Rules of the Road

Hold on...wait a minute…wait …a…minute…go!

Traffic did not merge in Ouagadougou; it lunged.  Cars, mopeds and bicycles careened around corners and through intersections like a swarm of bees. Or maybe a Madrid stampede.  On one occaision, the bumper of a car flying around a corner brushed against the skirt of a woman riding a moped.  She seemed to take no notice and the baby on her back continued to sleep.

Rules of the road didn’t appear to exist. Drivers, beware.  Change lanes or cross intersections at your own risk!

The speed and urgency of travel was quite a contrast to the leisurely pace we sensed from those whom we met in the markets or anywhere else where they had their feet firmly planted on the ground.

We sometimes made our way from place to place in a van, which was in relatively good shape other than fold-away-seat that was more inclined to fold than seat, but we often rode in taxis.  Our taxi drivers were inventive. They made use of vehicles that we in North America would likely relegate to the junk yard.  Such waste!  In Burkina, any running vehicle had a purpose.  We found windows that refused to open, doors that would only open from the outside (or didn’t close all the way) and seats with broken springs.  Bungee cords, anyone?  We heard lots of clunking, inhaled odours of gas and oil and marvelled at the resiliance of our bottoms.

A Burkina flag proudly hung from every taxi’s rearview mirror.

Transportation in Ouagadougou was a curious mix of resourcefulness (recycling) and fearlessness – not for the faint of heart, but thrilling.