Pain in the Buttocks

After stopping for one night in Rundu, it was time for the trainees to depart for our journey back to Okahandja the next morning of the 14th of March 2009. Thankfully, the older volunteers took us (another kilo or two with my effing bags) to the combi hike point and set us up with a ride, because I would have been confused and worried and clueless about what to do otherwise.

After we paid this one lady and had our names recorded down into a registry book, we began the wait. See combis won’t leave usually until they are packed full to capacity, and then some. It makes sense because the more bodies in the car, the more money the driver makes per trip. The only problem is, if you want to get somewhere by a certain time, you can’t rely on a combi. You could be waiting for a few minutes, or for several hours, until they finally reach their threshold time, when they absolutely have to leave in order to reach their destination before it gets too dark.

We waited for a couple of hours before the spots in the combi had all filled up. Originally, we were set to go in this very nice mini-bus, one with isles, individual cushioned seats, and an extended roof that allowed you to stand. That was only a tease however, because shortly before it was time to depart, we were moved into a real true combi. Now the best way that I can describe a combi is that it’s about the size of a minivan or one of those Volkswagen vans from the 60’s or 70’s, and they typically hold about 16 passengers including the driver. Our combi in particular was definitely worn and old, and if the seats had cushioning, I couldn’t feel any between my butt and the support bars.

Nick, Kim, Jessica and I packed into the back, which is the only seat where four have to sit together instead of three. Paul and Jake, apparently the smarter ones of the group, sat right in front of us, and had much more room. I was being pressed by every angle, from the seat, from the people next to me, my knees were pressing into the seat in front of me, and I couldn’t sit up completely straight because the ceiling was low. Thankfully I’m not claustrophobic because I would have lost it in there. I had to sit many hours in a fetal-like position just to relieve pressure on various sore spots on my body.

In addition to the cramped conditions, combis don’t really have air conditioning, and some combi drivers will even demand that you leave the windows closed. For some reason they believe that having the windows open drastically affects the aerodynamics of the van. So what you get is a tightly packed group of hot, sweaty, smelly, uncomfortable, and agitated people. It might not sound that uncomfortable in writing, but I found myself occasionally thinking about how a car crash might be a nice alternative because it would get me out of the combi or possibly end my suffering altogether (which I considered a win-win at the time). I’m tempted to take those of you that visit on a combi ride of your very own so you can fully understand my pain (especially that of my buttocks).

The highlights about this particular combi experience were the times when we would be driving on a nice, well-maintained, dry, paved road and yet it would feel as if the car was hydroplaning. There were moments where I really thought we were going to fly off the road, and that was all before it actually did start to rain. Also, our combi broke down about half way to our destination. We had to wait for maybe a half hour to an hour while the driver continually tried to start up the van. He was eventually successful and we were able to continue our journey.
After a full day in the combi, about 9 or so hours, we finally arrived back in Okahandja. I was so happy to be back home with my host family, away from nasty houses, crazy priests, disgusting roommates, and out of that dreadful combi.