When I was growing up in Copenhagen, my mother had a three row Peugeot station wagon to accommodate six children and two dogs. After twenty years and about 300,000 miles and countless overhauls and repairs, it was time to let go. The beloved chariot, apparently no longer reparable or useful, was left at a junk yard to be shipped to Africa. There, we were told, it would be used as a cab. This story of our car turned cab in Africa has intrigued me for the past twenty years.
When I was growing up in Copenhagen, my mother had a three row Peugeot station wagon to accommodate six children and two dogs. After twenty years and about 300,000 miles and countless overhauls and repairs, it was time to let go. The beloved chariot, apparently no longer reparable or useful, was left at a junk yard to be shipped to Africa. There, we were told, it would be used as a cab. This story of our car turned cab in Africa has intrigued me for the past twenty years. With no details of the…
