Bye bye safe journey, part 3

Before the taxi driver can reach us, one of the officers from the border station pulls up beside us on a scooter that is comically too small for him. He wants to ensure that we know where to go for the bus. It helps having French speakers in our group; it really helps having women French speakers.

The taxi driver, who surely had planned to treat us to a string of angrily delivered French epithets, which admittedly still sound more beautiful than, say, German epithets, chooses instead to gun his engine and tear by us, kicking up dust. Somehow his response confirms his nefarious intentions. He’s lost our fares and the money he’d make selling our limbs to local fetish priests.

Either appointed by the officer or just self-appointed in hopes of some commission, another man appears who leads us to the bus. We are walking briskly, keeping our eyes out for the car, which has now disappeared. The bus, it turns out, is the 7:30 a.m. bus to Ouaga. This is tremendously good news. We thank the officer who putters away on his scooter.

In another 100 yards, we’re on board the bus. Safe! The bus driver greets us warmly as if he’d been waiting the whole time for us to arrive. “Sit where you wish,” he says. We exhale, smile and find seats. Never has a bus been more welcome.

We’re busy congratulating ourselves when the white Peugeot screeches to a stop next to the bus. In seconds a yelling match ensues between the driver outside and the bus driver and a few people on the bus. It turns into a chaos of shouting and enthusiastic gesturing. As it’s all being conducted in some local language, we simply stand dumbly, watching.

“But we had a deal!” I imagine the taxi driver yelling. “Now who am I going to drive an hour out of town, empty of their valuables and then dump on the side of the road? I had my whole morning planned!”

Finally, amid all the yelling, the man who led us to the bus says, in English, “No, the police officer sent them here!” Almost instantly, the arguing stops. This important detail appears to have sealed the deal. There is still grumbling and the occasional interjection from the driver outside, but the tone has changed.

In another few moments, the atmosphere on the bus has returned to normal. Passengers who got involved in the back and forth turn from the window and take up their seats. And then much to our joy we see the taxi driver slam the door of his car and speed off.

And then I catch a glimpse of the front of the bus.

“Oh crap,” I say.

“What?” the others say.

“There’s Lumumba.”

And there he is, having appeared at some point in the confusion to take a seat a few rows back of the driver. And is that the other man from the taxi? The one in the black shirt?

(Picture: A little premature, but this is across the street from the entrance to our hotel in Ouagadougou.)