Bus Revelations...Part the First

So, at my new job, there is really no good bus route to deliver me to my building from my humble abode every morning. So while I have been accustoming myself to paying almost triple what I would like to pay for my daily transport in taxis, I have also forgotten what it is like to depend on the bus system. However, I still take the bus and have found that my few times being on the bus in the last weeks have lead to serious thought provoking moments. The first part (thats right, this is a three parter. Contain your excitment.), I would like to share, takes me all the way back to my childhood.

Did you ever read "The mitten" when you were a kid? I for sure did. I remember falling in love with all the great illustrations and thought how it was amazing that the spider, then the possum, then the wolf and then the bear all fit in one little woven hand warmer. I guess I was amazed and awed by the possibility of something so illogical actually happening. I remember thinking, "that could never happen." And while I am sure I lacked the knowledge and vocabulary to describe it at that moment, I always felt that something was wrong, that this couldnt happen, yet my meticulous nature wasnt developed enough to say exactly why it wouldnt happen. I mean in the fantasy world of children, who really tries to explain big mysteries like why a wolf would fit in a mitten but a bear wouldn't.

Well, I was proven that this impossible feat can be done. Panamanians rely, as I do, on public transportation. For most, this means fighting for a taxi (that is a whole other blog entry in itself), or taking the bus. By bus, I dont mean RTD with its plastic seats, and its cleaning service and the token homeless person nestling their brown bag alcohol, but rather I refer to the "diablo rojos" (red devils) as they are called here. Diablo rojos are simply old school buses that have not passed the safety code in the States, where people have a sense of justice, and have the recourses to make sure that they and their children are not dilebrately put in danger. These buses are then sent to all the places where safety standerds dont really exist or are not enforced at least, and these diablo rojos become the metaphorical mitten that the rich kid drops in the forest, not even realizing how valuable it is to those who dont have anything to keep them warm, a small piece of his layers of winter clothing he doesnt even notice is missing when others are lucky to even have a jacket.

This is actually the emergency exit of a "diablo rojo" (safely watched iver by Jesus himself), all decked out with its painting. Some people would argue that these old school busses serve better as canvas for urban art than modes of transportation.

And, we all cram in. Standing in the aisle of the refurbished bus, I wondered how many people there actually were on the bus, and how the little "Max. Capacity 67" sign was either not understoof or just flat out ignored (most Panamanians have a basic enough sense of English to figure out what it means). All the cold animals cram themselves into the mitten; here the need to escape the cold is the need to get from point A to point B, and the bus is the mitten that provides that so coveted warmth.

With one small difference. This steel mitten, with its bolts and screws and sparkplugs and axles, doesnt gracefully expand to accomadate all its needy occupants. Therefore, it is the occupants who must accomadate for others as they cram on, doubling over, pressing at least two thirds of your body against the wall, the roof fire exit, or some unsuspecting stander-by. And just when you think the bus is full, people are hanging out both exit doors, ive people are crammed side by side in the two foot passage way between seats where three children are sitting on one woman's lap, and oversized people hang off into the aisle, the driver stops at a bus stop, telling more people that there really is room, leaving all the animals in the mitten too hot becuase there is no air to breath let alone a breeze that refreshs as they try to find a blance between the need to be somewhere, the pain of being forced to be a contortionist, and the desire to not want to hit some old lady on her head with breifcases, shopping bags and textbooks.

I wonder why this happens? Whose fault is it? We can pin the blame on a number of sources. The greedy bus companies and school districts who really dont care or dont know that selling their busses to under developed countries is dangerous, becuase they get some extra profit. The government who makes said purchases and does nothing to inspect or repair failing busses. The drivers who continue to let people board so they can get their extra twenty-five cent bus fare. Or the people who just continue to push and shove, allowing such degradery become a part of their everyday life, whether because they dont know any better, they are lazy or they dont have the resources to make any better proposals.

Like the animals in the mitten, we all just want to be warm. We all have places to go. And the bus is the reality of our situation. And unfortunately, this mitten story doesnt have a happy ending. The kid doesnt come and find his mitten torn to shreds, and is saddened by it. No, when busses burn and people die, there is no action to prevent it from happening again, there is no one to step forward and take the blame, there is no one who seems to care.

Hardly the appropriate children's story.