This afternoon we realized that we were about to run out of milk. And what I mean by that is that our giant container of milk powder was nearing the bottom. (Henry still takes a bottle twice a day, so we go through the white bovine nectar at a calf’s pace.) I therefore decided to grab a taxi to head into town to visit one of the larger supermarkets. Getting there wasn’t nearly as interesting as getting home. Here’s what happened.

Arriving at the supermarket in good time, I found the humongous canister of what I’ve started thinking of as essentially adult baby formula. I checked out and found my way back to the main road where I could catch a taxi home. As I approached the crosswalk, I spotted well-armed soldiers lining the roadway, apparently waiting for something or someone to come through. Traffic had all but come to a halt. Next thing to happen was a stately motorcade of sleek black vehicles to come barreling past. Probably the President or one of his ministers. The normally bustling byway gave way for someone of importance at a any rate.

Once traffic finally picked back up, I had already had my fill of waiting to start the journey back home. Plus, I had a whole chicken in my backpack–tomorrow night’s dinner. It took me ages to hail a taxi that was headed to our neck of the woods. The way it works is that you stand by the road and eye the passing taxis with one or two fingers pointed towards the ground. Taxis then swerve near you slowing down just enough so that the driver can hear you call out the name of your desired destination. If the driver accepts your petition, he honks one time and you run up and jump in. Well, probably 15 taxis passed me by with drivers shaking their heads no before I found one who sounded an approving honk. I was starting to feel desperate. Just to spice things up, a beggar lady approached me to ask in French if I was Chinese. When I said no, she just left. Does she think all non-Africans look the same?!

So, I jumped into the long-awaited accepting taxi. It was packed to the gills. Picture an old, beat up Honda Civic jam-packed with commuters. I was the sixth to climb into this particular people carrier. I didn’t mind though because I was finally on my way back home.

All was going well until about a mile down the road another taxi driver cut us off and made our driver stall. We came to a halt in the middle of the road and traffic quickly backed up behind us. Then, as if preplanned, everyone clamored out of the taxi, got behind, and started pushing! Confused, I jumped out with my whole chicken and huge container of powered milk and played along. At first, I thought maybe I should just leave my bags in the car, but I then I wondered if he might just drive off once he gets started back up. And it’s a good job I took my bags with me because that’s exactly what he did!

There I was in the middle of the road with traffic backing up pushing a taxi with several other guys all while holding a whole chicken and a ridiculously oversized can of powdered milk. I asked another guy who was pushing if this was at all normal. He just shook his head in disgust. Away the taxi driver sped.

Now, there I sat again on the side of the road tasked with hailing another cab. Would it take just as long to find another taxi headed in my direction? You bet it did! But I did finally make it back home and Henry got his bottle.

Got milk?