Hitchin' A Ride

Peace Corps Volunteers aren’t allowed to drive. And since our monthly stipend breaks down to roughly $3USD a day, most of us couldn’t afford to even if we had the chance.

Because of this, travel is always a hassle and ETAs are impossible to gage. Trips that should take just a couple of hours can often exceed five or six because so many variables are out of our hands. Rides in and out of our small towns and villages usually include a set rate in an over-loaded “taxi” and a couple of hours touring the location in search of additional passengers. Drivers frequently “make turns” en route to deliver packages, drop people off, or run random errands.

But once we’re on the open road and out of our sites, most of us opt for the preferred PCV mode of transportation: free hiking. This is basically the African version of hitch hiking—standing on the side of the road and somehow thumbing a ride.

Sure, it has its downsides. There are awkward conversations and even denied marriage proposals (sometimes more than one over the course of a single ride). Standing on the roadside alone is less than fun and, especially for females, can at times feel down right dangerous.

But it has its upsides, too. More space, nicer (and safer) cars, and interesting and incredibly kind people.

Like the guy we met today.

Regular free-hikers learn quickly there are two types of drivers willing to pick up travelers. Those who worry we’ll be taken advantage of, and those who want to take advantage of us. Our ride from Okahandja to Otjiwarango definitely fell into the first group.

Not five minutes after removing our packs, a man in a four-door truck headed for Tsumeb loaded our bags into the back. (I think a half-full car of men that offered us a ride 10K up the road may have alarmed him enough to pull over.)

We talked about our jobs as volunteers and told stories from our lives in Khorixas and Caprivi (I was traveling with Ashley). In exchange he filled us in on his South African childhood and former life in Botswana and the bush. There was hardly a silent moment on our near three-hour trip. He even provided us with self-defense tips for solo-travel and gifted Ashley a Leatherman when he realized she was going around the country without one.

We pulled in to Otjiwarongo ready to unload our bags at the Taxi point. But instead, stopped in a parking lot where he told us we weren’t going anywhere until after we ate. It was like meeting a friend’s parents at a restaurant in college. He told us not to be shy, and made sure our sodas were nothing smaller than large. A few hamburgers and some plates of fries later and we were out the door.

And on our way to the pharmacy.

Where (our moms would love this) he bought packages of vitamins that he (surprise!) handed off to us as we headed out to his truck. “You have to take these if you can’t find or afford fruit,” he told us. “It’s like a bag of oranges in every tablet.” Not knowing what else to do, we said thanks.

He drove us around the corner to the taxis and waited. Two drivers approached us (both of whom I’d ridden with before), eager to get our business to Khorixas. While we negotiated, our guy stuck around. We figured it was to make sure we got off okay. Instead, he pulled up behind us and gave our driver a wave. We thought it would be a fatherly, “Take good care of these girls and get them home safe” talk, but he took it a step further and paid both our fares in the process, too.

It was without a doubt, one of my nicest free-hike moments, mostly because his kindness had been genuine. It came with no ulterior motive—simply sincere and honest concern. There was never an “Are you married?” or “Where’s your boyfriend?” or a “Can you take me to America?” during the course of our conversations. Rather, a “Please make it home safely and let me know if there’s anything more I can do to help.”

Only thing is, it’s hard to do more when you’ve already done it all.