Fun with Taxis

Today, being Tuesday, I have an Arabic lesson at the AUC main campus.

So, I go out to hail a taxi to get there.

I begin the taxi hailing process:

Stand in street, stick hand out into street, positioned at about 7:30. As the taxi slows down, yell in the window where you want to go. If the taxi driver wants to go there he’ll stop. If not, he will keep going.

To get a taxi from where I live (Zamalek) to campus (Midan Tahrir) at the time of day that I normally want to get there (around 1-2pm), can be difficult because the traffic can be very very bad. I have had as many as 8 taxis refuse to take me there.

I see a taxi approach, I put out my hand. I notice that there is a small boy sitting in the front seat. Now, it is not uncommon to share taxis here. If there is an empty seat, the taxi driver will slow down to hear where you want to go, and if it is on the way or nearby to his current destination, he will pick you up.

Both passengers still pay “full fare”, you get no discount.

But, I prefer not to get into a taxi that already has a passenger, cause the taxi driver’s definition of “on the way” and my definition of “on the way” do not match.

So, I drop my hand to wait for the next taxi, but he stops and asks where I want to go. (It probably helps that I am obviously a foreigner and standing outside the AUC hostel, so he figures:

• I am obviously “rich”
• I probably won’t know how much I should pay
• and I am probably going to AUC campus.

I tell him, he agrees and I get in the back seat.

He takes an ill-advised route to get there [one pays a “well known” rate. it doesn’t matter how long it takes or how far out of your way he goes, the rate is the same]. I assume it is because he has to drop off the boy, so he chose the most congested, crowded route possible.

A few minutes of silence go by, and the man turns to the kid and says something about “bokra, insh’allah” and “khallas” which mean “tomorrow, god willing” and “enough!”.

The boys starts crying. sobbing and pleading. I got enough of the conversation that this has been an ongoing argument for sometime (days?) and that the taxi driver (who I realize is the kid’s father, based on the kid’s use of “baba”) has had “enough” and whatever it is will happen or get dealt with tomorrow.

More silence.

But that doesn’t last for long, because neither one of them is smart enough to let it go.

The boy will break the silence, begging to which the father will answer abruptly and again use “khallas”.

The boy will shut up.

After a few minutes of silence, the father will bring it up again and the boy will sob and plead.

Silencfe.

The boy will sob and plead again.

lather, rinse, repeat.

It isn’t entirely unpleasant and I spend the time trying to pick out what few words I can of the Arabic. It isn’t easy when one of the parties is sobbing while talking.

So, we reach the far side (from campus) of Midan Tahrir. The end of my time with the quarrelling father son team is nearing an end.

Traffic is stopped. We are stopped for a while. I decide to take out my cell phone (sorry: “mobile” here) and try to call Kaddee to see if she has time to meet me for lunch when:

WHAM

what the hell was..

WHAM

My taxi got rear-ended by another taxi. And then the taxi that rear-ended us, got rear-ended.

We pull over and the arguing begins. There is gesticulating, yelling and a crowd forms.

I get out of the taxi to snap a couple of photos.

I decide to vacate when the cops, who have been sitting not 5 meters away watching the whole thing, decide to come over and start taking notes.

Time to beat feet to campus.

If the taxi adventures continue, we may need a “taxi” category to keep track of these.