The Price of a Dollar Fare

I’m not sure that it was the extra one-dollar fare that he was able to make. My main reason for suspecting he had an alternative motive was the street lined with people hailing his shared taxi. Many of those waiting were alone, so the driver could easily have picked up an individual for the one free seat remaining in the minivan. Instead he picked up a single man with four girls, between 4 years old and 8 I would guess. We all had to rearrange ourselves in the van so they could squeeze in, taking two seats when only one was available, which meant a young teenager had to sit on a box, legs straddling the stick shift next to the driver. No one seemed annoyed. I’m sure I was immensely amused by it all, and my face showed it. When the little girl, sharing a seat with her sister, who was closest to the driver handed him the fare, I smiled again. Surely it wasn’t the dollar that was responsible for all the work we just did to fit this family inside the too tight taxi.

The mini van stopped at the university to let me out, and again, the chaos ensued…everyone in the row scooting to the next seat before stepping out of the taxi. Four girls on the side of the van, waiting as I slid out. I smiled and thanked them all. And I found I could not stop smiling as I walked through campus. Such an effort, and no complaint from anyone. This is life here. Help when you can, as much as you can. Only I seem at all entertained and inspired by this mundane, yet beautiful quality of life under occupation.