KERRE MCIVOR
KERRE FINDS HERSELF ON A RUSH-HOUR ROAD GOING NOWHERE FAST IN INDIA
It seemed an innocent enough request. We were in Muzaffarpur, in the Bihar region of India, filming stories for a special project with World Vision.
We had finished filming for the day and were making our way back to our hotel.
“Is there somewhere I can buy shampoo, and a few other bits and pieces?’’ I asked our local contact Luke. ‘’Sure,’’ he replied. “There’s a mall just a couple of minutes from the hotel. I’ll ask the driver to take you there. But I’ll see if the other girls want to go with you.”
I should have been suspicious when
Luke leapt out of the car and ushered Mdrulah, our World Vision contact, into his seat. Laura and Gabriel, who are also part of the crew, jumped into the car as well. “I’m keen,” said Laura. Gabriel hummed and hahed. It had been a long day, but if the mall was only a couple of minutes away and we’d get to see a new part of the city, she was up for the ride. Mike, the cameraman, bailed with Luke. He had everything he needed and work to do, so he said he’d see us back at the hotel for dinner. So off we went.
It was close to 6pm and that is rush hour for most cities around the world. Downtown Muzaffarpur was no exception. The road network appeared to be made up of a one-way system but it was hard to tell because in Muzaffarpur, actually in Bihar in general, traffic travelling north and south doesn’t stick to their own side of the road. I don’t really know why they bother with the expense of painting white lines in the middle of the road. Nobody, absolutely nobody, pays any attention to them. Whichever direction you’re travelling in, if there is an autotaxi or an oxen drawn cart, or a slower car impeding your progress, you simply cross to the other side of the road and drive headlong into oncoming traffic until you are around the vehicle you wish to pass.
Initially, it was a little nerve-wracking, but after a while, I put my faith in our driver, who is a lovely and young, proud father of four who presumably wanted to get home alive to see them. Which in turn meant we should make it home safely too.
We made it to the mall and although it wasn’t two minutes away – more like 15 – we gave Luke the benefit of the doubt and put it down to rush-hour traffic. We made our purchases, then got into the car to head back to the hotel, desperate for a shower after a day of working in 41-degree heat. We made our way down a couple of main roads, turned a corner into a side street – and there we stopped. There were food stalls lining both sides of the street and motorbikes parked everywhere. Cars, motorbikes, autorickshaws and buses were all travelling towards us on our side of the road and there was simply nowhere for our four-wheel drive to go. The traffic banked up behind us – there wasn’t even room for a bicycle to get by – and people started getting out of cars and off their bikes and began to argue about the best way to ease the jam. It was incredible.
Every time there was the slightest gap ahead of us, it would be filled by − at various times – sacred cows, motorbikes, a tractor and trailer, walking pilgrims on their way to the Ganges, a man in a wheelchair, an ambulance – I have grave doubts if the poor man in the back ever made it to the hospital – a bush or a beggar. The noise was incredible − a cacophony of honking car horns and shouting men.
The sun set and we were still stuck. Eventually, one capable bloke took charge – as capable blokes do − and instructed people to help the food sellers lift their carts off the side of the road and others to move the motorbikes. The moment there was a tiny bit of space, we had to gun it.
It seemed to take forever – and it did. An hour and a half to travel about three kilometres. It was chaotic and extraordinary – and I wouldn’t have missed it for quids.