Ridin' Solo

For the better part of fifteen years, I have been committed to public transit.  I have walked and biked, taken subways, tuk tuks and bajajis and relied on the good graces of friends.  Not only has this allowed me to read more books and listen to more music, I’ve had the added bonus of considering myself to be doing ‘something good for the world’.  I never contemplated purchasing a car.

Until I moved to Dar es Salaam.

I remember the moment that the decision crystallized.  I had contacted my usual driver to pick me up half an hour in advance of a scheduled Skype conversation.  Twenty minutes later he was nowhere to be found.  After repeated calls, he showed up, but on our way to my house, he stopped to pick up another woman, who he said he had to drop off first! So we do the milk run and he gets me to my apartment approximately ten minutes late for my call…. A call which had to be conducted through Gmail because my computer was too old for the update Skype suggested I install.  (I had actively been trying to remedy this for the entire day, but the internet was so slow that I couldn’t download the old version to re-install it!) Needless to say, sitting at my kitchen table with my dress plastered to me, yelling into my computer, I decided there had to be a better way.

When you are a volunteer who has just finished blowing her savings on a trip to India, the options for what car you can buy are limited.  Discussing the matter with my father, he balked at the prices being sought for cars that are almost as old as the youngest of my brothers.  The statement ‘everything is expensive in Africa’ is not exactly consolation in the circumstances.  Lucky for me, a friend of a friend was selling their car and after he readily accepted my low-ball offer, I became the proud owner of a 1995 cerulean Rav 4. It’s as nice as you would expect, with functioning air conditioning, power locks and a tape deck.  I can tune in to about 4 radio stations, with a bit of advance fiddling with my antenna.  The highlight of its aesthetic is by far the wheel cover, which is a picture of a woman so faded by the sun she looks like a monkey.  I will attempt to link a picture through the title of this post. 

The irony (or stupidity) is that I decided to buy a car in a place where there are no road rules.  You can drive or stop your car anywhere: the sidewalk, the middle of the road, the grass.  There are raised reflectors separating lanes on some of the streets, which make me grateful for my SUV.  Motorbikes and bajajis swerve in and out of traffic, which is often at a standstill.  Every morning on my way to work, I play a game.  The game is called “everyone on the road is trying to die, it’s my job not to kill them (or myself)”.  In this game you must constantly be on your guard for people walking along the margins of the very narrow roads.  Sometimes they brazenly leap onto the tarmac and try to share the road with traffic.  This is especially true of the men pushing bikes with platforms filled with bananas.  At the same time, there is guaranteed to be someone actually riding a bike on one side of the road another car is in the process of swerving into oncoming traffic, hoping to win their version of the game.  While this drama unfolds, it’s important to keep a close eye on the minibus driving erratically ahead of you.  It’s called a daladala and it is the principle form of public transportation in Tanzania.  Most times, there are one or two guys hanging out the open side door, beseeching passengers to hop in, some of whom are actually chasing the daladala in an effort to get a ride.  Confusing? Yes, and this is why you can never know when or if a daladala will stop.  If you’re lucky, it eventually pulls onto the side of the road and you can speed past, but you must still remember to employ caution before the final obstacle.  Its rainy season in Dar es Salaam and every morning there are new or expanded chasms that have opened up as the road caves under the stress of the water and sand (there are no drainage systems).  Most of these are par for the course, but the final pothole on my stretch to work literally takes up half of the road.  In an effort to save their axles, drivers swerve madly into oncoming traffic in a game of chicken.  Adding to the challenge is the fact that this takes place on a curve in the road with limited visibility near a school crossing.  When I get past this point I give a whoop of joy and get in the queue to turn right – as there are no operating traffic lights at this major intersection, I’m at the mercy of the traffic police, but for me, the game is won.  It's time for work.

(Mom, don’t worry, it’s only almost as bad as it sounds!)