How to be king of the road

After two years of living in a country, few everyday things should be scary or intimidating. In Libya I have one major exception to this rule, and that is riding in Tripoli taxis.  For two years I have ridden in Tripolitanian taxis almost daily, and yet my fear never diminishes.

Once, when I was younger, I was sitting on a ride in Thorpe Park, waiting for it to start. I can't remember the name of the ride, but it was something that went upside down at great speed, knocked you around for about thirty seconds and then left you feeling slightly wobbly-kneed and nauseous for about half a day. In short, it was about the most thrilling sensation I’d ever experienced, before I discovered boys, cocktails and Kinder Buenos.  Anyway, just as the spotty teenager in Thorpe Park uniform announced that the ride was starting, I realised that my seatbelt was broken.  I suddenly understood the meaning of ‘blind panic’: I was so terrified I couldn’t see. I tried to scream, but couldn’t emit a single sound. I felt like I was floating above the scene, watching myself. And then I tried the seatbelt again, saw that it was working afterall, and felt faintly relieved that I hadn’t started wailing like a lunatic. The whole incident had not lasted longer than about half a second, but could yet cost me years of therapy.

In Tripoli taxis I am able to retain that same, blood-curdling level of panic for up to half an hour at a time.  And, unlike most of my phobias, this fear is perfectly rational. According to WHO, Libya has the fourth most dangerous roads in the world (behind Egypt, the Cook Islands and Eritrea.) All drivers in Libya must exhibit unusual amounts of creativity, idiocy and aggression on the road to survive, but Tripolitanian taxi drivers push the concept to new extremes.  For instance, whilst most Tripoli inhabitants consider stopping at red lights to be more or less recommended, taxi drivers would classify this rule as optional.  Whilst most drivers here would make a sudden u-turn if they realise that they have missed their turning, taxi drivers are more likely to simply reverse down the highway if confronted with this problem.

At least after two years I have learned to pick my taxis carefully to maximise my chance of surviving a journey.  Obviously, I feel a bit reluctant to get into cabs when their front bonnet has buckled in and they have a car-shaped dent on the passenger side.  I also try to get a feel for how much pride the driver takes in his vehicle.  A certain level of pride is a good thing: no one wants climb through the front passenger window to get into the back seat of a cab, nor do they want to spend their journey wondering if that wobbly wheel will fall off as the car picks up speed.  But too much pride isn’t necessarily good either. It can be quite disconcerting if the driver spends more time looking at music videos on a TV screen lovingly installed in the centre of the windscreen than they do looking at the road.  Another risk is that an overly car-proud driver might be a little over-zealous with his air-freshener.  I often find myself stuck in a car where the driver likes to spray his can of air freshener every five minutes.  If you can imagine sitting on Alton Tower’s Nemisis, in 40 degrees heat, whilst regularly having lynx aftershave sprayed into your face, you will come close to understanding how sickening the overall sensation is.  Fellow taxi users should learn the signs. Ahli or Ihtihad flags, rosaries and furry dice are usually a good thing, teddy bears and fake flowers on the back seat are the mark of a serial aftershave sprayer. 

I have come to the conclusion that my fear of Tripoli taxi rides is not something I will be able to overcome with time, but I do hope that I will get better at choosing which taxis I will get into.   If anyone has any further helpful hints, do get back to me.