Time In a Bottle

Early in my career in international affairs I made an appointment to meet a government official in a West African country.  I had no problem arranging the meeting over the telephone, and a few minutes before the agreed time I arrived, presented my business card and was shown where to sit.  After waiting thirty minutes, I left.  Looking back on that incident still makes me feel uneasy.

How could I have been so rude?

The answer is both simple and complex. 

The simple part is that I was young, impatient and inexperienced.  The more complex interpretation of my behavior can be summed up by the aphorism “what’s bred in the bone will out”. Like most North Americans, I’m hard wired to react the way I did. (I’m sure there are gender issues lurking in there somewhere as well.)  My sense of time and the manner in which I interact with it forms part of my cultural heritage.  Time sense is an integral part of everyone’s cultural heritage.

Anthropologist Edward T. Hall put it very well in his excellent book  The Dance of Life: The Other Dimension of Time  (Anchor Books, 1984) when he wrote that  people are both tied together and isolated by “…invisible threads of rhythm and hidden walls of time”

For the people of Africa and many parts of Asia, along with most of the rest of the developing world, time is like a river.  It flows continuously and one’s family, friends and colleagues are all part of the stream. Life is about going with the flow and taking things as they come.  There is always time for family and friends who may be in need—regardless of whether seeing to them impinges on work schedules or other commitments.  People who experience time in this way are called polychromic.

For North Americans, and Northern Europeans, time is like a firefly caught in a bottle—it attracts and holds our attention.  It can be studied, chopped up, reassembled and reorganized.  It is a tradable good: we can earn it, save it consume it and waste it. Our friends, family and colleagues are all subject to the vagaries of our penchant for managing this scarce commodity. People who experience time in this way are called monochronic.

Being polychromic or monochromic about time represents only one facet of a complex part of ourselves and our societies. In most cultures there are dozens of other factors shaping the way in which people relate to time.

In some countries, non-payment of wages—particularly to public servants—remains an all too common reason for the late arrival or non-appearance of officials. They’re not in their offices because they may be working at their other job—the one that allows them to pay the bills and put food on the table. The African and Asian commitment to the family, usually to an extended family—one of among many family and social obligations that in North America have evolved away from a collectivist approach toward a more individual concept— is another mediating factor that, if misunderstood by a visitor, can lead to frustration and a negative assessment about how non western cultures manage time.

It is more than just a little ironic that in preparing this blog post I am to a large extent limited by the language and concepts of my essentially monochronic self.  In talking about how Africans and Asians manage their time I am putting a North American time obsessed frame around their reality.  On the other hand, it’s often said that gaining an awareness of a problem can in some cases represent the first step in understanding it. And although it’s always advisable to approach the resolution of cross cultural differences carefully and with tact, in the case of time sense, recognizing or identifying the differences between you and your hosts can be a very big step in the right direction.

Among the most common strategies for recognizing that one’s sense of time may not be like that of a colleague or friend is to ask whether the appointment just made should be interpreted using , for example, ‘African Time’,’ American Time,’ ‘Canadian Time’ or ‘Indian Time.’ It’s an approach that when used with people with whom one is comfortable, instantly communicates a mutual awareness of the fact that the people involved view time differently and should, therefore, build-in accommodations.

Using Local Transportation and the Moto Taxis of Cotonou, Bénin

During a three week working visit to the Kilimanjaro region of Tanzania I was driving in a car borrowed from a colleague when, half way through a roundabout in the city of Arusha, a man leaned out his driver side window and shouted “you’re on the wrong side!”  Sure enough, I was.

I was driving a car with a British style right hand drive. Roundabouts can be tricky during those first few days of driving ‘on the other side.’ I started paying closer attention and returned the car to my colleague unscathed. 

Traveling on a budget in developing countries usually means using what is euphemistically called ‘local transportation’; read ‘cheap’ or inexpensive.  Cheap local transport can mean a route taxi—usually a crowded four door sedan that’ll stop when you wave, a mini bus with giant speakers playing Bob Marley, or if you’re in South Asia, a three wheeled covered taxi featuring a knowledgeable driver and a lot of blue smoke.

Are these forms of transportation dangerous?   My experience suggests they’re not.

That said, public transportation in many developing countries can be uncomfortable for women due to the extremely misogynistic attitudes of some men.  Driving yourself—whether on two wheels or four—can also be tricky due to the local drivers’ tendency to ignore basic rules of the road. Common sense and caution should guide a traveler’s transportation choices.

As the short piece that follows will suggest, ‘local transport’ need not be synonymous with boring, uninteresting or expensive.

The article reproduced below was originally published in the now defunct Canadian magazine African Access. The piece was featured in the magazine’s “Travel Stories From Our Readers” section.

The Moto-Taxis of Cotonou

By Jamieson Campbell

Waiting for a light to change at an intersection in Cotonou, Benin is an assault on the senses.

The sight and smell of blue tinted smoke from mopeds and motorcycle taxis lined up seven abreast in a flying wedge of a hundred or so leaves a lasting impression. The changing traffic signal sets off a flurry of  movement and a cloud of smoke as everyone rushes into the intersection accompanied by the ring-a-ding-ding  of a hundred two stroke engines storming off together.

And in the middle of it all--out front, on the sides, at the back--are the men in yellow shirts. These are the moto-taxis, motorcycle taxis, of Cotonou.

Cotonou is the largest city in Benin, a small West African country sandwiched between Togo and Nigeria. Like its sister cities in the region, Cotonou has traffic jams. The main roads at eight A.M., noon and four P.M. look like organized chaos.  In a very real sense, the yellow-shirted gentlemen on motorcycles are traffic busters: they're able to thread their way through even the most densely packed traffic jams.

Most of the moto-taxi operators have fifty or ninety CC bikes. The main reason for the popularity of these small motorcycles is the modest capital cost of acquiring and operating one.  Both gasoline and service, from minor tune-up to engine job, can be had for relatively low cost from itinerant mechanics who set up shop under the shade of a tree or the side of the road.

I was introduced to the moto-taxis by an African colleague who had come to my hotel to accompany me to a meeting on the other side of town. He suggested I try a ride on a moto-taxi and I agreed.

This is where I have to reveal my true colors and admit that I'm a motorcycle enthusiast. I tour Canada and the United States on a big motorcycle. I always wear my helmet; I've taken several safety courses; and I take care to ensure that my bike is in good mechanical condition.

So what am I doing, perched helmetless on the back of a tiny motorcycle, cruising through the dusty streets of a small West African city, dodging cars and trucks, and competing for space at intersections?  Having fun, of course--and getting there.

I've been using moto-taxis to get around town, day and night, for over three years, now. These young men have earned my confidence. And although they haven't known it, I've spent most of every ride trying to find fault with the way they drive. It's been a disappointing exercise.

These fellows are solid. They have good habits: they're careful about moving in and out of traffic (they do shoulder checks); they're courteous with one another and with other vehicles; and they have full control of their motorcycles--even when navigating with a passenger down streets of deep sand.

Now, these single passenger vehicles with no trunk space are obviously not the best choice for the ride from the airport to your hotel. And they might be of limited utility if your event requires you to be dressed formally. But if you're traveling solo and you have an urge to add a little spice to your day, then taking a ride with one of these young men is one way to boldly get to where ever you're going. Let your senses take a ride on the wild side--Cotonou style.