Annette showed up in front of the hotel in the morning. She rode in on her family motor-bike to see me off. I was just hauling my staff out when the guy who was a kind of hotel driver offered through Annette to take me to the S.T.M.B. station in his car.
„Why not?“ I said. Since he was already there. He already opened his car boot for me to stow my luggage in when I asked the natural question.
„How much would it be?“
Annette translated it for me and I got my answer:
„3000 CFA.“
Well, on my arrival here I had paid just 1000 CFA frnacs and then the receptionist had told me that I could have phoned them and got the transport – in this same car – for free. OK, I understood that they would pick you up and not get you wherever you needed to go on departure. At least not for free. That was even kind of common. But to charge me three times as much as a common cabbie would, that was out of question. If nothing else, then on principle.
I refused, to the driver’s obvious displeasure. So he asked and Annette translated:
„How much do you want?“
„Tell him that yesterday I paid 1000 francs on my way here and I’m not paying any more now.“
Not surprisingly, the guy said it was „too little“. When I wouldn’t budge, he tried to win me over by pointing out that his car was in a much better shape - cleaner, safer, with all windows rolling up and down, air-conditioned - than any of the taxis out in the streets. That was all true. But after all those buses and bush taxis and whatever else over the last few weeks in Mali, I couldn’t care less. And that’s exactly what I said:
„I don’t care. From here to the bus station, I can ride in any taxi.“
Seeing he could not mollify me, and that I was not bluffing, the driver offered to take me for 2000 CFA francs. But I refused. I was not in a haggling mood and I genuinely didn’t give a toss as to what kind of car I’d get to the station in. So I just picked up my luggage and started towards the corner of the Avenue N’Krumah which was teeming with taxis in both directions. One there would be more than happy to get me to S.T.M.B. gare routière for 1000 CFA. That much was for certain.
And driver knew that, too. Figuring eventually that it was better to have a finch in the hand than a pigeon on a branch, he finally gave in. Annette called after me:
„He says he’ll take you for 1000.“
And that was it.
Ten minutes or so later, we were at the S.T.M.B. gare routière. Annette rode alongside us on her motor-bike, having chosen to spend some more time in my company.
I paid the driver, picked up my luggage from the boot and while Annette was parking her bike, I took one or two pictures of her. And like on a cue, that provoked a righteous interference from several guys who were basically just bumming around and their best diversion was watching what others did. And then, obviously, pushing their noses in other people’s affaires. So they rushed onto the scene in the defence of Annette’s... what? Honour? Integrity? Either way, they angrily started pointing out at me, yelling and snitching:
„He took a picture of you!“
Or something like that. All I understood was „photo“, but that was enough.
„Je sais,“ was Annette’s indifferent answer. It stopped them in their tracks, and for a moment, like a collective deflated balloon they just stood there, completely clueless as to what to do next. And then they disappeared.
Around eleven, I left Ouaga again.
