car out of gear to coast down every hill. If you know Addis, that is a LOT of coasting! He is also very friendly. Honking, waving and shouting greetings to shop keepers and fellow taxi drivers all across town.
I say he will probably be my last because he has become my self-appointed driver – himself not my self. He was waiting when I came out of therapy yesterday. He was waiting at the gate when it was time to go today and he was waiting when I finished today. He even said he would be waiting to take me back tomorrow. At least I don’t have to argue with anyone about prices again!
I almost forgot! There is one rule. Turn signals. Horns, I have figured out are for telling the drivers around you where you are going. One honk , I am turning right. Two honks – turning left. That little stick on the side of the steering wheel that you push up and down. That is NOT to tell you where I am going. It is to tell you where to go. If I turn the left turn signal on and pull to the right it means you are to pass me on the left. Go figure!
I was trying to think of how I could tie God into this, then it occurred to me, people are a lot like taxi drivers. There are the slow methodical ones, there are the daredevils, there are the ones that will talk your ears off and there are the ones that will cheat you and then make you open your eyes to your own behavior. There are the very serious ones who take your safety and protection seriously. There are the ones that throw caution to the wind and “drive” as the Spirit leads them. But in the end, we are all God’s people and how great is that?
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