I’ve written on this topic several times before, but highway etiquette here never ceases to amaze me and makes for endless amounts of writing material. Nine months in this country and my teeth must be ground to nubs. All drivers are constantly on the offensive, laying on the horn when I, in their place, would reduce my speed significantly, and nary a seatbelt in sight. Both north and southbound travelers treat the same road as though it were one way. And until recently, I maintained hope that all the stories I heard of vehicular homicide involving NGO or government cars and rural pedestrians would remain just that: stories. Unfortunate tales that I could try not to think about. But this week, as I accompanied some colleagues visiting from another district to see the junior farmer groups in our province, we came upon an accident that left me short of breath. The feet of a frail woman, most likely old beyond her years, protruding from a black cloth spread across the center of the road. Lettuce from her basket scattered across the lanes, and a government car pulled off on the side of the road.
The woman who sat in front of me crossed herself, and we traveled on. There was nothing else to do.
Another story, the validity of which I hope to never witness proof of, is that of women who actively shove their children into the road when they see NGO cars coming, hoping to receive handsome compensation for the ensuing injury or death. Absolute desperation does very ugly things to a person, and I thank the heavens and whatever is up there every day that life has handed me such good fortune.
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