What a ride
By David Krueger
I was really excited when I found out I got to go to Kambia for a few days. We were going to get up early and take a government bus, complete with air conditioning and leg room. That didn’t quite work out. I probably should’ve seen that coming.
I guess I had taken so many taxis and motorbikes that I had forgotten where I was. Quite honestly getting around here is almost easier than in my home state. It’s a lot scarier too. But I have been very lucky so far with transportation.
Well the luck finally ran out. We got up early, but missed our bus, instead ending up on a puda puda. There’s not really anything else in the world quite like that. I quickly remembered I was in West Africa as 30 people crammed in to a van designed for maybe 20 plus two drivers for about three hours along a road that’s usually paved.
There were five people crammed into my row. I had a window seat which was good and bad. It was good because I got a great view of Salone out my window as we drove along. It was bad because I had to cram my legs into a small area underneath the bench in front of me.
Corners were fun too. I’m not sure if they were good or bad. Everyone was sliding one way then another. It hurt when they slid into me. It was a lot more enjoyable when we swung the other way.
I could not figure out the rhyme or reason for our stops. It seemed like randomly along the way we’d pull over when nature called the driver, or a lot of people were in the area to sell food.
As we drove along I tried to get my music player, but couldn’t get to my bag to listen. I realized about two hours into the drive I hadn’t eaten anything all day and, determined to get a snack out of my bag, I knocked it over, making it even less accessible than it already was.
Beautiful scenery outside the window did a good job of distracting me, at least, until my foot went to sleep. A little over two hours into the trip (right after I knocked my bag over and was not happy) my left foot began to get a little tingly. A few moments later my right foot began to fall asleep as well.
The fuzzy feeling began to climb up my legs to my knee, which was just sore from being locked in a bent position for two hours. I was already a little grumpy because I was really tired, and every time I almost fell asleep the puda puda would go over a bump and I’d hit my head on the window.
It continued up to my rear end. Sitting on a hard bench for two hours without being able to adjust gave me a sore behind.
Just as I had given up on ever being comfortable again the puda puda pulled over again. At first I was frustrated, because I wanted us to stop stopping and keep going so we could get to Kambia and I could stand up again for the first time in what seemed like forever.
However, everyone in the puda puda began exiting the bus. I was pretty sure we weren’t in Kambia (or any city for that matter) but I didn’t care. Excitedly, I jumped off the bus, and walked around. The feeling began to return to my lower extremities.
A few minutes later we piled back into the vehicle and took off again. I’m still not sure why we stopped. Maybe it was just a stretch break for the tired passengers. Maybe it was something else. Either way I was incredibly thankful.
The last hour of the trip flew by. I grabbed my iPod and resituated myself so that I could be as comfortable as possible. This lasted until the puda puda took off and cargo and people’s legs slid around my right foot, effectively trapping it in the position it was in for good.
I didn’t care though. With “Club Can’t Handle Me” playing on my headphones, I moved my toes around just because I could again as we took off down the home stretch.
My puda puda ride came to an abrupt end when we arrived in Kambia. I guess I thought there’d be a sign or someone would say something. But once again we pulled over and everybody piled out of the bus.
Excited to stretch again, I did the same thing. My co-worker who was travelling with me looked back and asked me if I was going to grab my bag, or leave it on the bus.
“Are we here?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said smiling.
I was so happy to get off the puda puda for good that I asked no further questions. I stopped my iPod, swiftly ending “Mr. Carter” by Lil’ Wayne, and stepped out.
I thought about taking a picture (and now wish I had) off the crowd of people piled around the one vehicle that took them across the country, but my camera was buried deep in my bag somewhere.
Oh well, I thought. There’s always the ride home.
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