Goodbye is not easy but it is a reality that everyone must face whether or not a person likes it. Two months ago, I arrived in Chipata with two other volunteers from the UK but I travelled from Lusaka with a colleague who would also be working with the diocese of Chipata for two months. Being both from the diocese binds us together and with another volunteer we became friends, we hang-out and would always make sure that we don’t miss each other on any occasion, especially the simple pleasures in Chipata. We have explored different places where we can have mosi ( a local beer) which really kept us something to do aside from the fact that it was also our bonding moments together. Two months have passed; it’s time to leave and fly back home. And one of the usual things to do is have a leaving party. It’s exciting to prepare parties although it was sad to know that this is particularly a goodbye party.
The party took place in one of the volunteer’s house. Preparations as well took there. Since my place is around 2 kilometers from the party place, I decided to take a taxi so as not to bother other volunteers to pick me from home. Bravely, around 12 noon, I went by the roadside and waited for a cab. In Zambia, getting a cab is a matter of guessing because you wouldn’t know which car is a taxi and which one is not because they are painted in different colors. The law says taxi should be painted blue but, according to people, because this is the color of the ruling party of the government, the opposition was saying that it’s part of the political campaign so naturally people were not happy about it; in short, some taxis were not painted in blue.
As I have said, getting a taxi is a game of chance, I stood by the road waiting for any vehicle to stop and ask if I wanted a ride. After fifteen minutes or less, a taxi coming from the opposite direction stopped by asking if I wanted a ride. I said yes and gave direction to my destination. I hopped in. Zambians are friendly; yes it’s true, until that day. Upon settling in the passengers’ seat, the taxi driver greeted me with how are you, so I said I am fine, thank you but it’s just so hot outside because it took me a while to get a taxi. Sincerely, this was the only thing I said. For no apparent reason at all, the taxi driver was so angry and looked back at me, told me in a loud voice to get out of the car. To be exact “in Jesus’ name, get out of my car!”, trying to be brave, I told the taxi driver, I can’t understand you, did I say anything wrong, did I do something bad?. Insistently, the taxi driver repeated in a very loud voice that I get out of the car. Scared to death, I came out of the car. I came out of the car feeling scared, lost and alone. As if not happy with what he did to me, the taxi driver called upon a drunk man and said something to him, I assumed nothing good because the same drunk man was instructing the children approaching to walk fast away from me, although it was in their local language, I figured out what he said because walk fast was said in English. Still not satisfied, the taxi driver found a group of women along the road, talked to them, probably about me again. I wanted to cry and scream but I managed to convince myself to be strong. I don’t want to get a taxi anymore but I have to be with my friends because I needed somebody to talk to. After a few minutes, another cab stopped by. I bravely hopped in and tried to be quiet and prayed. As soon as I reached my friend’s house, all 3 of them were looking at me, I was on the verge of crying and shaking. I narrated my experience and I felt somehow good after talking to them but the memory lingered in my mind. They assured me that it has nothing to do with my character and some people are really mean, so charge to experience what happened to me.
The following morning, I was traumatized, I don’t want to go out and for two weeks now, memories keep coming back. I am still scared. I don’t want to go out with a cab. I shared my experience to some of my colleagues. They all said it was an unfortunate experience. However, they related it to Satanism, rumors were spreading in Chipata that Satanists are present. Probably, the taxi driver was a Satanist who has seen me covered with God’s grace and could not stand my presence with him. So, it was his way of chasing me away. Good consolation since 3 of them assured me with the same reasons. Fr. Richard even said I could ask the Bishop when I meet him because he had similar experience in Lusaka. They were concerned about me but it was more difficult to process my experience within myself. This is one thing I have to keep to myself without telling people back home so they would not be worrying but certainly it would be one of the stories I would tell them when I go back to the Philippines.
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