Driving

Driving, after you have done it for awhile, is a combination of habitual patterns. What way to look, how to turn, what to expect of other drivers, which way to maneuver the shift. It is almost effortless, automatic. Unless everything is changed and our habitual patterns work against us instead of for us.

Thus has been the case for me when traveling the roadways of South Africa. Driving on the other side of the road is one thing, but there is a whole different culture and feel to the process that throws habitual patterns on their head.

I do not have a good reputation for driving in this country. My first experience last year was not impressive. My son had admonished me keep the doors locked, stay on the left side of the road and not hit any pedestrians. Being an obedient mother, I followed all instructions carefully. I burned out the clutch instead.

Something about diesel engines having less torque and therefore it is inadvisable to start on a hill in third gear. Who knew?

So far this year I have made several trips to my son's preschool and to the local shopping center with no incidents - at least none that would be visible to anyone outside the car. I find the experience, shall we say, less than relaxing. It probably isn't good for my blood pressure.

The streets are relatively narrow and other drivers cross over the center line routinely not just for passing but to avoid double parked cars, people in the street -there are a lot - and occasionally, I'm convinced, just to confuse those of us who go into spasms of confusion upon seeing the headlights of another vehicle come toward us.

While in general the traffic rules are the same, there is a different rhythm, a different feel to how situations are handled - a different culture if you will. Among other things, you do not wave another driver ahead of you - you blink your lights. Waving is likely to be viewed as strange if not cause for arrest.

My son's concern about hitting people is no small issue. There are people in the streets continuously. Rarely is there a sidewalk and those without cars who can't afford taxis - and that is a lot - walk on the side of the road. Not just in rural areas, but in the high traffic urban areas. To avoid them one frequently finds it necessary to cross over the center line. In addition, at most traffic lights there are all sorts of entrepreneurs trading goods for a few Rand. Practically anything can be had - clothing, produce, newspapers, toys, flags, chargers, you name it. Often there is a person who, for a Rand or two will allow you to dump all of your car trash into his big plastic bag.

If these people knew just who was in the driver's seat of my daughter-in-laws Renault,they would show a healthier caution.

"Oo wee, oo wee, How are you today" a man calls to me as I wait for the light to change. That's South African for "Hey lady, want to buy some oranges?" "Not Today", I call back. American for "Its all I can do to maintain a semblance of control of this mechanical beast - there is no way I can simultaneously do my grocery shopping".

An added wrinkle is the "robots". That is South African for traffic lights. They are pretty similar to ours - red, yellow, green and all that. But not infrequently they are out of order. And, because the capacity for power generation has not kept up with the need there is frequent scheduled "load sharing" which is a euphemism for "power outages". Everyone in a specific is without power - homes, businesses and, yes, robots. Not so hard on the smaller two lane streets but on major intersections (think Watt and Fair Oaks) no lights would seem to give rise to chaos.

Everyone says that when this started it was quite confusing - but people do adapt and it is interesting to watch how people find ways to be quite civil and somehow keep track of who's turn it is. Occasionally a car gets stranded out in the middle of the mess with no one giving way, but the process actually works reasonably well. Naturally I avoid driving during load sharing because I know exactly who would be in that car helplessly stranded in the middle of the intersection.

When my husband arrives in two days, I will gladly relinquish the driver's seat and take up the shotgun (and chief backseat driver)position.