The first thing that hits you at Juba’s Customs Taxi Park is not the smell of diesel or the dust spinning under the worn tires.
It is the noise. “Yei! Yei! Yei!”, “Koboko! Koboko!” “Rumbek! Rumbek!” and “Terekeka! Terekeka!”
Young conductors weave between ageing station wagons and minibuses, shouting destinations with the urgency of men racing against time. Drivers lean against dusty Land Cruisers, calling out to hesitant passengers, while women carrying trays of roasted groundnuts, tea, boiled eggs and…
