A Death on the Road

This morning was a very strange morning. Not in the sense that anything felt wrong but when I think back to the events of the morning, I begin to realize how much of a plan there really is in this life. Ridouane messaged me last night saying he was in Kollo but would be at a bapteme and unable to see me since I was leaving for Niamey. The next morning, I woke up later than planned and I got going with my bags to pick up some papers from the inspection before heading to Niamey. Boubey, a young Zarma man, passed me with his donkey cart and asked me if I wanted a ride into town. I had never used this mode of transportation before and even though it was a little slower I accepted his offer. I saw some of my neighbor kids and they even rode along with us. In the market I saw my counterpart who was supposed to bring me the papers. One of the little girls ran to the car he was in, retrieved the papers, and ran back to me in the cart. I reached the inspection, took a photo, thanked Boubey and made me way back to the road, past the Mosque to find a bush taxi.

I looked up and who else did I see but Ridouane! I was soooo excited. He must have seen me from across the street but I had no idea. He told me that he had forgotten something at his house which is why he wasn't already at the bapteme. I had left early knowing I wouldn't see him yet we ran into each other. Fate can be so sweet ... but also so cruel. After making plans to meet up in Niamey later that night he helped me with my bags into a taxi.

The ride was going smoothly. I chatted with a neighbor and listened to a borrowed iPod since mine is broken. When we were just a little bit away from the Libore payage our taxi pulled off onto the side of the road. I couldn't see much, just cars all off the road. The boy who takes money (Hausa's refer to them as road dogs) was blocking my view since there were no open seats. But we stopped and all I could hear were men around me thumbing their prayer beads rapidly (clink, clink, clink) and whispering "Allah Ahkbar" (God is great in Arabic). They stopped completely and the boy opened the door. I looked out and saw a boy laying beneath a taxi. The taxi was all too familiar. It was the same one I see at least twice a week in Sahara (the neighborhood behind the inspection). I had even taken this taxi once. A crushed motorcycle lay to the right of the taxi. The boy was covered with a sheet, probably borrowed froma woman aboard the taxi.

Never in my life have I seen blood spilled but here I was faced with it for the first time. I felt sick to my stomach and tears welled in my eyes. I refused to let them be spilt too. The men descended and prayed. I stayed close to the car, trying not to luck, but as most of us often are, oddly fascinated. The rest of the ride to Niamey was in complete silence. Everyone seemed spell bound by the finality of death and the unique, unknowningness of fate and life. As to be expected, when face with finality, you start to mull over how special your life is. With time, I hope I think about this image less and less (my thoughts have been haunted all morning) but I don't want to forget it.