Cairo traffic is out of control, reports Mustafa El-Menshawy, and the city's largest public transport service is only making it worse Passengers boarding a bus in Maadi overhear the driver complaining that the brakes could fail on the road. The man's face looks grim; the risk is more than obvious now. Still, they take what seats they find. "Okay, so I've notified the garage mechanics that the brakes are in no working order," says Medhat Mahgoub, the bus driver in question. "And assuming they're concerned enough to actually take note of my complaint -- unlikely in itself -- well, what can they do," he asks angrily. "They have no spare parts at their disposal." Four buses running the route in question have already broken down, Mahgoub testifies, leaving the bus he operates as the only remaining option for passengers unable to afford any other form of transportation. Indeed the red bus crammed with passengers like a can of sardines is one of the most visible hallmarks of Cairo streets. Chatting, flirting-cum-sexual harassment, informal trade and pick pocketing: all are part of a thriving bus culture supported by some 8,000 vehicles that carry an average of five million passengers daily. Run by two state- owned companies -- the Greater Cairo Bus Company (GCBC) and the Cairo Transport Authority (CTA) -- for over 40 years this has been the largest transport service in Cairo. It is also the most problematic: overcrowding, high accident rates, financial losses and general inefficiency are but a few symptoms of a malaise whose cure is thought to be privatisation. Despite its LE80 subsidy, according to a Central Auditing Agency report, the GCBC sustained a loss of LE64 million in the fiscal year of 2003. In another report published last year, the agency had made the same point about the CTA: losses amounted to LE500 million despite an LE240 million subsidy. No matter how much the subsidy increases, it seems -- some LE400 were spent over the last few years -- the red bus manages to lose money. But the figures merely illustrate the failure of the companies in question to enforce an efficient maintenance and management system; administrative violations are rampant, and promises to replace dysfunctional vehicles have yet to be fulfilled. Managers like GCBC head Shehata Nadim argue that they are doing their best with an outmoded bureaucracy, pointing out that the vehicles they use have been on the road for 15-22 years now -- a fact confirmed by a visit to the Saqr Qureish bus depot, where drivers demonstrated a variety of mechanical problems -- faulty breaks, unmanageably heavy driving wheels... Like many state-owned organisations, the two bus companies are impossibly overstaffed (according to recent press reports the GCBC supports up to 7,000 employees to run 900 buses, while the CTA pays 42,000 to run 4,500) -- something that not only contributes to the problem but complicates the process of privatisation. Be that as it may, it is the passengers who suffer disgruntled drivers and erratic schedules, not to mention vehicles that are uncomfortable and unsafe. There was a time when ticket prices reflected the quality of the service on offer; but to increase revenues, even those have risen from 25 piastres to 75 and 100, depending on the line. Imagine waiting two hours daily to get from your house in Al-Zawya Al- Hamra to your work place in Tahrir," Mohamed Fathi, a 25-year-old flower vendor, complains. He is waiting as we speak; he has even ordered a glass of tea from a nearby coffee house to help pass the time. Many passengers -- and drivers -- feel that price increases reflect corruption and mismanagement, yet such managers as CTA head Nabil El-Mazni insist that they are due to the recent rise in the price of vehicles and fuel, both of which are imported, requiring hard currency. El-Mazni claimed that his company's subsidy was cut by half last year, but national budget figures show that he received it in full. Accidents make up another plethora of complications. In August 2004, a girl was killed and four passengers were seriously injured when a bus driver lost control of his vehicle in Ain Shams, northeastern Cairo. According to the Central Agency for Auditing, GCBC buses (900 vehicles) made 800 accidents in one year (2003), one of which -- on 11 November -- resulted in the death of 13 and the injury of 58 passengers; once again the bus driver was held responsible. Such poor performance makes it implausible to extend the scope of the service to the new satellite cities established around Cairo in recent years. "It is beyond our capability to reach such new places as Badr City, 55 kilometres of Cairo, or New Cairo," El-Mazni conceded -- something of which residents have repeatedly complained. But within the city proper, buses contribute to pollution. "Twenty per cent of the particulate matter that results in air pollution is caused by the exhaust of public buses," Zeinab Safar, former director of the Cairo Air Improvement project, testified, lamenting the fact that no more than 15 Cairo buses run on natural gas. And despite official promises of increasing this number, many feel that the state of the bus system reveals an appalling disregard for the safety, let alone comfort, of the city's ordinary residents. Tough ride WHEN I started my career as a Cairo Transport Authority driver 10 years ago, I felt destined for a long battle: brawls with passengers -- these sometimes develop into fisticuffs -- as well as almost daily breakdowns and traffic delays are but a few of my professional problems, if you will. And through the 10 years I've worked, my salary has remained the same -- LE150, less than enough for a family of six. Another turn of the screw: passengers are not easily satisfied. They shout, they protest, they want to get off no matter how far from the bus stop. So I let them, to avoid unfortunate developments. I know it's not permitted, but I don't really have a choice; the conductor, you know -- he too has his share of brawls and fights. Nor do I drive a reasonable vehicle; buses tend to be over 20 years old. It's the worst of my worries, because it affects my income: bonuses depend on the number of tickets sold, and breakdowns can only reduce that number. When it breaks down, the bus is taken to the garage. I wait, jobless, until it's repaired. And though breakdowns occur every day, the mechanics take a few days to do the job -- every time. Nor do they pay any attention to doing it properly -- they too are underpaid, plus the company doesn't provide them with spare parts. I know this for sure, ask any driver or official. Okay, so passengers are furious when the bus breaks down, but they don't realise that we suffer all the more for it. Please don't blame the driver for traffic accidents. We have no safety provisions on our vehicles, very often we're in a bad mood -- the frustrations of the job affect our performance, no wonder many of us quit early on -- and the streets take their toll. I could've quit too. Still, the authority provides me with health insurance; it has a hospital of its own for treating drivers and their families -- a major advantage. We spend 12 hours behind the wheel daily -- we're bound to get sick. It's merciful of the authority to replace the old buses with new ones -- a slow process, this, but it's happening -- though passengers complain of the consequent high fares, up to a pound per ticket. And, really, who can blame them? It's also true that the company doesn't send buses to certain parts of Cairo, yes. Passengers in Dar Al-Salam, for example [a heavily populated neighbourhood in southern Cairo] have a right to complain of falling prey to the microbus gangs who command steadily rising fares, totally exploiting the absence of the authority in poor neighbourhoods.
