Rally Driver.

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Gloria and I just returned from a two week road trip in the Western part of Uganda. If you know me, you know I love road trips… I love riding in the car and driving; except when I fall asleep at the wheel and crash my sweet Maggie car. We faced a view challenges - 1) Gloria hates driving long distances and 2) Gloria’s driving permit was expired, and I obviously didn’t have one. We were not phased, we borrowed a car in spite of those challenges and off we went.

The first day I decided that yes! I could! Live up to the challenge! I took the wheel… and by wheel, I mean, of course the ‘wrong’ side of the car and the road. Plus, it’s a stick shift. So I began driving in the right hand side of the car, on the left side of the road, shifting with my left hand. Throw in about 2 million HUGE potholes, people and bicycles, small motorbikes, taxis, buses blowing past you at 120 kph, large curves, and a smattering of rain here and there. It was great, I love Uganda! Everything when it comes to traffic is a bit, um, fluid. Those lines on the road, the use of your indicator lights, speed limits, you know- just don’t hit anyone or anything and you’re good to go.

But, at the beginning all that freedom can be daunting… especially when you’re wet behind the ears. Still I took the wheel, determined to prove my worth as a world traveler and liberated woman. Ten minutes later I hear “stop, stop, STOP!” from Gloria. I quickly pull over and see two police officers running towards our car.

“How did you fail to stop?!” they ask. (Whoops…. those guys holding out their hands weren’t asking for a ride, they were telling me to pull over.) 

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” Gloria says. “Those ‘Zungus, you know, they don’t know what that hand motion means.” 

One of the two officers looks at me intensely and says “Permit please.” (Oh crap.)

So, I calmly look in his eyes… and get out my Michigan driver’s license. He takes it, a bit surprised.

Gloria keeps talking; “Oh, so you’re Muyankore?” (her tribe) ”Yes.” and they go on for a bit about where they’re from, she tells them we’re one our way to her village. I practice my two words of Ruyankore “Agandi!” “Nimirungi.” he replies. (Those language lessons really came in handy.)

After five minutes of conversation and license examination one of the officers looks at me “This one,” he says, “She’s a rally driver. She could have left us in the dust if she hadn’t stopped.” We all laugh, some of us more nervously than others.

They hand me my Michigan driver’s license, wish us a safe trip… and off we go.

Five minutes later we’re laughing hysterically… and that’s why you should never leave home without your drivers’ license, even if you’re going to a country where it isn’t valid.

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Filed under Belly Laughs (or Chuckles).