Man Of Few Words

Chapter 79

Musa had a big, white off-road pickup. I liked the idea of cruising around in a mini monster truck, better still one with air conditioning. We set off at about 5:30 with Iffi at the wheel and Musa directing him from the front passenger seat. Before we'd reached the gate of Musa's apartment compound, they were arguing. It was difficult to follow the seemingly random blend of English and Bengali – not just for me, but for both of them too, I think – but it was plain to see that Musa felt that Iffi was not following his directions, and that Iffi felt that Musa's directions weren't clear, specific and timely enough. It was also very, very entertaining to witness from the abundant space of the back seat.

For quite a while we seemed to be snaking through labyrinthine streets that barely seemed wide enough for the truck to fit down. Despite what Musa might have thought of his driving, Iffi did an admirable job of not scraping the corners of any buildings or squashing any of the numerous children who excitedly ran up to the truck as soon as it came into view.

Eventually we emerged around one particularly tight corner to be greeted by a view that stretched much further than just a few feet either side of the truck. We were on a short section of road that overlooked what appeared be a small slum, or maybe a ramshackle market. Whatever it was, there was a lot of rusty corrugated metal. Just beyond that, there was a filthy, rundown apartment block, then beyond that there was a shiny new glass high-rise building. Probably offices, or maybe a hotel. The shiny building was set against the backdrop of the dawn sky. It was cloudy, as always, but the low sun was creating a panorama of stunning contrasts, dramatic shapes and vivid colours. It was nothing like the usual gloomy grey blanket of the Bangladeshi sky.

The vista I just described says a whole lot about my impressions of Bangladesh. I'm not going to spell it out for you. Draw your own symbols, metaphors and conclusions.

By the way, that whole "reliving the experience" thing that I mentioned earlier – it really seems to be happening! I'm surprised at how many details I'm remembering. I might, of course, be inadvertently making them up. But what difference does it really make if I am?

Anyway, that view was just a brief respite before we returned once again to the constricted maze of buildings, construction sites and, I remember, a man holding an umbrella above his head even though it definitely wasn't raining (for once). I pointed him out to Iffi and Musa.

"Ha!" boomed Iffi. "There's a saying in Bengali. Something like... pouring water in a bucket with a hole."

"Yes! Yes!" cried Musa, then said something in Bengali - the original version of that saying, I assume. They both gave a quick burst of laughter then went straight back to squabbling.

Soon (or soon-ish) we reached a main road. At least I think it was a main road. It was certainly wide enough to have accommodated three or four lanes of traffic, but we seemed to be the only car on it. There were two full-sized buses in sight, but everything else was either pedal-powered or what they call "baby taxis", which are basically miniature iron sheds mounted on motorised tricycles. Considering the small stature of most of the vehicles, there was a terrific amount of noise. Most of it was bicycles bells, I think.

Almost as soon as we emerged onto this street, Musa vigorously indicated that Iffi should turn off at the next left, almost sending us back in exactly the direction we'd just come. Iffi complied, but not without protesting very loudly indeed. I could no longer hold in my amusement and just let it out, guffawing loud enough for them both to hear me over their yelling. They stopped for a few moments and Musa turned to look at me. I thought he was going to ask what was funny, but then Iffi thumped Musa's shoulder and yelled something, and the "banter" once again resumed.

After we'd performed a long right-angular corkscrew just to navigate out of Musa's neighbourhood, we did finally reach some main roads and stick to them. But it was still over half an hour before we crossed the city limits at last.

By that time, the sun was almost all the way up and much of the cloud had cleared, revealing a miraculously blue sky.

"I told you mate!" declared Iffi, waving his arm out of the window. "Good weather today. I promise!"

We drove for another 20 minutes or so through a wide expanse of lush, green countryside, then Iffi pulled over at what I think was a bus station. There were certainly a lot of people getting on and off buses, as well as a little cluster of stalls selling snacks and, for reasons I couldn't figure out, a lot of police marching to and fro looking very serious and self-important.

Iffi craned his neck around to face me and said,

"Right mate, your turn to drive."

"Oh, I..."

"Come on, this ain't no free ride," he admonished. "We're giving you the easy bit. All you gotta do is follow that road for about an hour – maybe not even that – then Musa will take over for where it gets trickier."

"Am I insured?"

They both roared with laughter at this.

"I swear it's easy. Driving on the left and everything, just like in England. Out you get, free rider..."

I switched places with Iffi and, as I was making some adjustments to the mirrors and driver's seat, Musa asked me,

"How you like real Bangladesh, huh? Beautiful, innit?"

"Yeah," I agreed, "Especially when the sun's out."

"Hmmm... maybe not whole day," he smiled, almost apologetically. "I cannot promise. But I hope."

"Let's go Mr. Driver!" urged Iffi from behind me in a terrible approximation of an American accent.

I let off the handbrake and pulled tentatively out onto the highway.

It took a bit of getting used to, but I soon started enjoying my role as "Mr. Driver". Something about being seated so high up in such a large, shiny vehicle appealed to a childish part of my ego. And apart from that, the elevated seating position afforded a better view of the landscape which, for the duration of my shift, remained flatteringly sunlit.

So the time flew by and it felt like very soon that we reached a small but very busy town that was absolutely packed with baby taxis. There were empty ones lined up on the side of the road, and occupied ones jammed together at random angles in the middle of it.

"Okay, okay, just stop over here," instructed Musa. "There's special technique to getting through situation like this one."

He grinned at me and, once I'd parked, gestured for me to vacate the driver's seat.

"It's time for expert to take over!"

Yes, he did like to show off, but he was always very amicable about it.

"Wanna sit up front?" I asked a slumbering Iffi as I got out and stretched my legs.

"Nah mate," he slurred. "I'm lounging pretty nice back here. You be Mr. co-driver for a bit. Musa knows what he's doing."

A few minutes later I was laughing helplessly again. It turned out that the "special technique" was simply beeping the horn and yelling out of the window. It worked though. The baby taxis magically untangled themselves from one another and made way for the mini-monster. A crude method perhaps, but there's no way I could have done it quite like Musa did.