Don’t Get Involved in Traffic Accidents Unless You Know...

You see them everywhere you go. Sadly and unfortunately more so here than anywhere else I have visited. They are part of the hazard of modern living. I often wonder whether it would have been safer sticking to camels in this part of the world. Even if they were especially bred to reach from zero to 60 in under a few seconds I think we would be subject to infinitely less anxiety and heartache than with the current untenable situation.

For all of you who have commuted in the vicinity of any school in the mornings and afternoons you will be greeted with the all-too-familiar sight of a swarm of cars descending upon the site with the same rabid vigor as bees to a honey pot. When I was at school, my parents used to practice a system of car-pooling with other parents who lived locally. This would mean less wastage in terms of fuel and time and was also much kinder to the environment.

I was surprised when I found certain acquaintances here doing quite the opposite and going to the other extreme of having separate cars picking up their own individual children. Such inordinate congestion is accentuated by drivers who abandon their vehicles quite randomly in order to collect their charges. This, in conjunction with the charming desert weather, serves as the perfect breeding ground for frayed tempers and assaulted egos.

My car was parked along Olaya Street one afternoon. As it was around two o’clock, and the end of the school day, the traffic on the main road had come to a complete standstill, leaving no sensible exit for anyone.

I am not claiming that my driver has the dexterity of Michael Schumacher, but he is tremendously cautious and, compared to the other maniacs on the streets, relatively sane. He brought out the car at a creeping pace, and then stopped when there was no obvious means of progressing. At this point, one of the other vehicles, in its attempt to make a quick getaway, hit ours, not very strongly on the side. The driver emerged, looking quite unperturbed by what had happened, and began to direct the traffic away from the accident. He then called someone on his mobile and seemed quite full of mirth and merriment as he laughed raucously and slapped his thigh about a bit. I was thankful that things were not as bad as they could have been, although somewhat irritated by the culprit’s lack of remorse.

We waited attentively for the police whilst horns blared all around. I was feeling relieved that the whole thing had not been our fault as I heard the siren wailing in the distance. When the scrawny looking officer got out of his car and swaggered to the scene, I watched the other driver approach him and was slightly disconcerted when they greeted each other like old school chums. I urged my driver to get out of our car and explain what had happened. By this time, the officer and offender had exchanged kisses, embraced and as my driver attempted to intervene, he was sternly told to get back into the car and drive a little farther up the road.

Having parked, he positioned himself in front of the cop and began to proffer his version of events.

“Slaalaikum,” he raised his hand to his head in an Indian way of greeting. “Shoof Chicha, my sayyaara waggif on road,” he began shaking his head in a figure of eight motion. “Haaza sawaag eeji allatool fast fast and my sayyaara (pointing at where our vehicle had been slightly bruised) hitting. (He enunciated this by punching his palm).” He appeared quite chuffed at his command of Arabic and waited for the policeman to apprehend the bad guy, who had a huge grin plastered across his face. Contrary to our expectations, the other driver was dismissed with a friendly pat on the back and we witnessed his car driving away in sheer disbelief.

I was so infuriated that I proceeded to leave the car and protested to the policeman. My style of Arabic is more male-oriented so I figured he’d take me more seriously.

“Why did you let that man go when the entire thing was his fault?” I inquired trying to suppress my anger.

“It’s your driver’s fault,” he replied distractedly whilst filling out a form after having confiscated all the documents from the car.

“What do you mean his fault?” I retorted astonished.

“Yes, 100 percent.”

“Hundred percent?” I asked incredulously. “How can you even say ‘100 percent’ when you weren’t even there?” I stormed really losing my temper.

“Because that’s what all the witnesses said,” he alleged squinting at me patronizingly.

“You didn’t even ask any witnesses. The only person you spoke to was the other driver.”

“Listen!” he raged, “You had better keep quiet. I am taking your driver to the station and you can send his kafeel to get him out after tomorrow.”

“But his kafeel is in China. What do you expect me to do without a driver?”

He shrugged his shoulders in the form of a reply and told me that if I didn’t cooperate he would seize my car as well.

Need I tell you that it’s not what you know but who you know. It took a single phone call for the situation to be redressed in my favor, but I am left wondering as to how many of such incidents have been left uncorrected?