Minibus observations

One morning, I climb into a sardine can, squeezing in between two souls and wedging myself against the seat (actually - a fellow passenger's leg, if I'm honest). As the third person shoved into two seats, he is still gracious and apologetic for being so intimately close to me. A few kilometers, and the driver hits the brakes hard. No handholds, and I start flying. Said passenger becomes more than legs, and his arms reach out to grab me and hold me securely in my 'seat'. I'm upright again, not sprawled across laps... and he lets go immediately, allowing for some semblance of personal space/autonomy in the midst of the crowded bodies.

Another morning, I get a spot in a seat, not shared--all my own (for at least a few kilometers). An elderly man climbs into the very back, wrapped in religious robes. One our way, he starts chanting a monotone prayer loudly, his voice filling the minibus. Driver, money collector, and passengers start exchanging glances via windows, mirrors, and slightly turned heads. Driver nods, and cranks up the radio. A couple other passengers start singing along... effectively drowning out the determined old man. I chuckle lightly. Non-confrontational, as society dictates. Yet passive aggressive social control is alive and well.