The transport in Africa fascinates me. Words that come to mind: unpredictable, frustrating, uncomfortable, long, dangerous, bumpy, claustrophobic, dusty, painful, rattling, loud. Despite all this, or maybe because of it, it has to be one of the most intriguing aspects of this amazing continent.

On a bad day I:
• Feel claustrophobic when I am so surrounded by people that: my shoes have fallen off and slid to the back seat, I physically cannot raise turn my head to look out the window, I am literally 5 cms from someone elses face and we are forced to stare at one another for hours on end…
• Sit utterly terrified as we hurtle along the roads, overtaking on blind corners, swerving to avoid dogs, goats, people and chickens…
• Have to bite back a snappy ‘Where to?’ when, already pressed like a sardine against the window, I am told to ‘Move over’ by the conductor…
• Wish I was a foot shorter – the seats are not made for the tall. Not only do I get taught this every time I take transport but so does the person in front of me as they enjoy a journey with my knees pushing against the back of their seat…
• Have to make a note to self not to sit under the luggage rack. Or at least not when there are big sacks of food stored above me which leads to cockroaches sky diving downwards – urgh!
• Wonder why the entire load of people has to be forced to listen to the ‘radio’ aka music that is 90% static, and played at the ear-splitting volume of a landing helicopter…

On a good day I can greatly appreciate:
• The respect shown to older people, as we pull over to pick up a bibi (old woman/grandmother) and everyone piles out of the vehicle to let her have the (note the use of the singular) good seat…
• The importance placed upon greetings as we slow down to a stop to allow the driver to have a conversation with a fellow driver despite the cars waiting in lines behind both vans…
• The realisation that being so packed into a daladala means even when the roads are more potholes than not you cannot bounce around at all…
• The normality of shoving your baby into someone’s hands while you heave yourself in and sit yourself down, whereupon the baby is passed back from person to person until it reaches its mother…
• The amazing moving shops outside the window as everything from wallets to boiled eggs, from steaming mugs of tea to chapattis, from tiny kids shoes to fresh mangoes walk by on someones head…
• The tolerance people have of the bumpy roads and the dust that filters into your mouth and nose and sits, scratchily, in your eyes…
• The opportunity to play the ‘how many people can fit into this daladala’ game – the results never fail to amaze!
• The beauty of the mix of cultures as a woman in a burka clambers in to sit next to an Indian woman in a sparkling sari who is sitting next to an woman wrapped in bright kangas…
• The way that a group of people can start the journey as total strangers, get into debates of all sorts of different topics and then leave as if they have known each other for years…
• The amazing condition of the roads in NZ. Nothing like hours of bouncing over potholed dirt roads to appreciate that smooth tar seal of home!
• The strength it must take to hang out of the door when there are so many people it can’t close…
• The love of music here, as every vehicle, no mater what atrocious state it is in, seems to have put first priority on installing a music system…
• The sight of a chicken, dangling from one persons hands by the feet, being thrust into the lap of their neighbour “Hold this chicken would you?” as they get themselves settled…

But with the help of some road side roasted corn to snack on, lovely people to practice Swahili with, a lot of patience and the beautiful contrast of the red African dirt with the lush green plants to look at – hakuna matata!