₦airaland Forum

TRASIE:
As we drive towards Bukoto, a lady at Shell Ntinda calls for us to stop. She climbs in. But 200 metres later, she shouts “Stage! I have forgotten something.” I let her out. To my amazement, instead of walking back, she just rushes into the next building. This right here, I realise, is the reason why conductors are aggressive with some passengers.


A similar incident happens when we reach town. A woman who is soon alighting gives me a Shs50,000 note. Her fare is Shs700. In the process of searching for the change, she demands that I give her money. Where am I supposed to get Shs49,300 instantly, I wonder. She continues talking to which I respond, “Relax. I am still looking for your change,” in English.


This seems to amuse her and she is quick to fire back, “Eh, enaku zino mumanyi n’oluzungu,” (you’ve also learnt English these days), to the delight of other passengers who laugh out loud.


Another female passenger sympathises and offers me change. She then tells me that I am different from the usual conductors, as we drive off. Judging by the way I handled the situation, another conductor would have probably fired back, she says. On our return journey to Ntinda, a passenger enters and I am meant to share the conductor’s seat with her. Judging by her size, I figure there is no way we can do that.


So I ask her to take up the back seat. She gives me a “Who-do-you-think-you-are” kind of look. “A conductor has no seat in the car; I am paying for this seat,” she says. This, I find rather disturbing. I wonder as to who will open the door for her. I decide to let her be and share the seat with a man on the second row.

By about 4pm, passengers are very few. At Constitution Square, we compete with other taxis for passengers. We park and let the taxi touts do the calling. These men, with red eyes probably high on weed, call their friends to “charge”, as one of them picks leaves from a paper. The driver tells me, it is weed. He also cautions me to be very careful with the money as these men are elusive thieves. They share the leaves before starting to call out to the passengers, literally forcing them to enter the taxi.


Watch out for the touts
When I finally fill up, I am mobbed by these men demanding their commission. One of them says, “Mwana mpa akaja kange.” (Man, give me my money)” while reaching for the money in my hand. Another adds, “Suula wano akaasabudo”. I am confused, unable to understand the ghetto language.


“What they could be asking for,” I ask myself. I give them the usual Shs500 coin. But the men insist, “Njagala kaasabudo.” It’s only the driver who lets me know that they want Shs1,500. In the process, I give them Shs3,500, which is way too much. I cannot wait to get away from here as these men are rather frightening.


By the time we get to Ntinda stage, at 5.30pm, my head is aching, and asking for a break. Having made four trips around, I feel sick. My voice, a little hoarse, is begging for water. The driver rests as a friend of his takes over the wheel for another trip. On a good day, he usually does seven trips, but today we are a bit unlucky. I beg to go home and he gives me my cut for the day which is just Shs15,000.


“The day has not been good,” he explains. As I leave, another man stands by looking for a free taxi to
work as a conductor.


I realise that conductors apart from just collecting money and picking passengers go through a lot, from enduring irrational passengers to trying to mark faces of whoever enters from one point to another.

Theirs is one of the hardest jobs I am sure.