Taking Taxis, Or Waiting on Abdul

In an effort to give the people what they want, today's post is a summary of how I get around Abuja without a car on roads I would be petrified to drive on even if I had one.

The basic transport issue: getting to and from work. We ride with Mrs. O in her car every morning; no problem at all. But the superintendent of a school of 420 kids is rarely able to leave her office when the final bell rings at 2:40. In the beginning, the option was a) wait for Mrs. O to finish her work (no guarantees there of getting home before dusk) or b) take a taxi. My flatmate and I chose b).

Each afternoon in early September, Jan and I hailed a taxi outside the school compound in order to get home. These situations taught me the basics of negotiating prices in Abuja (any price, not just for transport):
First, never look them in the eyes, but avert out of respect, especially when they are older.
Second, fix a price in your head before approaching the seller. Once you have a number in mind, it's much easier to bargain. Keep in mind that this requires a general knowledge of average prices of average items (including the going rates for distances in taxis!). When in doubt, make a kissing noise with your lips (they spell it "mschew" here), as a sign of your general displeasure in the price.
Third, say "Give me your last price." It's a nice way of saying, "Cut the crap. Tell me the actual price, not the one you try to get away with because I'm white-skinned."
Fourth, walk away if you don't get what you want. They'll chase after you, I guarantee it. Even in a car!

Negotiating afternoon transport soon became my job: I was so indignant toward any local trying to rip me off because I was new to Nigeria, I got great prices! It didn't last long, though. A few weeks of this, and our Nigerian coworkers became aware that the two expat teachers--white women, no less--were traveling home by taxi every afternoon. One of them (still not sure who) went to Mrs. O out of concern for our safety and requested that we be supplied with a driver. Mrs. O was happy to oblige. Soon, the school driver was taking us home every afternoon, free of charge, whenever we were ready to go. This alone saves us an average of $55/month in taxi fare!

What's even better is that if we need to swing by the market to pick something up on our way home, the driver will do it. We don't even have to pay him for his extra time. It's such a relief to know that 5 afternoons a week, we have the opportunity to get whatever we need from the market, the pharmacy, the internet company, etc.

Of course, we don't always feel like shopping on the way home from a long day at work. Which means we go on the weekends. Which means we have to get a taxi. Not to fear, Abdul the taxi man is here!

Jan used Abdul when she first arrived in Abuja last spring and kept his cell number on speed dial. He was very trustworthy, so we could leave our purchases--even our computers--in the car with no fear. During one huge shopping trip to the big market, Abdul walked around with us, carrying items back to the car, helping negotiate prices, and being a general bodyguard. He even offered to drive me to the airport when I flew home for Christmas. He's the only taxi we ever take, for safety purposes.

Our tall, friendly Hausa taxi driver lived with his mom and his sister. He seemed middle-aged and wore hats to cover his balding. His English was limited, so I learned some standard Hausa greetings. He called us during the Muslim Sallah just to wish us a happy public holiday. We gave him a Christmas bonus, and a little extra here and there to show our appreciation.
We also gave him all our glass and plastic bottles. Because there is no such thing as recycling in Nigeria, we have to improvise. Abdul's sister sells palm oil and she stores it in glass and plastic bottles, which she would have to buy if she didn't have a supply. We were all too happy to donate our empty yogurt and cashew bottles to her cause!

Abdul's only downfall (and, regrettably, it's a big one) is that he had absolutely no sense of time. I'm serious--not a clue. His standard reply was always "Ah, I come madam. 20 minutes I come." Unfortunately, 20 minutes could mean 20 minutes, or on one occasion, it meant 2 and a half hours!!!! We were frustrated with Abdul frequently, missing appointments, etc. because of his tardiness. We brought up the issue many times, but I guess that's one cultural norm that gets lost in translation, because nothing ever changed.

We got into the habit of calling him an hour before needing to leave and telling him to pick us 30 minutes before we actually needing to be picked. Invariably, he would still arrive late and we'd shake our heads with a smile: "Well, only a little late, according to Abdul standards."

While most people would have found a new taxi driver, we were hesitant to abandon him, because of, again, the security factor. A taxi driver you can trust is worth a few inconveniences.

About a week ago, Abdul stopped answering his phone (we say "picking his calls" here). I called once and someone else answered, someone who didn't speak any English at all. I should have known something was up when Jan asked him to take her to the doctor and he never showed. At all. No phone call explaining where he was or giving an estimated time of arrival. No word at all. Fine, we decided. He probably traveled and didn't have the heart to tell us he's not in Abuja.

This weekend, we learned through the taxi driver network that Abdul was killed last week in a car crash on the way to Kaduna. While I wasn't personally close to him, his death does bother me because I'll miss his consistent presence in my life; we saw him most Saturdays. Just a few weeks ago, I was teasing him for rocking out with the radio (dancing and singing included).

So, today's post is dedicated to the memory of Abdul, who honked his horn incessantly, who could never manage to arrive on time, but who never took advantage of the 2 white women and always got us where we needed to go safely. May his soul find rest.