Cargo

February 14, 2012 · Filed under Uncategorized

One of the reasons I’m glad I don’t drive in Nigeria, (besides the fact that I would kill myself and others), is that it gives me a chance to observe local sights.  One of my favorite “I-Spys” is cargo.  It can take many forms here.

On one of my first days in Jos, Brian and I passed a decrepit truck stacked alarmingly high with colorful mattresses.  Tied together with rope and leaning precariously, they were an illustration straight out of a Dr. Seuss book.  I wondered how the truck stayed upright, and why no traffic officer stopped and fined the driver for endangering himself and others.  That’s when I came to realize that anything goes here.

Take, for instance, livestock.  We’ll sometimes see an open-bed truck with 6 to 10 long-horned cows lying peacefully inside.  (I used to be amazed at how calmly they traveled until I learned their feet were tied.)  It’s a good thing.  Can you imagine the cow complaints from the back seat?  “He’s poking me. Tell him to stop poking me!” We once came up behind a hatchback, and a little animal face peered out at us from inside.  It took a minute to register the fact that it was a goat and not a dog.

One Saturday a sedan pulled ahead of us, stuffed so full the view was obscured through back window.  Whatever it was, it appeared to be writhing.  As we came closer we saw dozens of black chickens, piled high on the back seat.  I’ve seen the panic of a trussed bird, and I could only imagine the state of his interior.  I wonder who had to ride in there to church the next morning?   Eeeww.

If we thought chickens were challenging, another guy upped the ante.  His backseat was stuffed equally full of eggs, layer upon layer in open cardboard carriers.  I hoped he didn’t have to travel off the beaten path.  One bad pothole and he’d have himself a serious omelet.

Since becoming involved with the widow’s sewing school, our California van has been put to the test.  The road to their compound is terrible, with deep ruts and rocks we can barely skim in our low-riding vehicle.  Last April, after my first day in charge of the books, (this was when Jocelyn left for Canada on her maternity leave), Sasa, the school principal, walked me outside to where Brian was waiting.  She said, “If you do not mind, I will follow you.”

“Knock yourself out,” I thought.  It wasn’t until she climbed into the back seat that I realized that phrase means the person would like to hitch a ride.  The next thing we knew, five or six of the widows had joined her.

Thus began Brian’s challenge: How many widows can you stuff into the back of a minivan?  We have carried widows to church for Thanksgiving services, we have carried widows and wedding gowns to the photo shoot we did to help launch the bridal shop, and of course we regularly drop widows along our route home from the sewing school.   The current high score?  I think it’s nine.  (Good thing they’re small.)

Live from Jos,

Karen