A few days ago I saw a picture of a metro station in Cairo. On the wall were works of art and the caption informed us that music from the opera house above the station was piped in to give people a chance to experience a small bit of culture while rushing through their daily lives. When I read this bit of news, I sighed, remembering when the station was being built and how the streets around the site were chaotic with buses, taxis, pedestrians — indeed how many of Cairo’s streets were — and are — this way. I recalled the tired looks on people’s faces; they seemed to long for something to sweeten their ordeals. In those days I used to think that when I got back to Saudi Arabia, I wouldn’t see so many people suffering from "road" depression since most people have cars and many families have drivers. In those days, a car with a driver seemed the very incarnation of luxury. Reality dawned almost as soon as I set foot in Saudi Arabia. To tell the truth, it is a luxury to have a driver; you don’t have to deal with traffic or traffic-related problems. You sit happily in the backseat in air-conditioned comfort, maybe even listening to music. Sounds ideal and at first it is.
Like many ideals, however, it is not really so perfect. The day came when the driver was going on a 30-day vacation and I would have to live driverless for a month. His vacation began on one day and on that same day, I began my quest not only for a driver but for transportation. Now, men of course have no problem getting around; they can drive their own cars, get a lift from friends or just hop on a bus or a taxi. They have a number of options which we women lack.
If we women lack drivers to take us to work, then we’re stuck. Brothers, husbands and fathers help when they can but if they are busy, then the alternative is to borrow someone else’s driver. That is at best only a temporary solution. But what if you need to go to the supermarket, the bank, a hospital or you just feel like visiting a friend: The borrowed driver is not much use in these cases. About a week into not being able to do what you have to do, you start to feel the pressure. Taxis are of little help here since for some reason, our society frowns on women using taxis; taking a taxi at night is almost out of the question — "you cannot go out at night with a driver you don’t know" — especially if you live in a remote area. So much for the taxi option. What about buses? Forget them! They are badly maintained and are not very comfortably equipped for women passengers. In short, you are grounded for the month by some invisible force that will not allow you to carry on with your normal life.
This year, fed up with all this, I decided to find an alternative driver for the month. But there are problems here as well; short-term employment has its negatives — you have to have a definite schedule, you will probably pay too much and you are always on edge lest you upset the driver. He can always find another customer but I cannot always find another driver.
So there was a whole month of trying to find a way to do things on my own since I am a responsible women, trusted to have a job and manage a household. Yet when it comes to being on the road, I’m not better than a child, an infant who is totally dependent and can do nothing for himself. The solution to me is a simple one: Resign for a month every year until my driver comes back from vacation. For a month, I can cadge rides from family and friends and maybe even occasionally borrow a driver. In thinking about it, my heart yearns for a walk or a taxi ride through the crowded and chaotic streets of Cairo.
