...and then I didn't die!

Oh dear sweet heaven, I’m alive! Can I get an Amen?!! There were moments this afternoon that it wasn’t a certainly. You know that saying, “Live as though each day was your last”? Yeah…it nearly was.

I know it sounds like a weird blending of 1^st world and 3^rd world problems, but I need to figure out how to fire my rickshaw driver! He’s insane!

It all started out quite innocently a couple of days ago. Derek and I were walking over to street 12 to see where our new apartment was. We are currently living in temporary quarters until the apartment that we have been assigned is finished being built. Being of an impatient nature, I was eager to at least catch a glimpse.

As we headed towards the address, a rickshaw driver pulled up next to us soliciting a ride. We shook our heads and walked on. It is often best not to engage them in conversation as they can be a persistent and persuasive bunch. Shalom was more persistent than most.

After having a look around the apartment building we finally decided to let him drive us home. It was…snug, but Shalom was chatty and pleasant. He seems to speak English relatively well, but I’m not positive because I can’t understand a word he says. It’s not just the accent but the speed with which he uses it. It did eventually become clear though, from his ramblings that he had already figured out how our destinies would intertwine for a long and lucrative partnership. The next thing we knew, he was leaving his rickshaw in our parking space! There’s more, but let’s get to the exciting stuff.

I needed a ride to the American club this morning so we decided to go ahead and use Shalom. Derek arranged for him to pick me up at 11:00 and off we went.

I love rickshaws. In a car with the windows rolled up, you can’t absorb your surroundings; you’re disconnected from them. In a rickshaw the pace is slower and there is time to absorb the chaos all around you and more importantly, time to take pictures. That’s the big one.

The ride to the club was pleasant. Shalom dropped me off and I went in and had lunch and then went to the gym. At the arranged time, I left to go meet him outside the gates. Still good. When I say that the rickshaw ride was good, you should understand that this is akin to saying that a ride with a drunk 14 year old, high on crack, driving through East L.A. with $100 bills flitting out the windows is a good experience. Still, we made it to my next destination, a “department store” called Lavender.

Shopping complete, I climbed back into the rickshaw and told Shalom I was ready to go home. I had long since given up on my plan to plug into headphones and listen to music on the ride. He hadn’t stopped talking since first picking me up. I really was trying to follow him, but trying to decipher his version of English over the heavy din of traffic was nearly impossible.

Finally we were nearing United Nations road. Almost home. Shalom was saying something about fish and comprehension dawned. He was talking about going somewhere to see fish. I have no idea whether he meant the swimming kind or the eating kind. He said “We go now to see fish”? “What? Oh! Um…no. No fish! I have someone meeting me in twenty minutes (okay two hours, but I didn’t want to see fish).” “Twenty minute good, okay.” 

I guess I assumed this was his way of acquiescing but I was wrong. I realized that as we shot past my road and headed to the busy intersection of one of the main roads.

In Bangladesh, they don’t even pretend to have order on their roads. There are no painted lines; at least none that I’ve ever seen. There’s just a big open stretch of road where they play out an elaborate game that looks not unlike stock car races. Each and every moment that you watch the traffic with shock and awe rippling through you, you assume that the next moment will be your last and that the laws of probability demand you will all crash together into startling chaos.

As we turned onto the wide road I did an inventory of its occupants: Buses, cars, rickshaws, goats…wait, what?? Okay…goats,…clamoring and jockeying for position. I watched in mild terror as drivers of all kinds cut each other off, and yet no one seemed to collide until, Whack! I nearly jumped out of the seat of the rickety rickshaw as a bus clipped us from behind.

Too close! I called foul! “Hey Shalom! Watch the road”. He looked back at me and smiled. “It’s okay ma’am. All good”. Apparently realizing that he hadn’t managed to kill me yet, he suddenly turned right directly across the flow of traffic effectively putting us sideways to the oncoming traffic. I watched as a huge bus came barreling towards us noting that I was on the bleeding side. I think I saw God. It literally missed us by inches as Shalom continued on across the oncoming traffic on the other side of the road. Three rickshaws nearly collided with us simultaneously and I squeezed my eyes shut. When I reopened them I found I was, thankfully, still not dead.

We were out of traffic, however, now we were heading down a side street directly into the gritty slums of Dhaka. “Shalom, could you please tell me where we’re going?” He looked back at me and grinned again as a car narrowly missed us. I wished he would stop doing that and keep his eyes on the road. “It’s okay, I show you ma’am”. 

A moment later he turned down another side alley, stopped the rickshaw and with a grand sweep of his arm, announced, “My company”. His “company” was an alley with a derelict wooden fence lined with rickshaws.“Shalom, why are we here”? 

Oddly enough, I still wasn’t worried, but in the back of my mind I knew that there would be a conversation with Derek about this later and it would not go well. Shalom pointed to a small dusky man standing next to the rickshaws. “This my boss. He sell you rickshaw”.

“What?! Sell me…Shalom, I’m not going to buy a rickshaw! Definitely not today. You talk to Sir. You see if Sir wants to buy a rickshaw!” He looked a bit dejected but smiled again and said, “Okay, later you buy”. I muttered a surly "whatever" and said it was time to go.

I was surprised when he turned left instead of right. We headed deeper into the slums. Rickety shops gave way to rickety wooden boxes housing all sorts of oddities for sale. Men in clothing so ragged they looked as though they would disintegrate hunched in front of the “shops”. In our neighborhood they stare at Americans because we’re a novelty. Here I think they were staring because they’re never seen someone…shall we say, like me…in their neighborhood before.

I admit it. I was intrigued. I’d never seen anything like it. I became absorbed in getting this tiny glimpse of the underside of Dhaka. Then as Shalom turned down another street deeper still into the slums I snapped out of it and realized I shouldn’t be there. In a voice sharpened by possibly the tiniest frisson of fear I told him I was late and needed to get home and to turn around.

Apparently I sounded more authoritative that time and he pulled up the rickshaw and turned us around. I breathed a sigh of relief as we edged closer to the main road until without warning he shot out across traffic yet again. This time it didn’t make sense because that’s the direction we needed to go.

Instead of turning with the traffic, he shot across the road to the other side and turned directly into the oncoming traffic. I saw my own birth! We were in a face off with a full sized city bus! It did not make me feel better that the front of the bus was badly dented from what were clearly multiple collisions. I think I saw a rickshaw driver wedged in the left front wheel well. Horns blared; more than usual. Gestures were exchanged. A car bumped us. I felt like the ball in a pin ball machine. I was frozen in fear but finally rallied enough to bellow “Shalom! Aren’t we meant to be on the other side of the road?!”

(should you find yourselves disappointed in the less than dramatic pictures, please be understanding. I am embarrassed to admit that my photographers instincts were overridden by my burning desire not to die.)

He glanced back at me. There was that smile that I was ready to slap off of his face. “It’s okay ma’am. No problem”. I glared at him. “It’s NOT okay! Get on the other side of the road”! Even as I bellowed I realized there were barricades; there was no way to get over. Instead he swerved to the right so we were on the edge of the traffic. I was stunned as he drove directly into the traffic, simply waiting for them to swerve to avoid him. I wondered when we were finally going to encounter some guy who hadn’t had his coffee this morning and would decide to just mow us down.  

As we made our way back to the four way intersection I realized we were still screwed. Traffic was too thick and there was no way to get back to the side of the street we needed to be on. I’d had it. I barked at him. “Shalom, get us out of this traffic now”! Oddly enough he seemed surprised by my consternation. I rolled my eyes as he finally scooted the rickshaw to the edge of the road and found a side street. 

Two streets later we were pulling up to our building and he was still talking about how he would be our driver full time. I’m gonna go with no. As he pulled into the parking garage, I leapt off the seat in relief and throwing a wad of taka on his bicycle seat growled that I would not be needing his services further.

I know why this happened. God has a twisted sense of humor. Earlier in the day, as I was sitting in the quiet of the café at the American club I had been thinking to myself, “What can I write about in my blog next?”

Problem solved.