Yesterday I was late picking up the kids at noon. They come home for the long French lunch, then go back in the heat of the day for another 3 hours on Mon and Tues, 2 hours on Friday, and not at all on Wednesday and Thursday. Please memorize this schedule as you will need to know it.
I was late because I was meeting students—why else? That and traffic. Just between you and me, I try to be about 15 minutes late because traffic outside the French school is beyond the realm of imagination and exists in some strange twilight world of horror. Seriously, only in nightmares could you come up with traffic like this—people driving in any direction through any opening just to gain an inch of space, horns honking incessantly, people just leaving their cars in the middle of the melee to go get their kids, small children wandering in and out, etc. And, it’s actually better than it used to be! They paved the road and blocked off an area in front of the actual gate.
I’m a writer and my husband is a photographer (who just started his own blog: Lumiere) so we sometimes argue about our callings. I usually disagree with the maxim that a picture is worth a thousand words. No, we can use our words to paint pictures, I protest. But in this case, he’s right. Because you can’t picture it, unless you’ve seen it. You are too hidebound in your thinking about how cars move down the road. You think of sidewalks and shoulders as places for pedestrians, not passing lanes. You don’t expect someone to swerve suddenly into the right lane so they can make a left turn right in front of you and two lanes of incoming traffic. You think of cars staying basically on their side of the road, rather than driving into any open space no matter if a large truck full of sand and without functional brakes is bearing down on them. You have these beliefs at bedrock level—so deep you don’t even realize you have them. So nothing prepares you for the road just outside the French school.
Back to yesterday. I was late, so things were already clearing out when I arrived and parked quite near the door. I went and collected the kids, my 3 plus two five-year-olds, other Americans who live near us and with whom we carpool, plus Erik, Abel’s friend, who was coming home for the afternoon. (It was Wednesday, no afternoon school. See above) We crammed everybody in and I started to back out. Crash! Bang! I had backed into the side of a car.
I got out to survey the damage, and found my anger mounting. The car was parked in the middle of the street. Not even a sliver of tire left the pavement in any direction. And we were at least thirty feet away from the actual school entrance. Oh, I knew what had happened; when he parked, it made sense to him because he was surrounded by cars pointing every which-way and no room to budge. But to park there? And leave it? And then for me to just smack right into it? I was more than a little irritated.
This being Africa, a crowd quickly gathered. A man waiting in a nearby car went off to the find the driver of the dented vehicle, and the kids started to get out of the car to see and make comments about the size of the dent. I was in no mood for that, and shooed them back in. Abel’s teacher from last year (currently Erik’s teacher) strolled by and sympathetically agreed that parking on the road was not a good idea. Understood was that backing into a car, even a car that is small enough to not be visible through the back window of a four-wheel-drive and through five little heads all chattering excitedly, was also not a good idea.
The other driver arrived and my ability to speak French departed. It does that when I’m upset. I yelled and waved my arms because he was parked in the road. He yelled and waved his arms because I had backed into his car and also, because I obviously didn’t understand what the traffic was like. Apparently he thought it was my first day or something, because given the 6 children waiting oh-so-patiently (sarcasm) in my car, obviously I couldn’t picture the traffic. The children were helpful; Elliot doubled over laughing at my French accent, Erin, who’s 5 and has chubby cheeks and big brown eyes, leaned out the window and said, “Miss Nomad! Tell him he’ll just have to live with it! We got a dent in our car and we just have to live with it.” “I don’t think that’s going to help the situation,” I told her. (Erin’s family is from Tennessee and the kids call everyone Miss Somethingorother. Every adult woman, that is. It’s very cute.)
The crowd watched appreciatively. It’s not every day you get entertainment like this! People driving by stopped their cars and strolled back to watch.
The man calmed down when he realized I was planning to pay for the damage, I just wanted to explain to him how stupid his choice of parking was. I calmed down after I had finished venting. He wanted me to go with him to the auto-parts market in Le Ksar, but I declined. I knew that the sun glinting off my fair skin and hair would blind the mechanics and prices would miraculously double or triple, plus it just wasn’t my idea of a fun way to spend the afternoon. I gave him my phone number, told him to call me and let me know what it cost and I would pay—a reasonable price, I affirmed, not the triple price for Americans. The crowd laughed. This was great fun!
That evening, we met again. I paid about $20 for what in America would have cost probably $200 or $300. Auto body work is much cheaper here. So are mechanics, but then, sometimes they don’t have the part needed so they use tin foil. You get what you pay for.
Maybe he won’t park in the street again. Maybe.
Maybe I’ll make better use of my mirrors. Maybe.
Everyone living here has a story like this. The driving has to be seen to be believed. Everyone’s car has dents and paint damage. Overall, it could have been a lot worse.
Coming soon: why do people, seeing your car backing up, walk behind you?
17 comments
March 30, 2007 at 1:15 pm
Jodi in WI
I feel silly complaining about the snails who drive 10 mph under the speed limit in the passing lane.
Glad everyone is OK!
March 30, 2007 at 2:59 pm
Wacky Mommy
Yeah, the parking at our school BITES, too, but NOT LIKE THAT! A mom laid on the horn at me the other day because I refused to zip around the two cars double-parked in front of me so she could leave. This was right in front of the front doors! It’s like, dang, wait 30 seconds, lady, and we’ll all be out of here. And parents let their kids out of cars — unescorted — from the other side of the street, so you risk running over kids in two directions if you zip-zip.
(My thought at the time: does she not know that I can see her in my review mirror, scowling at me? Hello, rude mother, I know you! I know your whole family! Don’t honk at me.) Blare! She laid on the horn three times, then zipped around all three cars and off she went. Crazeee.
I sometimes park a couple of blocks away, just to avoid the mayhem, but then the kids and I are risking our lives walking. Because you know no one else is.
March 30, 2007 at 5:18 pm
Kris
Your experience sounds rather like Boston drivers – or even Providence drivers.
Our building has a small section as a “loading zone” a small “2 hour parking section” and a significant sized “NO PARKING OR STANDING” zone.
And yet every Saturday when we get back from Target the entire area of all three zones is PACKED – often with people who have double parked.
Getting one’s groceries out of the car often requires coming back on a Monday night or something when its less likely to be so crowded.
So y’know think of it in these terms: traffic is apparently awful the world over! 😀
March 30, 2007 at 5:42 pm
suz elliott
Sorry about the crash,,our school pickups are similar with wishing people
would pull forward or they leave the car empty and you are blocked in..
and kids dashing out in front of you..amazing we all survive!
March 30, 2007 at 8:46 pm
Author Mom with Dogs
I’m sure it was a headache-giving moment, but I can’t stop laughing! The kids are priceless.
March 30, 2007 at 10:23 pm
Julie Q.
I will never again complain about the line up at my son’s school. This sounds FAR worse. (Although I drive my son to a special magnet school for a gifted program — the school is located in the posh area of town next to the golf course. If I were to dent one of the other cars there, I’m sure it would cost me more than $20 because every one of them is a Mercedes SUV or Landrover. Youch).
Loved how you gave us a huge hint of what was to come with the title of the piece. That way we weren’t caught off guard when we got to the impact. Sort of like “The DEATH of Ivan Ilyitch.” There’s no doubt this story’s going to end badly.
March 31, 2007 at 9:45 am
meredith
I’ have to argue in your favor that you paint an excellent picture with words. I do wish I’d only have to pay 20$ to fix damage I caused, even if the mechanic only used tin foil. Tell Miss Erin that her advice is priceless…just live with it…that’s so funny even though I am sure it didn’t help the situation.
March 31, 2007 at 12:44 pm
Rebecca
Yeesh! That’s awful. And funny too.
I’m glad everyone is okay.
March 31, 2007 at 6:09 pm
Rhonda
Ok, I have been lurking here for ages, and this post brings me out of hiding to comment. I live in Madagascar, and this post could have been written about the road past the French school here. I have to drive past THE French school to get to the French pre-school and lemme tell ya, it ain’t pretty. So far I’ve avoided any damage to any vehicles. Let’s not talk about other locations…
I can’t wait to read the ‘coming soon’ post, because it’s been a mystery to me ever since I moved here!
Anyway, back to lurking, but I love your blog and it’s fun to know that someone else out there has a life at least a little bit like mine.
April 1, 2007 at 12:32 pm
Rebecca
It sounds horrific, the parking! I hate parking at the best of times, but that would drive me crazy.
April 2, 2007 at 3:12 pm
karen
great story – I took a trip to Asia, Bangkok driving made my brain explode, especially when experiencing it from inside a tuk-tuk for the first time! i love your blog.
April 5, 2007 at 5:46 am
Buzz McCoy
Once many many eons ago, when I worked in full time youth ministry, I was down in L.A., all set to take a 16-passanger van load full of high school youth into Tijuana, when I backed into a tree branch and shattered the back window. The van was full of kids at the time, and they all cheered and called me the Smooth One. We had to tape the window shut with cardboard and duck tape, and of course we couldn’t lock the van safely after that for the rest of the trip. It was a rental van to top it off, and so it cost us dearly, as insurance didn’t cover things like that. Two years later, the next time we took such a trip, I just built in “van repairs” to the trip’s budget and drove with glee.
April 5, 2007 at 7:10 pm
Pieces
Ah, the living with it comment is so funny. We had a dent we just lived with for many years. $2000 to fix it! Ridiculous.
I’m so very glad that I don’t have to deal with that kind of driving. The way you describe our understanding is perfect. I know that I can’t really imagine it because, as you say, the very bedrock of my understanding doesn’t allow for such crazed driving.
April 25, 2007 at 11:27 am
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