Lydia Hartsell

The miracle dala is a phrase coined by my brothers study abroad group to mean a dala dala which runs late at night when all other dalas have stopped.  It shows up at just the right time when no other cheap public transportation is available.  It is truly a miracle dala. 

My miracle dala, however, takes on a little bit different manifestation.  It is the dala that appears after I have been waiting at the bus stand for over an half an hour for a dala that I can actually fit on.  I know that in dala rules, you can always fit one more person, but during rush hour from 5pm until 8pm on Ali Hassein Mwinyi Road, it is physically impossible to fit one more person on a dala going from Posta to Mwenge.  So I wait.  I already have my first permanent scar from a packed dala back in February when my shin got smashed up against a seat’s metal support.  Since it was so packed, I could not move it for at least a couple minutes.  I didn’t know that I had an inch-size gash until I reached down to wipe a sweat droplet from my leg, only to find out that it was blood.  I am all too familiar with the pain that a packed dala inflicts upon a standing passenger. 

So as I was wait for a small crevice of an opening on a passing dala, my miracle dala is the smaller 20-passenger utility van that pulls up and calls out, “enda Mwenge, mia tano” (to Mwenge, 500 TShillings).  Yes this miracle dala charges double the price as an ordinary dala, but upon boarding I know that I will have a seat and if especially lucky, air conditioning, for only 30 cents more.   And for me, that is truly a miracle dala.