Innocent and Texas

Innocent, my driver, was an important part of the team that cared for the orphaned bonobos. From Grains of Golden Sand:

"Innocent was a smooth operator, which was saying a lot, given the horrific conditions of the roads and traffic. Nothing rattled him—not side-swiping semis, slews of blaring taxis, riots of ticket-evaders hanging off buses (to combat this, some bus companies welded giant spikes on their bumpers), bottomless potholes, darting pedestrians, and thieves on the prowl for unprotected mirrors, antennas, and headlight covers.

"There were no rules of the road, and Innocent knew how to maneuver the lack of them all. In his head he carried a map of the convoluted roadways, unnamed city streets, one-way alleyways, and shortcuts to our destinations. At drivers’ rest stops, he conferred with fellow chauffeurs and thus kept track of how to avoid roving police barricades, mobile bandit gangs, and the downed bridge, flooded crossing, or odd street construction. His was a full-time occupation. Besides chauffeuring me and guarding the truck while I did errands, Innocent freed me from a deluge of onerous duties by running about town in my place.

"Innocent dearly loved “his” Texas. He’d worked for many years as a driver for the Belgian Military Cooperation and was trained in the formal, cavalry style. That is to say, every morning the hood was raised, and Texas got a complete stem-to-stern examination. Fuel, oil, radiator coolant, and windshield-washing fluid levels were inspected, the headlights, brake lights and turn-indicators were checked, the tires examined, battery cables jiggled, hoses studied and tightened. Every single work day. Innocent was committed to his job, and he sulked if I suggested that it was not necessary to do this every morning. After all, he was a professional and to suggest that he do anything less was to demean his occupation."

Photo by D. Messinger