CAMEROON
M
y phone! I thought with a wave of panic as I patted my flat pocket. It’s still in the taxi! I raced toward the vehicle, but it slipped out of reach as the driver pulled away from the curb. I started running, trying to flag down the driver, but he didn’t see me in his mirror. Then, he stopped about 450 feet from me and honked at a potential customer to see whether he needed a ride. If that man climbs in, I can make it, I thought, bursting into a sprint. But the man shook his head at the driver, and the taxi sped away. Why didn’t I put my phone in my backpack? I asked myself angrily, realizing my situation was hopeless.
No sooner had I given up than a taxi pulled over and stopped about 60 feet from me. I was amazed because the driver had no apparent reason to stop. There was no one in his car to unload and no one waiting for a ride. Seeing my opportunity, I ran up, jumped in, and ordered the driver to “follow that taxi!” I always thought the taxi drivers in Buea, Cameroon, were a little on the wild side, but now I felt like I was in a movie chase scene as I hollered, “I’ll pay anything, just drive, drive, drive!” Unfortunately, by this time my first taxi was out of sight, but I remembered that the only other passenger had asked to be taken
Runaway Taxi
12
to Bakweri town. It wasn’t far; it took only three minutes to get there, but it was the craziest ride of my life. I wasn’t sure I’d recognize the taxi or the driver when we got to Bakweri town. All I had to go by was that I was looking for a yellow taxi with an African driver. That didn’t narrow things down much! My current driver was more clear-headed than I was at the moment. “We can call your phone,” he yelled over the roar of traffic. I thought he was going to hand me his phone. “Give me the number.” I yelled the numbers, and he entered them into his phone while careening around corners and never seeming to look at the road.
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