For a while now I have been meaning to talk about the
transportation here. It is an issue that
really affects my life, but I kept telling myself that I wanted some major
event to occur so that I could relate my story about how crazy transportation
is. But the other day, as I bounced
along though the motocross course that is the road to my neighbor’s house, I
realized that I have been in Togo so long that I have stopped noticing the fact
that basically every time I travel it is an absurd event.
Unlike some other West African countries, like Ghana, in
Togo the main form of transportation is the motorcycle or “moto.” There are a
handful of cars, but unless you are traveling on very major routes you will
most likely be taking a zimijan (moto-taxi). For this reason we Togo PCVs are
some of the few with moto privileges. Out of our neighboring West African Peace
Corps countries, Benin is the only other one where volunteers are allowed to
hop on the back of a zimijan. Helmet required of course!
In New York, unless you hail it, a taxi won’t stop for you and
even then sometimes they seem to fly right by, but here is doesn’t matter even
if you don’t want one, the zimijan will hail you. From across the street you’ll
hear it “Tssst! Tsst!” maybe a hand gesture and an “on y va?” (Let’s go?) They
may be zipping down the road in the opposite direction but they’ll slam on
their brakes and turn around just to hiss at you in the hope you might actually
want to hop on. Walk down the street and you’ll have twenty zimijans hiss at
you, no matter how determinedly you walk or if they just saw you turn down
another moto, it is always “on y va?” It
helps having them make themselves known from the private motos, but when you
are walking down the street talking to a friend and every moto that passes you
hisses, shouts, and gestures to see if you want a ride it can get pretty ridiculous.
I need a light up taxi sign for myself, except the light will go on when I want
a taxi rather than when I want passengers. Sadly I don’t have the wiring necessary,
all I can do is sigh and shake my head, “No, no I don’t want a ride, I have
feet, I am walking.”
The driving skill of the drivers can vary a lot too. If I’m
planning a trip I have one driver who I trust and I call him ahead of time, but
not every trip is planned in advance. On one trip to Aneho, where normally we
weave around the potholes, my driver decided to drive straight through each and
every one. He graciously shouted “doucement!” (be careful!) after each bump,
but his message of caution had no impact whatsoever on his driving style, next
pot hole “doucement!”
With the road conditions as they are it can sometimes be
difficult to not hit a bump or two every now and then, and even with one
passenger the roads can be perilous, but just one passenger isn’t how things
work here. While technically it is illegal, you often see whole families piled
onto a moto--that is saying sometimes upwards of three adults and children. Live
animals, construction equipment, and containers piled high—everything you think
might not even fit into the trunk of your car is carried on the back of a moto.
It hardly has to be said that navigating our roads with overly full motos is
dangerous, and thousands of people die every year from motor vehicles accidents.
In many villages there isn’t a single car available, the
moto is the only mode of transport, so really all there is to ask is, “Tsst! On
y va?”
