So, my husband says to me the other day, “If you want to drive the car to work, please go right ahead because I am not going to.”
This, of course, is music to my ears. I already have it planned. I’d wear my blue-trimmed abaya and sunglasses with the blue frames to match our blue car. My sealed coffee cup full of coffee will be in the cup holder. And although I’m a little old for them, I will put my One Direction CD in the player because no one but me will hear them.
But I have to get the niggling details out of the way. “Will you come to the police station when they pick me up?”
“Of course.”
“Will you sign the paper promising never to let me drive again?”
“No, because I always want you to drive so I can stay at home and watch the top 10 Box Office movies on Dubai One for the 50th time,” he said with a straight face.
“Do you want to go to jail?” I asked innocently.
“As long as they have a TV,” he replied.
“Do you want to be deported?”
“Uh, no.”
So there you go. I’m not driving anywhere, except maybe to crazy town.
This is the lot of every Saudi woman married to guy who makes enough money to own a car, but not enough to own the car and pay for his wife’s driver. Those guys know full well that it’s a driver’s market out there and women pay the going rate.
The going price in 2004, by the way was, about SR700. Today it ranges between SR2,000 and SR,2,500. Hmm. Gas prices haven’t really gone up in nine years. Drivers still have crappy Toyota Camrys. The traffic is a little worse than nine years ago, but now we have those cool overpasses and tunnels that makes driving easier unless you try to exit onto a surface street like a million other motorists.
So what exactly am I getting for SR2,000? A cranky guy who tells me he has mouths to feed, gas to buy and headaches when dealing with traffic.
Although I had all summer to look for a driver before going back to work this week, I decided — like all women who call themselves Saudi — to look for a driver starting last week.
Here’s what prospective drivers told me:
“I’m all booked up with customers. Why didn’t you call me two months ago?”
“It’s SR100 a day.” (My brain freezes when I realize it’s SR2,800 a month.)
“Do you need air-conditioning?”
“I have other customers so I can only wait 10 minutes for you.” (He apparently forgot he was speaking to a Saudi.)
“Are you married?
When I get a driver for about SR2,000, I learn the following:
His mobile is turned off for about half the day.
He has a friend who needs a job. Can I sponsor him?
Rearview mirrors are used solely for staring at the occupant in the rear seat.
Drivers apparently go to jail a lot. That’s why they can’t come pick me up promptly.
Breakfast first, then drive.
Lunch first, then drive.
Supper first, then drive.
After much yelling, crying and a major temper-tantrum that shook the walls of our apartment, I finally found a reliable driver a little above my budget. I can live with that.
I love the fact that Saudi Arabia gave me a university education, so I can be a productive member of Saudi society. I love my job (usually). I love earning money (always). I love contributing to the Saudi economy. This is what my government wants.
But why do they make it so damn difficult by not giving the most important tool to accomplish the goals laid out for me? Like a car mechanic told to rebuild an engine without wrenches, I am told that a full-time job is mine to have. I just can’t expect the means to get to that job.
