The Minibus
So the minibus may look like the one your neighbor drives with Slurpee stains and soccer cleat marks in the carpet, but in Pakistan it's typically uglier, older, loaded with people, going 60 miles per hour and weaving through donkeys, cow poop, and trucks. And while we are painting a mental picture here, imagine the driver stoned on hash, the windows covered with stickers, the tires having cords showing through, the brakes having worn out last year, and an identical mechanism of death heading at a higher rate of speed directly toward you.
So when Achmed turns to wave at Abdul, the kabob vendor, he doesn't quite catch Wali heading at a combined 120 miles an hour toward him. Now, at this point, skill, luck, and religion have deserted you. Only the laws of physics and anatomy are in charge. As the two buses collide, your body decelerates from 60 miles an hour to zero in 2 milliseconds. Although the buses may have stopeed, Newtonian physics compel you through the non-safety plateglass window out into the bustling traffic, and into the crowd of the gawking bystanders who quickly surround your battered, bleeding body to scoop up your wallet and valuables. Not a pretty story. Having been at the site of many bus crashes in my travels, I can best compare the scene to putting a dozen mice in a coffee can along with glass and nails, slamming it against a wall, and then shaking it for a few minutes more. Then spray the bloody contents across the path of oncomming traffic.
...I'm sure you will never imagine yourself on one of these rickety, belching conveyances, but the first time you need to get from point A to B in countries where gum and deodorant are considered luxury items, you will indeed find yourself on one.
The Worlds Most Dangerous Places , Robert Young Pelton, Collins 2005