Bodies, pressed together, hot, damp, sweat mingling. Heaving, rising, falling, vibrating. Pausing only for thirst, cramping. Strangers, meeting for a short-lived, exhilarating ride. No formal introductions. No exchange of personals. No commitments.
This is the taxi situation in Liberia.
The “her” in the title is no one in particular. The point is that every time you get into a cab in Liberia, it is inevitable that you will be squished under, sandwiched between, or layered on top of people. Cabs are packed to capacity – usually two riders in the front and four in the back. There are rarely any formal introductions between passengers – maybe a quick hello – but it’s not required or expected. People just accept that they will be sharing intimate space, heat, air, and sweat with a stranger for the duration the trip.
During training, we practiced cramming ourselves into cabs.
This isn’t to say that people enjoy being packed in like sardines. I can tell you that the moments just before and after departure are quite uncomfortable. The loading procedure for a taxi is as such: For the back seat, protocol dictates that a passenger by one of the doors takes their seat. The passenger then closes the door and the other passengers fill in from the opposite side. Everyone scoots in nice and tight, one by one. Finally, the last person sits down and attempts to close their door. Rarely does it close on the first try. A quick call is made for all passengers to “dress down small” (move over a little bit). Then people really have to squish together. Often people will raise themselves up out of the seat so the door can close. Once the door is closed and latched securely, people fall back into place. Physics can describe the simple but powerful force felt by passengers at this moment. The wedge created by large numbers, wide hips, and big butts should be enough to blow the doors off the cab. Somehow the doors stay on and latched.
For the front seat, the first passenger sits down. He or she then moves as far to the left as is possible without interfering with the driver’s movement. This often involves sitting on a seatbelt or brake lever. The second front-seat passenger then enters the car and shuts the door. Most front seats are comfy bucket seats. They are great for one rider and abysmal for two. Each person ends up with one cheek in the bucket. The ergonomic wrap-around cushioning ends up in the small of your back. The window-side passenger often hangs an entire arm out the window. I learned to always carry sunscreen with me to protect that one vulnerable arm from the hot African sun. But, once the car begins rolling, things gradually improve.
Have you ever read the top of a cereal box? It says, “Contents may settle during shipment.” That message is there to explain away your disappointment after you look into a new, half-full box of Lucky Charms. Unsurprisingly, the same concept also applies to human beings. Once a taxi starts bumping along the Liberian highway, things literally start to settle down. With every passing pothole, peoples’ rumps settle. Hips shift, legs squirm, shoulders tustle. Passengers travelling together nestle into eachother. Within ten minutes, most everyone has found a workable position. Pain is generally minimal, except when sitting on a seatbelt or a brake lever. The majority of limbs stay awake. Some can relax or sleep. Some enjoy the ride. Others just quietly endure.
A standard taxi cab is a compact or mid-sized sedan or station wagon. Often taxis are Nissans or Toyotas. American cars don’t get good enough gas mileage to be economical here. Within Monrovia, taxis are allowed to seat four people in the back and one in the front. Outside of the capital (in the bush), two people can sit in the front seat. If you are riding in a station wagon, people are often seated in the far back. Furthermore, children are not counted in the equation. Kids can sit on laps or stand between peoples’ legs. Thus it is possible to have more than nine people in one small car. Last year, Angie and I took a trip to Monrovia in a private car, which has no legal limits on the number of passengers. It was a small SUV – a Toyota Rav4. We had three in the front, eight in the back seat, and four in the trunk. That’s fifteen for those counting. Probably not too safe, but practical? Heck yes.
To catch a long-distance taxi between cities, you go to the “parking station.” It’s a dirt parking lot or junction that works a lot like a bus depot. This is a common thing in West Africa. Cars are there with their trunks open awaiting travelers and their loads. As people arrive at parking, they notify a “union man” (representative of the local transportation commission) of their destination. The union man points the passenger to the appropriate car and, for that passenger, the waiting begins. Drivers wait for the car to fill before departing. It sounds simple, and it is. It’s not always easy, though. Depending on your destination, the car may take several hours, or even days to fill. Yes, days. It hasn’t happened to us, but it has happened to people in the interior. Other times, the car may fill up and leave immediately. It all depends on how many people are traveling the same direction that day.
In the US, taxis operate on a whole different system. Every time you get in a cab stateside, you are chartering it for your own trip. You tell the driver exactly where you want to go. It’s true door-to-door service. In Liberia, you catch a car that has a previously-set destination. Routes can be short or long-distance – to the next intersection, the next town, or the next country. In almost every case, you go where the car is going. It’s good to confirm with the driver before getting in. Most of us know that sickening feeling of being on a city bus going in the wrong direction. Taxis here can produce the same feeling.
Seats in a taxi are purchased individually. If you are feeling extravagant or you want the car to fill more quickly, you can purchase multiple seats and enjoy some extra space To go from our city to the capital – a distance of about 90 miles – we pay roughly $6 USD. each That’s not bad for a two-hour taxi ride. Prices depend on distance, passenger demand on that route, and road conditions. For a short, oft-travelled route on nice tar roads, prices can be cheap. For long, infrequently-travelled routes, or for travel on muddy roads, prices can be five times the norm. You do have the option to charter a car here as well. It’s rare and only for those with money. To charter a car from our city to the capital costs slightly more than it would to purchase all six seats in the car – about $35 USD. Still not bad, but for Liberia, the price is high-o!
Taxi travel is the way to go. In fact, for most, it is the only way to go. Privately-owned cars are not commonplace. Maybe one household in twenty-five has a car. They are just too expensive to own and maintain. Buses are an option for some, but they only run infrequently and from only two cities in the whole country. So anytime someone wants to travel between cities, to the parking station they will go.
Dusty shoes from dusty roads.
Cab rides are sometimes fun, sometimes scary, usually dirty, but always interesting. The condition of most cabs is just plain bad. The average vintage of a Liberian taxi is circa 2000. Normally they have been stripped of any “unnecessary” parts like seatbelts, radios, air conditioning, and window cranks. Breakdowns are frequent. Dirt roads create constant clouds of dust that can leave some passengers looking three shades darker. Since the car has no A/C, having all four windows down is a must. An external temperature of roughly 90 degrees, plus the body heat from seven cozy passengers, leaves one craving a stiff breeze. So the windows must stay down. For Angie and me, we develop a beautiful bronze tint – all road grit. It’s a cheap substitute for a spray-on tan. To combat the dust, passengers don bandanas over their hair, face, and mouth. A passing cab could easily be mistaken for a bank robbery getaway car.
Angie is ready for a dusty ride during the dry season.
During our time here, Angie and I have shared cabs and space with countless men and women, young and old. It’s not even awkward anymore. It’s just normal. To be honest, it’s kind of comforting. It gives me a secure feeling to be packed between two squishy, shock-absorbing, human side air-bags. Also, I must admit that I like being close to people. My personal bubble is shrinking. Yes, people are sweaty. Yes, people are sometimes smelly. But we rarely find someone who is unpleasant or unfriendly. So even though the road gets rough, even a stranger can be a comfort.
Angie & Ben in Liberia 