ETHIOPIA: Superman at the Wheel

Two buses go to Bahir Dar, a large “autobus” or a small minibus. The minibus takes an unpaved road, which is shorter but bumpier and gets there quick. The autobus takes a longer, smoother route and is officially listed as a day and half trip. Christian and I wanted to waste as little time as possible with traveling so we were going to take the minibus route. Almost everyone we spoke with told us what a terrible idea it was. Minibus drivers go too fast, pass without looking ahead, and crash constantly. We heard so many minibus horror stories. People kept telling us how Ethiopia is third in the world in automobile fatalities even though there are only around 250,000 vehicles for a population of 80 million. There is a road to the south of Addis that a loose translation of its nickname has the words “death” and “triangle” in it. Named so due to the amount of vehicles that never return after driving on it - a clever homage to the Bermuda Triangle. I imagined becoming part of one of those “bus plunge” headlines if I took a minibus for a trip like this. After all this we decided to take the autobus. We were guaranteed that we would arrive in Bahir Dar in one day. That’s because our bus driver must have been a minibus driver at one time.

For as long as the trip was it was never boring. It was quite the experience. The driver was young as was the two bus assistants on board. The assistant’s job was to, well I’m not sure, but they collected tickets and walked back and forth quite a bit, and distracted the driver occasionally. They were all having the time of their lives though. We found out that this is all they do. They drive to Bahir Dar and spend the night. The next morning they drive back with people bound for Addis. Then back to Bahir Dar and so it goes. They acted like it was the best job in the world. They laughed and smiled the entire time and it was as if nothing could be better than being on this bus.

The driver never slowed down, or hardly slowed, but it seemed like never. We were never passed by another vehicle the entire time on the road yet he passed everything and everyone. Large buses, minibuses, pick-ups, SUVs, cars, horse-drawn carts, roaming livestock, walking villagers. He barreled past all, blaring the air horn as loud and as long as possible. He did this on the open road, on uphills, going downhill, while in the passing lane, while in the passing lane with oncoming traffic. He never slowed going through crowded villages where people dallied in the road, livestock stared dumbly, and other buses were stopped and partially blocking the road. He leaned forward, with one hand off the wheel, sounding the horn, and kept going. Occasionally he swerved to avoid vehicles, people, rocks in the road, or animals. But he kept going and kept sounding the horn. At first it was ridiculous then it was just unbelievable that this was happening, and then it was normal.

It seemed like we going very fast. But I couldn’t really tell just how fast and either could the driver. All the instruments on the display panel were out of order. The speedometer needle hung limply no matter what speed we were going. The engine and the horn seemed to be in perfect condition.

The bus driver talked on his cell phone occasionally. Sometimes he would be texting messages while swerving and never stopping. (I’m not sure who handled the horn while he was texting but it kept on blaring as well.) Mostly, one of the assistants sat next to him and they joked and lived it up and the driver was the type who has to look at the person he’s talking to while driving so his eyes weren’t on the road. Yet, he kept going, horn blasting, passing every other moving thing on the road, and swerving the large bus as circumstances dictated. Occasionally, after a sharp swerve or when we hit a pothole going too fast, the driver would turn his head, smiling as always, and catch the assistant’s attention. The assistants would peer throughout the bus and catch eyes with any worried passengers and place their hands in front of their body, slowly fanning the air, letting the passengers know everything was alright. To the only two farangi on the bus he would just glance over with a sly smile as to say, “I know you guys are enjoying this.” At first, I just stared out the side window to avoid knowing what was in front of us. Then my curiosity got the better of me and I had to look out the front windshield. There were a couple close calls with oncoming buses but mostly it was people or animals on the road that had to worry.

At one point we were forced to stop. Road construction started at 10:00 AM and we were held up in a village from 10:30 AM until 3:00 PM. (The wait in the village is another story. This one is just about the bus ride.) During the wait I spoke with the assistants. One said, “It’s a fast bus.” I replied, “Maybe it’s a fast driver” He laughed and implicitly agreed. I asked if he was only driving like that because he wanted to make it through the construction site before the road closed. The response was “No.” Apparently, he always drives like that.

During the break in the village the two assistants began monkeying around with the engine. This did not instill confidence in me. When one of them took out a Pepsi bottle containing transmission fluid and began dumping it in while the other assistant kept saying “More, more” I just walked away. Then at about a quarter to three the bus driver, in a rush as always, was in the bus, starting the engine, and yelling for the assistants to round everyone up. No other vehicle had started their engine but our driver was raring to go. He pulled out into the road and then onto the opposite shoulder to get to the front of the construction line. Federal police placed him back into his spot in line. He reversed off the shoulder back into the busy road while holding his cell phone in his hand. Once they allowed us to begin moving he was off passing everyone again. He did slow down a bit through the actual construction site and through the Blue Nile Gorge but still passed when he could. Through the construction and then the same: speeding, honking, and passing. Enjoying every minute of it.

I never saw him eat or drink. He was off the bus during the unanticipated layover but otherwise he was firmly planted in his seat. Christian and I began to make up superhero stories about him and his bus driving ability. He handled the bus like the Batmobile. He had an uncanny sixth sense to anticipate impediments in the road. Or he was able to telekinetically repel anything in his way and place it safely aside. No kryptonite has yet been found that could slow him down. I swear, that blasted air horn had super powers of its own.

By this time we were used to the way he drove and knew what to expect. The assistant and his sly smile were right. I began to enjoy it, to look forward to the next village, wondering how crowded it would be, how many near misses we would have. I tried to sleep some but the constant horn kept waking me and forcing me to see what was in front of us to cause such a racket. Our biggest concern became whether or not we would make it to Bahir Dar that night. We had over a 4-hour delay. Never, we thought. The assistants guaranteed us we would make it. Other passengers told us how dangerous it is to drive at night: can’t see a damn thing, robbers on the road, large potholes, etc. It became dark and the assistants announced that anyone who wanted to could get off the bus at the next village but the bus would be going through to Bahir Dar. No one got off and we made it to Bahir Dar around 10:30 or 11:00 PM. Safe and sound. Not a scratch on the bus but maybe some fur from grazing an ox or a mule on the way.

These aren’t modern buses. No bathrooms. Because of the delay there were no rest breaks (I suspect our driver forbade it.) One time there was a pee break. The bus stopped and male and female jumped off and started urinating directly outside the bus. I had to go but my shy bladder prevents me from partaking in such public activities. The driver didn’t get out. After about a minute he honked the horn and started moving. Guys were zipping up, still pissing, running to catch up to the departing bus. Man, was the driver in a rush.

I was hoping to get the same crew for my bus ride back on Sunday morning. I knew I would make good time back into Addis. I knew it wouldn’t be boring. In fact, for all the craziness it was really quite a bit of fun. Then I met a couple from Chicago who are in Addis for the summer. Her sister was visiting and they had rented an SUV and a driver to go to Bahir Dar for the weekend. They had an open seat available and I joined them. The trip back to Addis was quick, comfortable, and pleasurable, albeit much less eventful.