The Armpits of Strangers

Warning: this essay is not for the weak. Only those experienced travelers will stomache it with little pain. In previous posts, I talked about the ups and downs of rollicking taxi rides. Since I take less taxis now (and have less official business), I take public transport for personal trips. Today I had one of my craziest transport experiences I've had yet, and, even 7 hours later, I've still got the body odor to prove it. With two friends, I went from Mwenge market to downtown Posta stop on the daladala in order to treat ourselves to Lebanese coffee, then shop for kangas -- the quintessential Tanzania textile (photo upcoming). It took us one hour on the daladala to go 10 km. During the hour, I stood nestled between five sweaty people, with wet rivulets taking several trajectories down my body; they dripped from my neck down my shirt, my thighs to my calves, and my forehead to my eyes (it's a pity -- no, ridiculous, really-- that I haven't bought myself a handkerchief yet). I typically stand on my tiptoes in the daladala to avoid trampling other feet. My hips find support either on someone else's hips or against a vinyl-covered seat (vinyl!?), and my hands grip a silver bar on the roof of the vehicle. And even though I rest my head on my arm, often closing my eyes to distract myself from the overwhelming heat, I cannot avoid armpit proximity. I'm fairly certain that my stench is at least as equally repugnant as those around me, yet I just can't get used to strangers' armpits. The chaos inside would seem to be matched by the gaping potholes outside, but no matter to the daladala as it rolls up and down expertly across semi-paved roads. And just as I think the bus is full to capacity, and the shocks stretched to their limit, the conductor makes a sucking noise between his teeth to entice even more passengers. We commuters obey, of course. We hardly hesitate to make room, adjusting one limb or another to welcome the newcomers, who then fill all crevices and cracks in the human mass.

Next chapter: rural moutain potholes