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From “Stealth of Nations” by Robert Neuwirth (2012) an amusing book about black markets and grey markets around the world.
“Fourteen people packed into the ‘danfo’ [minibus] to go from Ikeja [Nigeria] to Oshodi. It was supposed to be a short trip - just a few minutes, at a cost of forty naira (approximately twenty-five cents).
First, the bus ran out of gas. It bounced off the road and into a dusty dirt lot. The driver said nothing. He simply brought the van to a stop and fished in his pocket for a wad of cash. He peeled off a few sweaty hundred-naira notes and handed them to the conductor, who grabbed a yellow plastic jug from the floor in front of the van and, asking the fellow who fixed flats at the edge of the road which was the nearest filling station that actually had gas, trotted off on his quest.
A few riders hailed passing ‘okada’ [motorcycle taxis], negotiated their deals, and sped off. The rest - whether because of the heat or because no one was in a hurry or because no one had the extra cash for a motorcycle ride - waited in silence under a severely stunted tree.
The driver raised the hood and whirled the wing nut off the top of the carburetor, and removed the lid and the air filter. He flicked the throat of the carburetor to make sure it wasn’t sticky. Then he leaned against the scarred bumper and became immobile in the heat, like everyone else.
When the conductor huffed back up with the sloshing bucket, the driver regained mobility. He pulled the rag that was serving as the van’s gas cap out of the spout, rolled up a dirty piece of paper to act as a funnel, and sluiced most of the contents into the tank. Before it was empty, he took a mouthful of what remained in the plastic jug, walked to the front of the van, and spit the gas directly into the open carburetor.
The driver jumped into the cab, the conductor shoved from behind, and, with a jerk, the engine came to life. It gasped and popped at first. The driver shifted into neutral and floored it. The engine hiccupped and belched flame. The idle steadied. He jumped out, jammed the air filter in and the lid back on, and smashed the hood down. Then he and the conductor and the rest of us climbed back in and the bus roared back onto the roadway.”
“Fourteen people packed into the ‘danfo’ [minibus] to go from Ikeja [Nigeria] to Oshodi. It was supposed to be a short trip - just a few minutes, at a cost of forty naira (approximately twenty-five cents).
First, the bus ran out of gas. It bounced off the road and into a dusty dirt lot. The driver said nothing. He simply brought the van to a stop and fished in his pocket for a wad of cash. He peeled off a few sweaty hundred-naira notes and handed them to the conductor, who grabbed a yellow plastic jug from the floor in front of the van and, asking the fellow who fixed flats at the edge of the road which was the nearest filling station that actually had gas, trotted off on his quest.
A few riders hailed passing ‘okada’ [motorcycle taxis], negotiated their deals, and sped off. The rest - whether because of the heat or because no one was in a hurry or because no one had the extra cash for a motorcycle ride - waited in silence under a severely stunted tree.
The driver raised the hood and whirled the wing nut off the top of the carburetor, and removed the lid and the air filter. He flicked the throat of the carburetor to make sure it wasn’t sticky. Then he leaned against the scarred bumper and became immobile in the heat, like everyone else.
When the conductor huffed back up with the sloshing bucket, the driver regained mobility. He pulled the rag that was serving as the van’s gas cap out of the spout, rolled up a dirty piece of paper to act as a funnel, and sluiced most of the contents into the tank. Before it was empty, he took a mouthful of what remained in the plastic jug, walked to the front of the van, and spit the gas directly into the open carburetor.
The driver jumped into the cab, the conductor shoved from behind, and, with a jerk, the engine came to life. It gasped and popped at first. The driver shifted into neutral and floored it. The engine hiccupped and belched flame. The idle steadied. He jumped out, jammed the air filter in and the lid back on, and smashed the hood down. Then he and the conductor and the rest of us climbed back in and the bus roared back onto the roadway.”
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