Don't hurry up... just wait

In the West, I have often gotten the impression that transport tends to be a process of "hurry up and wait." People rush out of the office in order to get stuck in the same traffic jam at the same time; after racing to the metro to avoid that ten seconds' delay that causes you to miss the very first train available, you wait idly inside the car for your stop; showing up even fifteen minutes late for the airport is cause for panic, yet showing up on time dooms you to at least an hour's wait at your gate.

Well, African transport has decidedly modified this theme.. chiefly by removing the "hurry up" aspect. What you have left is ultimately just "wait." Arriving at the bus station 'on time', you wait for the other passengers to mysteriously show up en masse an hour later; once the bus is full you all wait shut up in the bus like ants in a trap for the driver to make an appearance. When your bus breaks down, gets stuck in mud or sand, or blows a tire (or stops to filch a couple of spares from a foolishly abandoned vehicle by the side of the road), wait five minutes or five hours while the problem is addressed. Even if you hire a "contract car" or taxi to take you somewhere right away, you'll have to be patient while the driver takes you first to go get gas or directions, and then while you sit in a traffic jam.


Considering all the waiting involved, especially in overland transport, African bus transport has evolved to produce a diverse array of characters to entertain you while you wait to get where it is you hope to go.

First, you will meet The Herder. This man is largely in control of the passengers, and it is his job to collect them for each bus or van. Before departure, this involves approaching any lost-looking fools to ascertain their proposed destination, and then physically and verbally 'herding' them to the vehicle headed that way. He must then corral the highly ramble-prone people in their seats until the driver shows up and the car is ready to leave. This is just the first part of his task, howver, for once the vehicle gets going, the Herder must hang halfway out of the side window yelling something indeterminate to those walking along the road in a bid to pick up more fares, signalling the driver to stop by banging his hand against the side of the car. A good herder always manages fill his vehicle to capacity.. and well beyond.

The next group of people you meet upon entry into a bus station, whether beginning your trip or descending from a newly arrived bus, are the Impromptu Porters, professional loiterers who see in each bag-laden traveller a chance to make a buck. Watch out, for these enterprising chaps will fight you as a mob to wrest away your baggage - for the privilege of charging you a porter's fee just a few meters later. These men hate me, because I am invincible when it comes to maintaining control of my bags and battle them off each time like so many flies. Sometimes they try physical force, sometimes they try intimidation, sometimes they try mock chivalry, but not one yet has ever succeeded in getting my suitcase away from me.

In their quest to make a living off travellers, porters are joined by the Hawkers, small-scale salesmen who roam the station and its idling vehicles, heavily laden with a curious variety of merchandise. Water, food, and newspapers are popular commodities on sale here, but hawker persistence is matched only by hawker creativity and the wares extend far beyond those boring categories of things bus passengers would rationally be expected to buy. To illustrate the example, we have been offered, among other things, woollen socks, blue-eyed baby dolls, electric razors, large plastic Tupperware, gold jewellery, Christmas decorations, men's black dress shoes, blow-up volleyballs, religious texts, quasi-pornographic posters, keychains, and wall-size maps of Africa. If you can imagine it, it has probably been thrust enterprisingly in my face as I sat in my seat with my bags, bullied by the herder and waiting to leave, at one of innumerable bus stations in the past ten countries.

There are also those who, not having access to baby dolls and maps of Africa, seek to make their living off bus passengers: the Professional Beggars. These are not to be confused with the legitimate beggars banished to the far edges of the bus station, for these energetic young men can and do bully out the truly pitiful for prime audience with passenger compassion. They're not always male, however: a female member of this group once made faces at me for twenty minutes until, in a moment of inspiration, I turned out all my pockets to demonstrate that I actually didn't have any money. (Who keeps money in their pockets anyway?) She was fooled, and collecting up her shawls she scowled quite nastily at me before retrieving her handbag from its hiding place behind a tree and stalking off.

Such entertainment wouldn't be complete without a little refreshment, which brings us to my favorite group of people in the whole rowdy place: the Tea Sellers. These brisk, amiable women set up shop at miniature plywood stands, encircled with upside-down bucket seats for those who come to enjoy their delicious tea. Competent as chemists, they concoct their beverages from a colorful variety of teas, herbs, and sugars in glass jars lined up along the top of their stands, and steep them to perfection in large metal teapots over glowing coals at their side. My absolute favorite is a sweet, hot tea called karkaduna, or karkade in the Sudan, brewed to a bright cranberry from a fuchsia herb of the same name. It can be risky to patronize these ladies, however - two hours inside a bus can easily become five, and there ain't nothin' like tea to make you ---.

Not everyone who hangs out at the bus station is there to turn a profit, however: as should be apparent, such a place of entertainment will naturally attract the finer elements of the unoccupied population of any city. Such as The Drunk. Found only in non-Muslim areas, this man is a walking advert for implementation of the Shari'a. As he has nothing better to do, his roving eye is his most dangerous feature, for to meet it is to expose yourself to his violently genial harassment until departure (which, as we've seen, could be several hours). Beware this dog - even at seven a.m., his whiskey- or vodka-laden bark is overpowering enough that a bite isn't necessary.

There are, of course, also travellers to be found at the bus station, though they are by no means the dominant population. The most interesting among these, the Shopper, is also the worst to have on your bus, for this man or woman will treat life and your bus journey as an endless shopping spree. With no apparent interest in the ultimate destination of the vehicle, this well-dressed passenger uses their moneyed prestige to halt the bus to a screeching stop at even the faintest opportunity to purchase something along the side of the road. Mangoes, bananas, charcoal, chickens - the merchandise itself is less important than the assessing and purchasing, and the variable quality of any single item may require several stops before a sale. The female version, though less common than the male, is no less daunting as she brandishes her pocketbook like a sword in the battle of things to buy. Unsurprisingly, the shopper is usually seated in the more expensive, high-prestige spot right next to the driver - so as to better direct him when to stop, of course.

The non-passenger equivalent of the Shopper exists also: these are the Starers, the prime difference being that the goods they're interested in aren't for sale: you. Knowing the sight won't last and can't be taken home with them, they make sure to get an eyeful while they can.

The single most important person involved in your trip is also the last you will likely meet: the Driver. It is he who will determine when you finally get going, and whether you will inexplicably loop the bus station for thirty minutes after departure; whether your 50-km journey will take one hour or four, and whether you will pass those hours in peace or inside a deafening implosion of African pop music; if, when, and where you will stop for breaks; and, considering the challenging nature of most unsealed African roads, whether your vehicle will ever make it over the lunar landscape of mud, sand and rock. He is the embodiment of power, and he knows it. Unfortunately, the potential of his having efficient, monster-truck-worthy skills is matched by the potential of his choosing to transform your bus journey into a personal power-trip of incomprehensible time-wasting obstinacy. Like so many things in Africa, your driver and your journey is entirely luck of the draw.

Yawm asl, yawm basl – there are days of honey.. and days of onion.