Taxis - MicroStory

Not all of the stories from here in Uganda fit into larger narratives. In fact, most are fun little things that just happen to collide into life as you live it out here. So I thought I would share some these “MicroStories” on a random basis.  There will be more of these from both of Heather and  I in the future.  Below is the first installment.

--PHD


When I say taxi you may envision a little yellow car with a lighted sign of the roof. However that is not at all a Ugandan taxi. Instead envision one of those big ugly church vans, usually they are painted white with a blue checkerboard detailing pattern around the sides. Ugandans are piled in as deep as you can get them and goods are piled high on the roof-rack. They drive a “route” but you can hail one anywhere along that route and also tell them to stop anywhere along that route. You can even tell them to stop, do some quick purchases and hop right back in, that is, if you don’t mind a van full of other Ugandans rumbling while they wait for you.

So I (Patrick) was sitting in a taxi at the taxi park in Luwero, one stop on our way ultimately to Wobolenzi. Our driver was outside shouting at people, trying to round them up like a man working a carnival game. The taxi was mostly packed but there was certainly still room by Ugandan standards. The day was hot and random Ugandans would approach the taxi with goods like bananas, mystery meat on a stick (likely roadkill), or bottled water.

I noticed among the passengers the mild seat shifting and under the breath grumbling that indicates impatience. When Ugandans get frustrated they start making this sound with their tongue and teeth, sort of like when you suck the tongue from the roof of your mouth to make a clicking sound, it sort of sounds like a “tsk”. At first that sound could be heard first just here and there, but soon momentum grew it into a wave of tsking, grumbling and seat shifting rising up all around me. The next thing I knew, mutiny was on this taxi drivers hands as Ugandans began piling out and leaving the taxi for another one. The driver bounced around to all the deserters trying to convince them he would go right then but they just shook their heads. The driver surrendered, hopped in his taxi that was now barely half full and began to drive off.

Just outside of the taxi park several people were waiting for a taxi and he was quickly full before we even left Luwero.

On my return trip that same day I was about to hop into a taxi at the Wobolenzi taxi park when that same driver came running up to me and grabbed me by the arm. "I drove him down here today, this Mzungu is MINE!” he stated defiantly to all the Taxi drivers in the area. Shrugging because I really had no reason not to go with him I followed him back to his taxi.

--PHD