Transportation = Taxis

My parents have purchased a pickup, but it is still en route from Lomé and will take another couple of weeks. In the meantime, our mode of transportation is taxis. They are in abundance. They are all little Toyota Starlets and have orange license plates. (Red and blue license plates are for diplomats or other high-ranking officers. White license plates are for ordinary folk!) Some of the taxis look like they should have stopped running a long time ago. Riding in them is step of faith! Here's how it works. We all stand on the side of the road and Dad holds out his fingers for the number of people needing a ride.

Sometimes the taxi is empty and other times we sit African style--very close and snug. On rare occasions, if the taxi is full but the driver thinks that those waiting for a ride will pay more money, he'll make someone get out to make room for the "rich" passengers. As we are driving down the road, the taximan will yell hello to his fellow cab drivers. Continuous sustained honking is heard from our taxi and others as we make our way along the busy streets. The windows are rolled down creating a natural blow dryer. The traffic is CRAZY! People drive so close together I could reach out my window and pluck a banana from the basket on top of a women's head who is headed to the market on her mobilette. (I don't, of course!) The stoplights are usually broken, so there are policeman directing traffic. When we get to one of the 70 roundabouts that exist in the city, it is always exciting to see who will get take the right away. This picture in no way does the traffic of Niamey justice, but it sort of gives a glimpse of how cars tend to go multiple directions in one intersection!

Today, our taximan showed up and said it was time to pray. (Le Niger is 90% Muslim.) Mom told him he could pray if he wanted to, so he hopped out of the taxi and went and joined some people. Mom and I stayed in the taxi and noticed that all taxis everywhere had stopped. Everyone was praying. Even the policeman. The marché (market) was empty. These pictures were taken from inside the taxi, thus the slight blur. Everywhere you could see there were men praying.

The guy on the far left was our taxi driver. 

As you can see, everyone is stranded--waiting for taxis.

Normally, this place is packed.

Twice, now, I've ridden in a patriotic taxi.

Once we arrive at our destination, we hop out and Dad pays. By this time, my dad is usually friends with the taximan. There is always ongoing conversation between my dad and the driver. They cover topics from the weather, to politics, to soccer, to where the best place to find a fridge is.

Me? Well, I sit in the back and sneakily snap pictures of all the exciting things outside my window.

Transportation is never boring in Niamey.