Taxi please

After seven weeks of training, I am ever closer to our Swearing In date!

No longer will the minibus be my main mode of transport. No sir, I am a step above the rest; only taxis for me at my permanent site in Edinburgh, East Bank Berbice. Unlike the taxis of NYC, these taxis accommodate any individual that is going in the direction they are driving. And unlike the minibuses, taxis only fit 5 people. Phew, no more smalling up that results in me sitting on my neighbor’s lap.

Since I only spent roughly a week scoping out my new crib in Edinburgh, I hardly got to appreciate the new taxi experience. There are two rides that made quite an impression. Not only did the drivers not charge me, both the men happened to be…tipsy. The first time it was not until after I got in the car that I was aware of the driver’s state, and he reasoned that he had to finish his drink during one of the stops because in his words, “they don’t want me to drink and drive.” Can’t argue with that logic. Luckily, after just a few minutes on a deserted dirt road on the way to New Amsterdam, I was able to convince him that I was at my stop and I continued the rest of the way on foot.

However, the second time, I was less on my guard because it was a family of six that picked me up. To understand the story, there is a little background that needs to be explained regarding the holiday Phagwah. Phagwah is a colorful Hindu holiday. Literally, Phagwah is all about throwing colored powder at people, smearing it on their facing, and then dousing them with water to rinse off. The order of these three parts varies and repeats for the process of the day. This family had not had the rinsing off phase because they were covered in head to toe in reds, oranges, purples, blues, and greens (Hindus wear all white on Phagwah too so that they can just bleach out the ty-dye of colors). They graciously stopped to offer me a ride, and I did not see the harm until I sat in my seat and the father bombarded me with the request that I “carry” him to America. In other words, he wanted me to get married to him while his beautiful wife (appropriately named Bonita) fumed in the front seat because she did not see the same humor of polygamy that her husband did. The remainder of the ride was spent in awkward anger silence until they dropped me off and the husband again attempted to invite himself to come to my house.

Needless to say, I am going to start screening my taxi drivers before I enter the vehicle with a simple, “Have you been drinking,” followed by showing my ring and insisting that they deliver me safety because “My husband is waiting for me at my stop.”