In general, it's best to avoid motorcycles in Kin- which is completely opposite of how I feel about motorcycles in Muanda- a post coming on this visit- and a place that has me feeling like I want to learn to ride, much like Kankan, where all the Guinean women drive.
Tonight I found myself outside with an impending storm. I'd met a friend to talk about grand visions and big actions. Rain plus the curfew did not seem like a winning combination. As I walked toward the exit, I noticed a crowd of young boys gathering around a small red truck that passed. Gathering is a passive word. They were crowding, pushing, overtaking, and yelling. It was somewhat of an alarming scene to be heading into. Chaos, essentially. Fueled by a lot of emotion and desperation.
What are the questions that run through your mind when confronting such a situation? Well, my first, futile, thought was the two different friends I'd left behind. One had been about to walk with me in search of transport, the other had offered me a ride home directly if I was willing to wait a bit. And this is why. The exit area of this particular venue has always been bad but it seems like the youth outside have grown up, grown stronger and increased in number. I also had time to ask myself if I was really going to walk into that and scope out my route. But just then a moto went by, and I'd been considering a moto as the quickest way to get home and avoid the rain. But not necessarily a smart move. Motos are fast, no helmets, no adherence to traffic rules.
On the other hand, at this moment, a moto was looking like my savior. With a quick signal he pulled into the parking area, allowing me to remain a relatively safe distance while discussing the price- a haphazard affair in my current situation- facing rain, a gang of street boys and no other real options. As we pulled out, one of the boys approached..."Mama..."
I had only moments to reflect on this- the price in francs seems so unreasonable until I convert it to dollars. It was $2 to escape a potentially dangerous situation and find a fast ride home. Worthwhile. Or was it?
It began to sprinkle huge fat drops. The mass of traffic expanded three lanes and many taxi bus and motos chose the 'alternate route.' Despite putting up a concrete divide down the middle of the road, which aimed at preventing the infamous 5 and 6 lanes of traffic, many still opted to take their chances on the opposite side of the road- all the more dangerous now because once you've crossed over, there's no turning back until the next break in the divider. The moto driver took the chance. He'd become concerned about his phone getting wet and seemed to be rushing, but then, they're always rushing. The drivers of public transport in Kinshasa seem to be the only ones ever in a hurry. As much as I wasn't pleased with speeding down the wrong side of the road on a dark Kinshasa night, I found it preferable to being stuck in traffic.
Until he removed his glasses. Although the rain wasn't really what I would consider rain, it was enough to cloud his glasses. I kept saying my "oh-la-la's" in his ear, which is probably not helpful at all. It is one of the problems I encounter on the bike. I have chosen to be there, but then I stress the whole way, making comments on every close- or even not-so-close call.
I was busy thinking about how bad my own eyesight is and how close to death I probably was- riding upstream with a blind driver. And he was going fast. Too fast. I experienced a sense of that vertigo that comes from looking over the edge of a tall building. The impulsive imagination of falling.
All of that is Kinshasa life. Recognizing the corruption, mostly vowing not to take part but then circumstance pressuring one to become complicit, and feeling slightly off kilter the entire way- while praying you arrive in one piece without getting too wet. Which I did. This time. But doesn't each time minimize our chances for escaping unscathed the next time? Topic of several conversations this week which have kept me intrigued and hopeful for the immediate future.
