The Woman behind the Wheel

I went down to the Copacabana the other day. Yes, the hottest spot north of Havana, where music and passion were always in fashion...until the present day that is.

In Harare, the Copacabana is a taxi rank. The area used to house the Copacabana nightclub. It closed down decades ago, but the name stuck, as it has in several other African countries I've been to (for some reason I can't understand, maybe Barry Manilow was big here?).

Either way, Copacabana is one of the major places to catch a kombi to various parts of the city, and I've been doing so quite regularly for several weeks now. I was a bit surprised, then, when, upon reaching the kombi rank that would take me out to my regular café on the Chisipiti route, I noticed a woman in a bright, coral-colored sun hat ushering people into the car. Usually, that is a job reserved for men. The guys that do this are typically conductors, leaning halfway out of speeding cars calling out the various destinations on the route “Sipiti! Sipiti!” for Chisipiti, “Bare, Bare, Bare!” for Mbare township, or just waving four fingers on their left hand for those cars speeding toward the Fourth Street kombi rank. These guys handle the money, call out stops for the driver, and provide general entertainment as they contort their bodies into whatever space is left in a cramped, overcrowded bus.

I didn't think much about the woman until we were well on our way. I was immersed in a book when I noticed that the radio, rather than blaring the usual mix of Zimbabwean contemporary, gospel, or reggae, was tuned to a talk radio program about financial planning. “It’s important to have a savings account,” the guest speaker said, “I speak to so many people who say, ‘I don’t trust the banks, I keep my money at home under the mattress.’ Why? I say. It is important to control your spending and to keep a budget by having a savings account.”

An odd choice for a kombi ride, but one, I felt that was important. It was like a ride-along with good sense.

Then I noticed a bright, coral-colored hat perched atop the driver’s head. It was the woman I had seen in the kombi rank. She was driving the car!

Now, this might not seem like a big deal to the typical Western audience, but I can count on one hand the amount of women kombi drivers I have ever seen in my three-plus years in Africa. I can remember riding along with only one other female kombi driver, and I remember how struck I was by her presence.

It’s just not something you ever see. Kombi drivers are aggressive. They work long, hard hours and spend a lot of their time in the transport yards, areas known for being rough and tumble, full of thieves, pickpockets, and general ne’er-do-wells.

I’m not sure if women are more likely to listen to talk radio, or whether this woman was an exception, but here I was, on a twenty-minute journey across town listening to a radio program extolling the benefit of savings accounts. 

(Most Zimbabweans don’t trust the banks after losing everything in 2008’s wholesale economic collapse. The banks are back up, but most of them lack the liquidity to make serious loans. The loans that are made often carry 18 to 20% interest because, again, the banks’ money supply is non-existent.)

Instead of being assaulted by reggae or American hip hop, I was instead treated to sound financial advice at a reasonable volume (this too should not be understated). I began to think about the nature of kombis – an attentive audience stuck in a cramped taxi with nowhere to go – and realized that they are the perfect vehicle (pun not intended) for communicating ideas via radio. If only more kombi drivers played these kind of programs, think of how much better-off the average Zimbabwean could be.

Part of me wishes that this was just one enlightened kombi driver, but I think it was more than that. I think the woman’s gender had a direct role in what she played for her passengers. Like an attentive mother hen, she was responsible not only for our safety but for our well-being.

There might be arguments to be made for gender differences in radio programming, or a preference for music or speech, but I won’t make them here. On one typical weekday morning, however, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised to hear some productive information from a kombi stereo. I only hope others listened as closely as I did.