African Chicken

[Martin Hash]

Wrecked Schoolbus.JPG

It’s a simple, non-prejudicial, politically inert statement: Africans are braver than Westerners. There’s plenty of evidence supporting my supposition but the simplest and most convincing way to prove the bravery of Africans is simply to drive on their continent. What African drivers do unabashedly everyday would strike fear and anguish into the souls of white people.

Most roads in Africa are very narrow, even the paved ones. There are no passing lanes, no turnouts – there aren’t even side streets for slow vehicles to pull into to let faster travelers pass. This has evolved, through natural selection I suppose, drivers who pass regardless: no turn signals, no flashing headlights, no waiting to crest the hill or turn the corner – no hesitation for the size of the trucks coming the other way! African drivers pass when and where they want at high speed and with no regard to for safety: not themselves, not oncoming traffic, not the vehicles they’re passing, and certainly not pedestrians who line the side of the roads because there’s no place else to walk.

American Baby-boomers established their idea of “chicken” from the iconic James Dean movie, “Rebel Without A Cause.” In the American ideal, the competition is between two automobiles, cherished by their owners, usually teenagers, that race head-on towards each other and assuredly fatal collision – unless the “chicken” turns aside. Very macho: not a lot of families engaged in the Chicken game in the American social stratum.

Africans play chicken with an expertise that defies explanation – even logic. In Africa, 5, 10, 20 (!) cars will pass a slow-moving vehicle into a lane of oncoming traffic, usually large trucks barreling at breakneck speed. Time-after-time I was sure the last few cars in the passing train just had to go off the road, or collide, or smash into the sides of cars they were passing. I fully expected to witness countless accidents, many of which involving our vehicle as the instigator, because we only drove at slightly over the Speed Limit on narrow, rutted, dirt roads with no shoulders, no barriers, and no one to help should the inevitable occur. (Most hospitals in Africa are pathetic affairs – simply places to go to die.)

To make matters worse, the passing vehicles were loaded with passengers, so one accident would account for many lives and limbs. But… Even though I was so sure of calamity that I often shut my eyes - towards the end I watched with wide-eyed infatuation: there was never a fatal accident, never a fender bender, never even anybody giving anybody else the finger. It was a symphony of collision-free orchestration. I don’t know if I was relieved or disappointed. Those Africans are brave, brave people.