The perfect cab driver

I wonder if anyone remembers the bad old days, when taking a cab meant there was a life-and-death emergency because they were just very expensive! Add to that the many problems accompanying cab rides — you never knew whether the cab driver was a thief or the genuine article, or was on the payroll of a bunch of ritualists who would wait for him to deliver his victims to a dark forest to have their organs harvested for various nefarious purposes. I shudder at the very thought!

And then came Uber. Suddenly, armed with a phone and a few shillings, an option beside annoying taxis and life-threatening bodaboda rides arose. No more annoying haggling, yaaaaay!
When it comes to cab rides, I only have one condition for any cab driver- kindly do not talk to me, thank you very much. Apart from the call to confirm the pick-up location, and a courteous ‘hello’ upon arrival, I wish all cab drivers would operate on the nil-by-mouth principle.

It is not that I do not love my fellow human beings, but that I love them very warmly from a distance, guarded by my wall of silence. Since I’m not a meteorologist, a political scientist/analyst, a football fan or a professor of social science, I find myself ill-at-ease when faced with the pressure of engaging in small talk. I do not even mind listening to people’s relationship problems, really I do not, and it’s just the weather-politics-football talk that kills me inside.

There is only one exception to this rule, and that is a certain cab driver called Rosco, who drove my husband and I from Bunga to Bukoto on our recent visit to Kampala. I think he should pursue a career in stand-up comedy.

What I remember most clearly was his passionate complaint about earning ‘one peanut’ from his job. Not ‘peanuts’ but only one ‘peanut’. I blame my vivid imagination, because every time I think of the one peanut the poor fellow claims to earn I feel my muscles becoming weak with laughter. One peanut! Just one!
Brethren, may you ride in silence.