Taxi!

Last week was a pretty run-of-the-mill, just-get–through-it kind of week.  Well, that was until I had to jump out of a taxi to escape a maniacal driver, of course!

 

The Taj Mall is half way between André's Muqablein office and the British Club, where we were planning on having supper last Wednesday.  As it makes no sense for André to drive all the way home and pick me up, we normally meet at the Taj Mall.  So,  on Wednesday afternoon I innocently got in a taxi, did the usual "Salam Alaikum", checked that the meter was set to the flat rate, gave the driver my destination, sat back and hoped for the best.  After about half a kilometre, the driver pipes up with "Four dinar, four dinar".  Now, I saw the meter was set to 0,25 Dinar when I got in the taxi, we haven't travelled far, so this surprised me and I responded with a very eloquent "Huh?  Checked the meter and discovered that the bugger had sneakily turned it off! 

 

A trip from our house to the Taj Mall costs between 1,80 and 2 Dinars, so no way was I going to pay four dinar.  It is not a lot of money at all, but it is the principle of the matter.  I tried to reason with him but somewhere along the line diplomacy failed miserably, an argument ensued and at one point the driver was shouting at the top of his voice in Arabic, so I started shouting in Afrikaans.  I had no clue what he was saying to me so I decided to return the favour. 

 

Quite upset, I asked the driver to stop so I could get out of the taxi, but he had other plans.  He started charging down the road, taking the mutabs (speed bumps) at great speed, seemingly oblivious to the damage he was doing to his vehicle and my neck (no seatbelts in the back, remember?).  In between mutabs he swerved the car violently from left to right, all the time shouting at me in Arabic.  I got more afraid by the minute. 

 

Lucky for me, there were several vehicles in the small traffic circle just before 7^th Circle, so he had to slow down and eventually stop, at which point I grabbed my handbag, jumped out of the car and slammed the door as hard as the plate in my shoulder would allow!  That maniac seemed genuinely surprised that I no longer required his services and that I rejected his obvious superb driving skills, so he rolled down the windows and shouted at me to get back in the car.  Like hell!

 

As is custom in the Middle East, if the vehicles in front of you are not moving fast enough to your liking, you are allowed to, no, probably required to show your disgust by blowing your car's horn loudly and repeatedly, until you get the reaction you want.  The taxi driver was still trying to scare me back into the vehicle but the motorists behind him all started hooting at him.  Eventually he had to give up and leave this now enraged Boere-chicky next to the road.

 

It took a block and a half of power walking to calm my nerves and for the adrenalin to subside before I could muster up the courage to put up my right hand again and shout "Taxi!"