Driving to My Heart’s Content

Typical urban street scene in the Gambia

Like many of my US contemporaries, I’ve been driving since I was sixteen, with some hiatus in college. And now, with my own family, so much of our together time is spent in the car. Consequently, our vehicles are fully-loaded for family enjoyment: maximum number of cup holders, good music, snacks, a few New Yorkers stashed behind the driver’s seat for times I’m waiting in the car for someone; but I’ve refused all requests for a DVD player.

After about one month of not driving, this weekend I tried it here for the first time. I waited until after Alex left, so that I could look forward to something new, and with my 16-year old nephew to guide me, got behind the wheel of a 20+ year old, 2-door, Nissan Pathfinder 4WD, no power steering, stick shift, good A/C, poor radio, seat belts in the front seat, but not in the back, gas meter doesn’t work, and no cup holders. It’s a slice of heaven and freedom.

Another sign of my sister-in-law and brother-in-law’s generosity is making this car available for me and trusting me with it. They’ve updated the insurance. I pay for gas. (Without the gauge we just estimate how far we’ve gone and how much one tank of gas takes us). They’ve also prepped me on how to behave at frequent security checkpoints: act calm, be ready with i.d. and insurance card, know where the fire extinguisher is kept, and have a small amount of cash ready just in case someone seems irritable and would want to detain me.

The real reason I didn’t start driving right when I got here is that it scared me a little. Security checks are nothing compared with the frequent wanderers onto the road: goats, cows, children with their mothers or on their own, groups of pedestrians out for a stroll enjoying the newly-paved street or highway, bicycles, donkey carts, stalled cars, speeding cars driving on the wrong side of the road passing slow cars, bumpy unpaved paths off the main streets which make up the vast majority of roads in the country, and vans full of passengers loading and unloading people anywhere they need along the side of the road. The amount of activity one needs to look out for on the paved roads makes Manhattan driving feel like a country stroll. This is compounded by the fact that my car here is not as responsive as the late-model cars I’m used to driving in the US, nor are the other, mostly patched-up cars sharing the road. Also, many of the (few) traffic lights were installed just last year, so there is a very different driving culture here.

Driving in an African city presents a great opportunity to learn about local customs and economy: who goes out on Saturday night versus a Sunday morning; what do the donkeys pull; how many large trucks are on the road and what sort of commerce are they transporting; how busy are the street-side markets and how many children do women have alongside them. It’s also shown me that the people here are generally kind, forgiving, not cursing and I haven’t seen any incidences of road rage – just relax and let the goats pass.