The photograph taped to the dashboard caught my eye the second I entered the cab.  A beautiful African women in traditional clothes, sitting gracefully with a large book spread-open upon her lap and a smile that filled the car.  I assumed by her apparent age and the drivers age – that it might be his daughter.  I was soon to learn it was his fiance.

“She nearly died two days ago.  I saved her life.  She was dead – she died and came back,” he said with a voice both thick with accent and emotion when I inquired who she was.

“She died and came back?”

“She was dead – she was on the stretcher being taken to the morgue – and then she coughed and the doctor said ‘this woman is still alive.. quick… return her to the hospital.‘”

The woman in the photograph, his fiance, lives in Ghana and judging by the photograph was the epitome of youth and health.  However, earlier in the week she had complained to him via the telephone of a headache and he had told her to see a doctor.  Check-ups are not the sort of thing most can afford in Ghana – but he wired her money and insisted she visit the doctor.  However, before she could make an appointment she collapsed in the street. As no ambulance was available – her friend using the money he had wired was able to pay a man with a van to take her to the hospital where by all accounts she was declared dead.

“He would not take her until they paid him.  What kind of man is this who would not take a dying women to the hospital?  This is the way we live?”

“Disgusting,” I replied, trying to grasp the story he was rapidly unfolding for me.

“I saved her life,” he said again – his glassy eyes piercing mine through the reflection of the rear-view mirror. “If I was not her fiance, she would have died in the street. Her parents have no money – and if she was married to one of the local men – they have no money. I have the money,” he said proudly.  “They told the doctors she has a fiance in America and so they took her in.”

In the end, it turns out she is anemic and had no blood in her system.  “A heart with no blood can not beat.”  Several blood transfusions later and she was now doing well. But blood does not come cheap in Ghana. Her bill totaled in the millions for the local currency – clearly wrought with inflation. $300 US dollars – which according to him is more than the average person in Ghana would make in a year.  Her parents have no work and no money.  She supports them with the small income she makes from selling clothes that he purchased in bulk and had shipped to her.

“She must be so grateful to you,” I said studying the coarse lines of his face – the subtle in-and-out of his wide nostrils – the thickness of his neck – the indent on his right ear – the dark coarse hair that faded to white at the edges.

“Oh yes. She has called me three times in the last day just to thank me.  Her parents are so thankful she is engaged to me.  But I am thankful that she lives with them.  I had sent money and told her to move to my home in Ghana. I have a beautiful home but it is far from town and she did not want to be there all by herself.  If she had listened to me, she would have died in my house alone.  And then I would be blamed for her death.  And not being there to defend myself people would talk.  They would not learn about her anemia, but say that my home was cursed.”

“Instead you’re a hero.”

“Yes.  Instead I am the hero. I saved her life.  If she was not engaged to a man who is in America the doctors would not have seen her.  ‘Her fiance is in America‘  her parents told the hospital, so they knew she had money. And if she was here, in America, I would not have been able to afford to help her.”

“You’d be paying for the rest of your life,” I smiled into the mirror.

“Yes,” he burst out laughing and embraced the steering wheel.  “I’d be paying forever. Instead I paid $300 and saved her. A large amount in Ghana, but here, not so much.”

“Amazing,” I said darting my eyes from the mirror to the photograph and back.

“When will you return to Ghana?” I inquired.

“I am hoping in February.”

“It will be good to see her I bet,” I said while reflecting on the scale of their long-distance relationship.

“Yes, very much so.  I hope she remembers though.  A woman can forget.  When a man is not around, a woman can forget.”

“You saved her life – I don’t think she’ll forget that.”

“A woman can forget.  And it is wrong to remind them.”

“Yeah, you gotta save that one,” I joked.

“YES!” He burst out laughing again, bear-hugging the steering wheel with his massive frame.

“When she says a few years from now, ‘you never did anything nice for me’,” I continued joking.

“Yes, yes,” he roared.  “I did nothing?  I saved your life! I paid for the blood that is inside you.”

We both laughed hysterically.  “Save that one,” I joked again as the cab pulled up in front of Union Station and a light rain streaked the windows I’d ignored the entire ride- focused only on the photograph taped to the dashboard and his eyes reflecting in the mirror.

The stories people share far surpass those of any TV program or movie. This is why I travel – this is why I talk with everyone I meet.  This is what I am living for.

Somewhere in Washington DC there is a cab driver who is engaged to a beautiful woman in Ghana who died and came back on Wednesday. He spends his days driving passengers around who are likely convinced they are doing better than him and for a moment perhaps, ponder whether it is his daughter or wife in the photograph, but choose not to ask.  And the small tips and salary he makes, he sends back to Ghana, where he is a wealthy man. A man with a large home and a beautiful fiance. A man who saves lives.

Filed under: Uncategorized by gspies
No Comments »