Taxi-Brouse…When Motos are Forbidden

For the most part, Volunteers in Togo take great pleasure in riding motorcycles. Unfortunately, along with other Peace Corps laws, Volunteers are forbidden not only to drive to "motos" but also to ride on La Rue Nationale (national road). Along with riding motos sans casque (without helmet), riding a moto on La Rue Nationale also warrants administrative separation. Voila…la taxi-brouse.

Contrary to motos, a taxi-brouse, or shuttle, is a thorn in a Volunteer’s side. At least, that’s the word on the street. These shuttles—most just one cataclysmic storm away from a junkyard—are a Volunteer’s primary means of transportation from north to south and vice versa. Imagine if you will a caravan with no air-conditioning, cement seats with a thin vinyl covering, and approximately 10 to 15 passengers crammed in a nine-passenger vehicle. Voici la taxi-brouse.

Short journeys in a taxi-brouse are tolerable. Trips from Lomé to Dapaong (or anywhere in Savannah Togo) are almost unbearable. For Post Visit, myself and four other Trainees did the trip in approximately 14 hours. A week later, we briefed our Trainers on our taxi-brouse experience and recommended the trip be divided into two days. At 6a.m., the morning after we were sworn-in as Volunteers, we embarked for our two-day trip up north. Thank you for listening PC Trainers!

How could it have possibly been a 14-hour trip from Lomé to Dapaong? What’s the size of Togo again?

Togo is approximately 87 miles east to west and 317 miles north to south. It’s approximately 400 miles to travel from Petoskey, my hometown in Michigan, to Ferndale (near Detroit) and takes about four hours to drive.

Hmmmm…400 miles versus 317 miles, and four hours versus 14 hours…What?! How?!

The answer is infrastructure. The further you travel up north, the worse La Rue Nationale gets. It’s quite a problem in Togo. The road is too narrow for two vehicles traveling in opposite directions and it has many large potholes. The reason it takes so long to travel from south to north is inconsistent momentum. Drivers must slow down before rolling over potholes because the tires can’t handle it. Tire flats in northern Togo are as common as mosquito bites in southern Togo. Sure, there are a few other reasons: pit stops for food, buying gifts for friends and family members, and bathroom breaks (men don’t have to walk far from the car).

There’s a bit of a joke among Volunteers that Savaners (that’s me) are loners who don’t travel south to visit other Volunteers, their friends. Well, that’s not entirely true. Savannah is a tight cluster!! We aren’t loners up north. But honestly, can you blame us?! First, make the trip…then, tell the joke my friends.

After writing the blog entry on motos, I asked one of my closest neighbors to write a true story about a taxi-brouse experience. Since Volunteers in Togo are far from anonymous, I’ll throw my friend a bone and refrain from disclosing her name. Here’s her story:

After walking up a hill in the 80-degree heat with a black dog in tow that maintained his “guardian” reputation by snapping at the heels of any petits (little children) who came too close, I found a group of men sitting under a tree with a cluster of multi-toned cars with bald tires parked nearby. I figured these were the taxi-brouse drivers. I didn’t see anyone holding a calabash or drinking out of a plastic bleach bottle, so I also deduced (along with the fact that it was only 10a.m.) that they were at least sober. At that point, anyway. Hopefully. I told them I wanted to go to Nano, which is actually pronounced more like Nanu and they told me that they weren’t going there. I asked if I should wait for more passengers, and they shrugged and told me sure.

After a few minutes of stressing on the phone, I decided I might as well go for it and rent out an entire car. I asked the drivers how much it would cost to go about 40 km with me and the dog, and one muttered “quatre-vingt…” No, I’m not paying 80 milles francs to take a dog to a place where he’s probably just going to get eaten anyway. Eight milles francs one-way was the final offer, even though apparently people have done it for five, which of course included the trip back.

In the car, the dog instantly began to sniff the driver and attempt to crawl out his window. Meanwhile, I’m tugging on the leash, cursing at the dog, and smiling at the driver assuring him that the dog is nice, and no he does not bite. The dog then continued to be over-stimulated and crawl around my lap with his long nails digging into my stomach and thighs. I ended up grabbing his collar to keep him still while the driver swerved around the potholes whenever he could, or at least make sure it was the passenger side that went over them when it was absolutely necessary. The bald tires held up, though, and it took about an hour to get to Nano/u.

After an awkward conversation where I tried (for the third time) to tell the driver that I’m taking other means of transit back to Dapaong, I ventured off with another Volunteer. The dog trotted along on his leash as I brushed his short, fine, black hairs off of my chest. Then a man came up and offered to marry me.

T.I.A. (This Is Africa)