I leaned down into the window and started the ritual of negotiating for a taxi. After I gave my address, the driver smiled and shook his head. "I know it well." He smiled. "But get in quick because the police are all around and they will ticket me for stopping here to pick up passengers."
I hopped in the cab, knowing it wasn't the greatest idea. Negotiating once in motion is always harder for me. I had taken Mbalia to get her vaccinations (super impressed by the National Institue of Hygiene- fast, efficient, free vaccine program for all children.) It was a bit rainy and there was a lot of weekday bustle- specifically a few large trucks unloading right near the entrance. Traffic was barely moving and it seemed like a good idea to walk down to the corner and flag down a taxi there. Only the corner wasn't really a corner, it was more of a traffic circle intended to keep the cars moving at a brisk pace. I could see how stopping taxis would throw a wrench into the whole concept.
I wanted to continue negotiating right away before either of us got too comfortable. Time of day and traffic patterns can play havoc with the rates and I wasn't up for spending a small fortune. The driver wanted to keep telling me how he had risked a 10,000 fine to stop and pick me up- a clear sign his idea of a just fare would be vastly different than mine. I cut him off on the third round of "oh the police..." and simply named my price.
He turned around in shock. He clucked his tongue, shook his head and put a hand to his chin. "But we're in Treichville," he began. In trying to make the whole thing less painful for us both I added 500 to my offer and thought it would be settled. But no. He clucked and shook and petted his chin. I wasn't sure he could really see the road with all his clamoring. I half heartedly tried to convince him that I knew it was a more than fair price, that I'd made this exact trip several times and that I had come for even less. (Why the trip out is always less than the trip home is something of a mystery to me, but I've found it to be true no matter our destination.)
Finally I asked to him to find a good spot up ahead where he could let me out and then I would just find another taxi, no big deal. I wasn't angry or put out at all but peacefully resolute. I had a budget to follow. Of course, this was completely unacceptable. He remarked the rain, the baby- "Just let you out here? Oh no, not in Abidjan. I will see you to your door. I will." OK, a valiant driver if not exactly honest about the cost of a ride. "If you choose to do something for me then that is good, and if not, well, I will see you home." So there it was. We'd each put our guilt out there for the other to pick up and assume if so desired.
A few minutes later he turned around to ask me what nationality I was and why I spoke French- the ever present conversation opener in the taxi. I shared the minimal about my travels in Africa. When he made a phone call, I tagged him as either Senegalese or Peuhl- sometimes the two accents sound similar. After he mentioned being from Guinea, it was obvious. I asked if he was Peuhl and that opened a whole other conversation. Well, if listening to him go on about his ideas of life and love and finding a foreign woman to marry count as a conversation (And the fact that Guinea would be the most developed country in Africa if they had a good president like Ouattara.) Politics and personal philosophies- two of the most popular cab-ride subjects. He started getting pretty picky about his imaginary future wife- or so I thought- and I decided to chide him a little. I brought up the third most popular subject. Religion.
"Ah but age, appearance and ethnicity have little to do with real beauty," I said. "Besides, you know Mohamed had 15 years between himself and his wife." I was hoping that would slow him down a bit.
It did add some spice. He quizzed me on my knowledge of Islam- much as he had previously quizzed me on my understanding of Sousou. I passed both tests fairly well. And then he went on to talk about the responsibilities of muslims (prayer and zakat and being honest with money) and asked about my husband. Oh the trickiness of my life. And conversations with taxi drivers.
I relented that he was not, in fact, muslim. (I decided to skip focusing on semantics. There's a limit to public knowledge.) Although he believes in a higher power and a divine force, he is not Christian in the sense of going to church and accepting Christ. We get along fine in mingling our religious beliefs (not to mention I have only just re emerged from my struggle in faith.) I didn't explain all of this to the taxi driver. In fact, I said very little but simply sat receiving his blessings, listening to his ideas (I should go to an Imam and let him know I need to convert my husband to Islam and he will tell me exactly what steps to take.)
This solution was presented only after several repeats of the Qu'ranic rule that Muslim women canot marry Christian men. I replied that I thought this was in effect to ensure the children and wife would not be converted to Christianity and thereby safeguard the Islamic beliefs. Since I am in no danger of being coerced out of my religion by a man- and as the main educator of my children- I figured it was a safe bet.
Happily we were nearing my neighborhood and the conversation, while not unpleasant, would face a natural end. I handed him my cash and he shook his head. "Oh, no," he said as he took it. I think he was trying to undo his earlier sentiment that I should add a little extra. "I am very happy and I encourage you and wish you well." We'd come so far from the just-drop-me-off-here-and-I'll-find-another-taxi. It's amazing how a brief conversation can completely change the price of a ride.
