JEDDAH, 26 March 2003 — “If they are that bad with training, imagine what they would be like without it,” a new arrival to the Kingdom reflected when confronting a casually effected U-turn across three lanes of traffic for the first time.
Oddly enough, about the same, judging from the experience of a European who went to take a local driving test. The very idea of getting into a car, demonstrating skills and road craft to an acceptable level was a total anathema. Training was what was required, so that was that.
Thirty lessons at four hours a time, he was told. Lesson one consisted of sitting under a shelter watching the instructors drive their cars around a football pitch-sized parking lot. So did the next. With a dozen or so pupils, time behind the wheel averaged 15 minutes.
Micro lessons were given on naming the parts of a car. In Arabic. Quite what “al fuel injector” or the “moya-pump” had to do with road craft was not made clear, but the instructors were very insistent about the matter. Car maintenance was very high on the list of skills to be acquired.
After the first week, the pupils — mostly South Asians hoping to become taxi drivers — were allowed to actually get in a car. The big day dawned when finally the trainees achieved engine start. Clutch down, slip into gear, clutch in.
No movement whatever.
The back axle of the car had been jacked up and the whole car teetered perilously on steel “stirrups,” and the wheels spun freely. The other pupils, only a few meters in front of the car — targets of opportunity I believe they are called — watched intently. Their instincts for self-preservation had been honed by working out that “al hand brake” was not applied. The previous instruction was not wasted.
After everyone had been given a go, demonstrations of hand brake turns and “kangaroo hopping” by the instructors provided a little light relief for the assembled company.
In the fullness of time, pupils were actually allowed to “drive” the vehicles around the parking lot. They weren’t allowed to change gear very much. Second gear was considered fashionable regardless of how far you had driven on the steel stirrups.
Careful instruction was given in the art of crossing your hands over while turning the wheel, prodigious use of the horn and looking out of the rear window while reversing. It was considered showing off to reverse using rear-view mirrors and any one who did so, however competently, was actively admonished.
The practical aspects of driving having been comprehensively covered, the theoretical aspects were duly addressed. Two hours were spent reciting the traffic light sequence and committing to memory “red means stop.”
Much time was given to learning the international signs for railway crossings — the Kingdom has only one railway line — and the dangers of lifting bridges in a variety of languages, none of them Arabic.
There was no instruction in lane discipline, anticipation in driving, road craft, no highway code or book.
So next time you see a badly maintained car weaving between lines of vehicles, U-turning across traffic lanes or forcing its way in front of you at a road junction, it’s not lack of training. Sympathize, don’t criticize; it’s simply amnesia.