From The Economist

The bustling streets of Monrovia, Liberia’s capital, are calmer than usual. The sounds of horns and revving engines have been muted since the police banished motorcycles—locally known as “pehn-pehns”—from the city’s main thoroughfares. As a result, once-prevalent motorcycle-taxis are now confined to the backstreets, so having made his way through the crowds, Baobab squeezes into an already-packed yellow taxi, now the only motorised means of transport for the Monrovian majority who cannot afford their own cars.

The driver, Morris Kamara, reaches beneath the dashboard to connect two exposed wires, bringing the engine to life. Seven of us are wedged together across the threadbare seats of his 1989 Nissan Sunny. The controversial ban, enacted on November 6th following an act of mob violence by motorcyclists, dominates the conversation as we set off across the city.

“I’m happy. Those young boys are reckless criminals,” says a man half-perched on Baobab’s lap. Lots of people agree with him. The city’s 40,000 or so motorcycle-taxi drivers form an outcast brotherhood, the lowest echelon of a class-riven society. Many of them previously carried guns at the behest of warlords such as the recently imprisoned former president, Charles Taylor. The unstructured existence of the motorcycle-taxi driver can be appealing and relatively profitable.

“What do you think they are going to do now though?” asks the lady sitting in the prized passenger-seat. The question is one the Liberian government has failed to answer since the end of the civil war a decade ago. The country’s vaunted post-war growth rates have not created jobs for thousands of uneducated and alienated urban young men. The ban removes one of their only legitimate sources of income.

Read more at The Economist