RACHAEL MACIVER
“Ok, ok, okaaaaaaaay!”
The joke goes that you know you are in Oman when the driver behind you at the traffic lights, honks his horn impatiently a nano-second before the light in your lane actually has changed to green.
I inched forward very, very slowly. The accelerator level with the floor and groaning as the weight of my foot begged it to try even harder.
“Sorry, so so sorry”, I silently apologied to the cars trailing behind me. Trust me, I would have loved nothing better than to set off with screeching tyres, leaving the cars behind in a cloud of burning rubber and envy, but in my old Pajero, stuck in 3rd gear, it just wasn’t possible.
The heavy car sighed and took its time getting started in 3rd. I had come to loath and fear traffic lights. And roundabouts. And parallel parking. Once I got it going, the car worked without any complaints and would with its impressive bulk demand respect on the highway. Granted, it didn’t do too well above the speed of 85 km/h either and usually got stuck in the middle lane, normally reserved for Corollas and cars unable to overtake. But at a steady speed on a straight road without traffic — my Pajero was great.
It hadn’t always been stuck in 3rd gear, of course. That came later.
The car, known as Ol’ Martha, had been my first very own car, bought for with my very own money. And to be honest, I didn’t have a clue about cars. Or money. Up until the point where the beaming old man had handed over the keys to me, I had, like most other expats in Oman, enjoyed various company cars. These always seemed brands and models you would never have been able to afford yourself back home and were of course part of your salary. Except, unlike your salary, you had to hand it back when you resigned. So my car, as I had come to think of it, which had served me for years, and which had been serviced and cleaned, filled up with a little gold edged company petrol card, sadly had to stay in the company compound, the day I left the company for good. At least I had had the foresight to steal the little dangly strawberry air freshener. Just to make a point.
The old owner had assured me that Ol’ Martha was a bargain. He explained that he himself had bought the car in Dubai and brought it back to Oman. Ohhhh Dubai, we thought, then it must be a god car. Everything is always bigger, better and newer in Dubai, right?
“She is yours now”, the old man laughed and held out the keys to me, like a carrot on a stick in front of a donkey. And this donkey had walked right into the trap. “Sure, I can give you a lift home”, I had agreed to the now carless old man.
After that, it was downhill from there really.
I had attached the stolen dangly air freshener in my new car, sighed with pleasure and set off in a synthetic strawberry haze. In the early days of the relationship it was more of a honeymoon period. The car and I got to know each other’s flaws, but love was still in the air. I learn for instance, that the plastic knob on the volume button on my radio would come off if I tried to twist it, and it was therefore only possible to listen to music on full volume. I also learned to turn a blind eye to the fact that the clock was constantly stuck on 4.05 pm, January 1, 2001, which I found slightly confusing considering the car was a model 2005. But like with all honeymoon discoveries, you tend not to dwell on them.
So, the lights changed to green, and I knew regardless of how slowly I moved, at least I was moving forward. Even if it meant going in 3rd gear.
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