I told a story about traveling into my provincial capital last February. I had taken one of the last seats when we stopped to pick up an elderly woman carrying Canhu, a traditional fermented drink that is celebrated with friends and family that time of year. I offered her my seat and opted to stand and slump over for the rest of the journey. Somehow the old woman and I managed to start joking with each other. She was saying that I should pay for her Chapa ride and I said that she should give me some of her treasured Canhu. Before long, we had the whole Chapa laughing and getting in on the conversation. Eventually we stopped and let off some passengers and I took an open seat directly in front of the old woman. We were still trading good-natured barbs when all of a sudden she reaches over the seat, puts her arms around my neck, gives me a hug and kisses my cheek. I froze. It was the first bit of real affection I had experienced since arriving to country. It was genuine kindness, like a grandmother kissing her grandson, and in a country where that type of moment between men and women is rarely seen in public. Thankfully I had sunglasses on, because I started crying uncontrollably. Trying not to make a scene while wiping the tears that were coming down my cheeks, I realized that by cramming everyone together in such a confined space, it forces you to experience and interact with people with which you might not normally connect. I was grateful to be there, at that exact moment, to be a part of a rare bond between two strangers and a bus full of spectators.
Zachery Scott writes: The Long Ride Home
Letters from Southern Africa: The Long Ride Home
A gay life in transition, from Weho to Southern Africa
By Zachery Scott | Article Date: 7/21/2008 10:30 AM
I just spent the last week in my country’s capitol in meetings and had dinner with some other volunteers the last evening we were together. We were talking about our most and least favorite moments in country thus far. Embarrassing stories ensued about hasty cultural acclimation or interesting hobbies that the volunteers had come across. But one thing kept jumping between the positive and “not-so-positive” lists—Chapas. Let me explain.
Chapas are the overwhelmingly used mode of transportation for people in my country. Chapas are 15 passenger vans (someone once told me they were old Japanese school busses that had been sold to the country at a reduced rate) and serve as a sort of public transportation system subsidized by the government.
However, the special thing about chapas is that while they were designed to tightly fit 15 people inside, I have seen as many as 25 unfortunate souls get jam-packed in every available open space possible. This is by no means comfortable nor convenient, but is the only option for almost everyone.
Regardless of the various opinions at the table that night, we all agreed that in experiencing a chapa, one could get a good feel of the general spectrum of this country. This is because no one Chapa experience is ever the same.
The group offered a variety of questions that each trip brings forth. Will my Chapa have doors? Will there be a goat on top? Will the intoxicated man hit on me or just fall asleep in my lap? Will I need a tetanus shot when my leg is gauged open by the rusty metal bar I have to traverse in order to get out? Will my chapa mate have showered and/or brushed his tooth and/or changed his clothes this week? Will I have a cute cobrador (a.k.a. money collector)? Will I crap my pants because I bought a questionable egg sandwich in the last village and the Chapa is taking twice as long as I had planned? Will the other passengers understand my funny joke? Will they sell beer at the next stop?
I could keep going, but you get my point.
So, of course, we started trading Chapa stories like old war vets.
I told of the time when my Chapa blew a tire going 80 kilometers per hour, propelling us into oncoming traffic and veering away just as an 18-wheeler roars past. As the passengers are making cross symbols and saying “Gracias Deus,” the cobrador tries to get out to survey the damaged tire and the entire door falls off onto the ground. Funny, right? Like something you would see in a National Lampoon movie.
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