“Chalabi, chalabi, chalabi” the young boy yells out the open bus door and I know my adventure shall begin again. Once on the decrepit vehicle which seems to be propelled by the horn given how much it is used, I squirm in to find a place to crouch since most people here are quite small, the buses have 5 and a half foot ceilings, plenty for them but there is no standing for me!). The bus, which was over any sensible capacity 15 people before I got on, begins to move. I wiggle an arm up to hold on to the railing which is not necessary since it would be impossible to fall over. Slowly we move through the combination of motorcycles and smoke spewing dilapidated old buses that have the same method of propulsion as our bus.
“Chalabi, chalabi, chalabi”….there is no way more people are getting on this bus, then the back door opens and somehow a couple of more get on. Chalabi, chalabi chalabi…the roof of the bus is now getting full too. Finally, I make it to the Chalabi bus stop and I have to look for the boy yelling “Ratala, ratala, ratala” to begin the next phase of my journey.