The first taxi I hailed in Zanzibar broke down after a hundred yards. It was dusk and the sky glowed carmine through the canopy of palms. The driver, aided by a passing bicyclist and two small boys, was confident of effecting the necessary repairs before nightfall. But the ancient British vehicle had given up the ghost, and my fare was subcontracted to a passing pickup truck of later model.
- From Zanzibar to Timbuktu by Theodore Dalrymple