Kombi Logic

Kombi (koom-bee): a privately owned and operated minivan taxi, specially modified and licensed for public transport, which adheres to specific routes (like a bus) and which is notorious for three common characteristics: blaring loud music, having mechanical problems of all possible varieties, and overloading passengers.

Over the past year we have grown accustomed to various routines and daily-life details we’d consider to be uncomfortable (or at least inconvenient) back home.  We hardly notice or even miss having running water inside our home, for example.  But relying upon kombis and busses for all our movement is still pretty annoying to me.  We’re now mostly numb to the various physical discomforts-- being cram-packed in them, breathing exhaust fumes, enduring loud (and really bad) music, having anxiety about the driver’s recklessness and the vehicle’s road-worthiness… these are all things we’re quite used to.  But what continues to frustrate us is how kombis and busses make otherwise easy errands difficult.  They can completely thwart one’s attempts at keeping schedules and plans, patience and sanity.  But sometimes they provide us with funny stories, and for that—and only that—I’m thankful to them.

Our kombi ride from Nhlangano back to Zombodze last week started out pretty typical: we went to the bus rank (a big parking lot for busses and kombis full of horns and hollering), got into the kombi marked ‘Zombodze,’ and proceeded to wait for it to fill up.  Official capacity was 15 but they rarely leave without having at least 17 passengers (driver not included), plus everyone’s bags and groceries piled into it.  And this time was no different in that regard.  We set out for our 35-minute ride with 17 passengers, and it was pretty comfortable by kombi standards: the music wasn’t very loud and it may have been overloaded but not ridiculously so; not circus-clown overloaded.

But as we left the paved highway and started heading down the dirt road that leads to Zombodze, a police truck passed us, then came to a stop in front of us.  And before our kombi could go around it, two policemen were motioning for us to pull over.  The usual spot-inspection of the kombi ensued, and the police counted 2 passengers too many.  So the driver got out and walked back to the police truck to do business while us passengers waited.  These things take time.  Everything takes time.

Eventually, the driver and his conductor (a guy who sits at the slider door and collects money) were given two choices: either they accept a ticket for E120 (or about US$15), representing E60 per violation, or… they pay the cops E30 in cash and go on their way.  So okay-- a typical roadside bribery situation, nothing unusual about that. 

The conductor and driver paid off the corrupt (and cheap) police and our kombi resumed its bumpy ride down the dirt road without having to unload any passengers.  And within a few minutes, the kombi stopped to pick up another passenger.  18 people inside, which meant that every “row” was now truly packed, but nothing we couldn’t endure for the remaining 10km or so.  But then the driver stopped to pick up another person, and then another one—making 20 passengers.  And that, I can tell you, is an unusually tight fit.  If you’re among 20 passengers packed into a standard-sized kombi and you didn’t previously know your benchseat-neighbor, you certainly know them now.       

Jamie and I weren’t the only ones who couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden turn of events—from being pulled over for overcrowding to being legitimately overcrowded in a matter of minutes.  What was the driver thinking?  Well, here’s the thing.  He’d never have loaded up 20 passengers had he NOT been pulled over and fined.  But since he was now down E30, he had a strong incentive to pick up as many passengers as possible, which is exactly what he did.  It’s kombi logic: he needed to earn back the money those police had taken. 

I’m pretty sure the irony was utterly lost on our driver.  By the time we reached Zombodze, I counted 21 passengers in the kombi—with the official capacity being 15 (driver not included).  One was a kid, and he didn’t take up too much space… but still, I think it was the second most crowded kombi I’ve ever been in.  All because we’d been pulled over for overcrowding. 

Some people here like to throw around the acronym, TIA, which stands for ‘This Is Africa.’  I don’t like to use it, mostly because as a volunteer for a Federal agency there are already enough TLA’s  (three-letter acronyms) in my life.  But if I did like to say TIA, I guess that kombi escapade would have been an ideal occasion: corrupt enforcement of vehicle overcrowding leads to an immediate increase in… overcrowding.