year of the taxi

I've taken more taxis in these past few weeks than in all my years here in Congo. Despite the numerous warnings, I enjoy the taxis. I like learning the calls that will get me where I want to go and being ushered into waiting cars and buses. I find simple pleasure in the way the city streets pass outside my window and the gentle brush of a person sitting next to me. I like the interaction between passengers- a quick 'bonsoir' or passing small talk. The buses offer the most opportunity for conversation. We share the waiting and the heat.

My trip today was somehow especially  sweet. I went to pick up Mohamed at a friend's house. Getting there was quick and easy. The way back meant traffic and detours were against us. Mohamed was a pleasant walking partner. Even on the street, people talk to us.

We caught a bus in Kintambo and found ourselves in the way back. Mohamed was worried about how we would get out and whether or not we would see our stop in time. A man sitting next to us called him 'our little Congolese brother.' I've learned to enlist the aid of other passengers when I want to get out. They usually speak more French than the drivers and are willing to be louder than I. As I stepped around a leg and over a seat, one man said, "If you find this isn't where you want to be, just get back in." I found them words of comfort and caring. Like he knew I would be too hesitant to get back in if I found myself ill placed. But I am bolder here in Congo. And as I learn my way around the streets by foot I worry less about where I land.

I appreciate these interactions. They help me see a side of Congo I could love. They help my patience grow and make me feel connected. Enlightenment from a taxi ride.