Huambo to Luanda
|More roadside views|
After one stop the three clowns come on with more booze, the chickens in the back start crowing, and I make smiley faces at a little child. She starts bawling; now all the other infants join in. I stare back out of the window. Gee, officer Krupke, it's not me.
At last, after 10 hours, we reach the final stop on the industrial outskirts of Luanda, 20 kilometres from the centre. For some obscure reason the three clowns have started to fight, shouting at each other and making threatening gestures and mock charges, but not before one of them explains to me how to get to where I want to go. There are, of course, no taxis. Instead whole convoys of blue and white candongueiro mini vans manoeuvre in and out with their conductors lurching half-body out of the windows and shouting destinations. I am to get the van to Chongolese and from there another to Maianga.
|A portly baobab|
After a couple of kilometres, the brakes give out and we slither to a shaky halt. It's out once more to hunt for another craft. Again the usual hassle over the case, but fellow travellers are yet once more very helpful. The traffic gets worse and worse, especially near a local police station where a cop is holding everybody up in an interminable line to let his buddies get home. At last the candongueiro stops at its turn about point; miracle of miracles, it's only 50 feet from the Soleme inn. Who needs a $50 or $100 taxi, anyway, in this traffic snarl? And the total cost? $4 for both muggins AND case.
|One of Luanda's smoother running streets|