Red Tape

Red tape may be the single most thing I abhor in everyday life.   From the age of eighteen, each new liberating experiences is doused in protocol, suffocated by form filling and smothered in red tape.

Being in my twenties in the noughties in Ireland meant I was born into a society where it was easier secure a mortgage, on a house selling for Eu. 200,000 with an annual salary of Eu. 28,500, than it was to, obtain a driving license, then tax, insure and NCT your first car.     I remember the farcical scenario well.  In order be able to drive any car, you must first hold a provisional driving license, you were also not allowed drive with this license unless there was a qualified driver in the passenger seat at all times, to get insurance on your first car, you should have driving experience and be a named driver on a previous policy, not always possible. To tax the car, you needed insurance, to insure the car you needed experience, to gain experience you needed the provisional license, to tax the car you needed an NCT, to the drive to the NCT centre you needed insurance, to driver alone you needed a full license, to get a full license you needed to pass the driving test for which there was a long wait.   Buying the car was no problem.

My day had come, it was my driving test, I was nervous but I remembered the advice someone kindly offered me.  On the day of the test, have a baby seat in the back of the car, thus implying you are a mother, therefore a responsible twenty one year and not the devil-may-care come-day go-day airy-fairy- waif you may seem on first impressions.   I followed the advice and placed the bulky baby seat in the back of my 12 year-old- imported Nissan Micra, (complete with colour coded bumpers and Bose speakers).     I proudly completed the three point turn at the top of Sarsfield Road, in two go’s and one hand.   Confident that my driving prowess was being appreciated by the grey-haired, grey-suited and grey-faced instructor, who continued to place ticks on his clipboard even as we pulled in speedily to the driving test centre.  My cocky decline started when I heard those immortal words, “Denise, you are a lovely girl………..”  I had heard these words many times before,   from teachers, from ex-boyfriends, at the interview for nursing and now at the driving test centre.  He failed me.  Pouting I took the baby-seat from the back of the car and re-opened the rules of the road book. (This was before it was an app).

Three long months later with a more humble attitude, I passed the driving test and from that day on, I embraced all my bad habits, unaware that in the future I would be living in Abu Dhabi and had to seek a Emirate issued license, I thought the next driving test wouldn’t be until I was eighty or something.    Happy Days.

This week, in Abu Dhabi, I had to get a driving license.  The long fingered approach had worked for almost a year and it was now imminent.    My bad habits etched into my every day driving so deep that I wasn’t sure I would pass the test.    Handing over my paperwork in the “ladies section”  to the cloaked assistant and handing jelly-tots to my increasing impatient toddler, I felt the stress levels rise.    She muttered behind the black chiffon,  he roared at the top of his lungs.  She handed me a form, he tore it in half.  She asked me to face the camera, he threw jelly tots at it.   Beaten down and weary,  she said, “two hundred”  assuming she meant dirham’s and not jelly-tots I handed over the bail, with a look of “please release me” in my eyes and Hey Presto,  there it was, without practical, theory or eye test,  my driving license, a single card complete with my photograph and a shiny government hologram.    So much for the empty baby-seat, a real live kicking toddler is what you need to bypass the red tape!

Road Etiquette

None.  That would be an accurate description of the road user’s etiquette Qatar.  With an accident happening every 30 minutes in Doha, it’s a minefield and every time you make it home from the supermarket in one piece you should drop to the floor and give thanks to the Almighty or perhaps, Allah, as he made more pull in this region. 

A 10k drive can take ninety minutes at rush hour, which seems to be every hour, the incessant heat and appalling road manners only adds to the tension, which often results in road rage.  The roads are mostly dual carriageways with many having three, four or five lanes of traffic, this means that a u-turn, my personal favorite manoeuvre, is not possible, nor is there a hard shoulder to pull in on, so once you’re on the road you have to keep going to the next roundabout or set of traffic lights.   The driving is erratic to say the least and every day brings something new, a new low.

Being adverse to “Baby on Board” bumper stickers, preferring instead to rely on my driving experience for safety,  I was appalled whilst travelling along  one of the major link roads, behind about forty cars leading up to a roundabout, when from behind I noticed an ambulance coming through the traffic, each lane parted to make way for the ambulance and the 4 x 4 that followed, having a curious mind and an active imagination  I wondered who was in the ambulance, was the person in the following 4 x 4 with the “Mom’s taxi” on it, related to the emergency patient?, was it an accident?, would they make it to the hospital on time?  Suddenly, without warning the Jeep in front of me with the “Baby on Board” sign on it, joined the tragic parade, surprisingly no-one beeped or seemed to be bothered by it, I looked on as the opportunists continued to stick close behind the ambulance and capitalize on the bad fortune of the misfortune inside.  They were immune. Being fond of the high moral ground, I also saw an opportunity so I tutted and shook my head all the way to the roundabout, pulling off the roundabout and onto an adjacent street I noticed the same ambulance again, this time the siren was off, in the rear view mirror I continued to eye the sick bus until I saw it pulling into McDonalds!  How unhealthy!

Now having a hankering for fast food and with baby in back crying his eyes out, I decided to pull in at the next outlet. Two minutes later, my young son and I arrived at Burger King.  Where pulled in the centre of the car park was a Hummer, which was more like a bungalow on wheels rather than a vehicle, I couldn’t get past, and chatting happily inside was a Qatari man with full traditional dress and associated swagger, chatting happily on his mobile phone, the desperate cries continued from the back and I started to sing just to let him know I was there. I sounded the horn at the offending non-driver in front and made an angry face as I sang, “fly me to the moon let me play…..” to calm my baby.  Casually glancing in his rear view mirror, the offending driver continued to chat and ignore my pleas.  “….let me see what spring is like on ……” along with blood curdling cries from the back boomed from my car, as I gnarled my teeth at the guy in front.  He continued to chat through, “…fill my heart with joy and……”  now irate, I stepped out of the car, still singing, “….you are all I long for, all I worship and adore..” as the froth seeped through my teeth and I looked into his window,  I could see the realization register in his face when he saw the uncouth anger in mine, swiftly he pulled off but before doing so he let his window down and muttered, “crazy lady angry singing”.  The cheek!   That’s it. I’m buying a “baby on board”, “mom’s taxi” or “Beware of the driver” sticker, whatever it takes to gain immunity.

Driving Licence in Qatar

Before coming to Qatar I had arranged for a temporary International Driving License, I just produced my Irish License to the office on South Mall, paid a nominal amount, and received the international driving license, valid for 6 months.  Now that six months had nearly expired, it was compulsory now for me to obtain a Qatari License.

As with all official business, this was to be organized through my sponsor, i.e.my husband, through his company. Without delay the company sent me out a form to be completed and the address of the place I was to attend in order to take the driving test, Al Nadir Opti, Ubta Bin Shammas Street, Al Gharaffa, Doha, fairly simple.  They also listed the documents I was to take with me, Photographs and the “Application for Driving Test” form.

Over the days prior to the test, on my way to and from work, I practiced my road manners, which I have to admit had taken a turn for the worst especially since moving to Doha. Aggressive driving was the only way to maintain ones position on the road in Doha and there wasn’t must room for hesitancy or over cautious driving, given that in Qatar,  when someone flashes their lights,  it means,  “I’m coming, get out of my way”,  so does, horn blowing, hand gestures and putting on your hazards. Just to note at this point that rarely have I made my way to and from work with witnessing some type of car accident.  Preparation for the test took me right back to my first driving test in Sarsfield Road about 500 years ago.  I was driving an imported Nissan Micra, (mass imported not specifically imported for me) I turned up to the driving test centre fifteen minutes early and met with my tester.   We drove around Togher and Wilton for about half an hour, where I thought he’d run out of ink at the rate he was writing on the clipboard. We returned to the test centre where I was asked the theory questions.  Finally judgment time came and I heard the words,  I’d heard so many times from previous teachers, as the tester ran his fingers through his hair,  looking as if he didn’t know where to start, he opened with  “Denise, you’re a lovely girl, but…”.  I knew the rest.   The second test, weeks later, went much more smoothly, after I got a few tips, number one, always, always, always; take the handbrake off whilst driving.

Having gained a considerable amount of confidence on the road since those days, I was surprised when I felt nervous as the test day loomed near.  I was glad for the fact that I was pregnant and felt that maybe they would take some pity on me.  When the day arrived,  I rocked up my with Nissan X-Trail looking immaculate, despite its 197,556 klms on the clock,  all water bottles were cleaned out of the car, along with shoes, cardigans, pens, bits of paper and the track of the sticker from the passenger window,  where I had been clamped a few weeks ago.  Seat belts all present and working, lights, indicators, horn working and a shine off the bonnet that would blind you.  I walked into the door of Al Nader Opti ( which I presumed meant Driving Test Centre ) surprised to see that I was in fact in an opticians, aha, that’s what the “Opti” part meant,  this must be the first part of the test.   

The efficient young Pakistani girl quickly noticed that I was pregnant and suggested I skip the queue and make my way to a chair in the back room to complete the eye test.   Delighted to be offered the chance to the skip the small but slow moving queue I promptly made my way to the back room.  Moments later she re-appeared telling me that the optician was out at the moment, and that she could ,”make some small test that would be ok for driving”, again, delighted with the lack of protocol I smiled eagerly,  she then proceeded to show me two charts, not concerned with the thick white line painted across the floor, she stood in front of me and asked me to read the bottom line of each,  one had four letters the other had four numbers,  I read these easily and she told me, “you are now finished, well done”.  Going back out to the front desk she proceeded to stamp my application form and photographs, as she smiled and said again, “well done” you will have your license in a few days, I even received a few smiles of congratulations from the people in the queue.  The only thing left to ask was, “does anyone know why there are so many road traffic accidents in Qatar?”, but I daren’t ask, instead, I took myself off for a nice lunch to celebrate my achievement. 

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