Safety on a Moto

View on the road

Two or three times a week I pay 600 Congolese francs (FC), about $0.54 USD, for a 6km “taxi” ride between the UCBC campus and home. It’s cheaper than New York City rates and far more exciting. I no longer bargain with the driver on the price. Bargaining may serve some social benefit, but in the mind of this American, it wastes time and energy. Besides, I know the going rate is 600 FC. Sometimes the driver shakes his head and demands 1000 FC. Does he assume that this American I has money or is ignorant of the going rate? Perhaps his beginning price is 1000 FC for every customer. I walk away only to be chased by the same driver with, “Okay-Okay. 600 francs.”

Taxi park in town

Every speedometer and tachometer of every moto I’ve taken register 0 kph and 0 rpm. Perhaps all potential taxi drivers are required to disconnect these devices before receiving their license? I have no idea how fast we go. Thirty mph? Forty? Is that 15 kph or 60 kph?

We weave in and out, first left, then right, between other motos and passing trucks overloaded with products and people. We dart around drivers carrying 4-foot bales of charcoal as big around as the trunk of 200-year old oak tree. My favorite is the occasional pig strapped across the back of the moto or the goat, at ease with the passing scenery, front legs draped over the lap of a human passenger and back legs dangling on the other side.

Protocol demands that, unless one is a child, the passenger keeps her or his hands to self. No wrapping around the waist of the driver, regardless of the speed or the weave. I usually begin a ride with one arm twisted behind me to clutch the back of the seat in a vain attempt at safety. However, should there be an accident, and the moto swerves, falls, or throws me off, a death grip on the seat would yank my arm out of its socket, destroy my rotator cuff, and snap a few ribs in the process.

Ah! My need to control persists, even in Congo!