It's a wonder to me that I don't get into a car accident every week. It's not that I don't try to be a good driver. I obey the laws of the road and check my blind spot and give pedestrians the right of away even when the wander across the road in totally inappropriate places (ahem, I'm talking to you, Swaziland). But all my trying doesn't really compensate for the fact that the part of my brain that is supposed to coordinate all those complex functions that allow one to pilot a hurtling hunk of metal down a road is... well, that part of my brain is a bit challenged.
So I have a string of stupid accidents to my name. They've all been minor, no one has ever gotten hurt, and they've all been 100% my fault. The last one was in January, the week my grandma died, and I was studying for this massive 2-day exam and 8+ months pregnant and let's just say that my mind was not fully on my driving one day after a study session when I pulled out of my parking spot and plowed into a perfectly nice taxi driver.
I avoid driving whenever I can. That 5,000+ mile road trip we took this summer? I didn't drive a single mile. And I wouldn't choose to drive a single mile here in Swaziland except that sadly, as small as the country is, it is not all within walking distance. But hands down, driving has been the most stressful part of being here. It's not just that they drive on the wrong side of the road. (And the turn signals and windshield wiper controls are on the wrong sides too!! It's rough. I'm forever turning on my windshield wipers when I mean to signal, and vice-versa.) Although the roads here are quite good, they are insane. They climb up and down mountains at crazy grades, and the main road from Mbabane (where we live) to Manzini (the other major city in the country) is, I am told, actually in the Guinness World Record book as the most dangerous road in the world. It's so steep that they put a policeman at the top of the steepest crest to make the big trucks come to a complete stop before they start the descent, so hopefully they'll make it to the bottom without careening out of control.
So I was driving to Manzini this afternoon, on a perfectly flat part of MR3, which is a 4-lane road. There was a fair amount of traffic, as everyone gets off work early on Friday and takes to the road. Ahead of me a car stopped or seriously slowed down (I can't remember as amnesia always strikes me in these situations), and I made a quick decision to change lanes, which was unfortunate as the other lane was already occupied. I am still sure I checked my blind spot, and I would love to know how fast that other car was going to suddenly appear where I had just looked, but anyway. Crash and scrape of metal, and the next thing I know we're on the narrow shoulder inspecting the damage.
I always hit men, which I think works to my advantage, because all the men I have ever hit have been extraordinarily nice and gentlemanly about it. This Swazi man was no exception. He spoke perfect English and called my insurance agent on his phone (no small thing, as we pay by the minute here and it's not cheap) and the insurance agent told me he would leave paperwork for me to fill out with his friend at the pharmacy next to the grocery store. I tell you, the degree to which everyone knows everyone in this country really makes it feel like nothing more than a largish village.
But then the guy I'd hit inspected he side of his car a little more, and really all that had happened was his paint had gotten kind of scraped. So he said, why don't we just try to settle this without insurance. If insurance gets involved we have to report it to the police and then I'm afraid they'll find reasons to charge you. So he recommended that we drive down the road a little further, and he would get a quote on fixing his paint. Sounded great to me. So we drove off, and found ourselves in the kind of peri-urban neighborhood that feels so African to me, dirt roads and little shops and children coming home from school and all the normal every-day life in Africa stuff. He told me I'd better wait a block away so they wouldn't see my white face and charge more, and warned me to roll up my windows and lock my doors, a suggestion which made me want to laugh, but I didn't want to show a lack of respect for his concern, so I complied.
I gave him 300 Emalangeni (about $35) and he disappeared around the corner and 20 minutes later he was back. Miraculously, his car now looked totally unscathed, except for a scraped place along the very edge of the door that he promised his employer would never notice (it was a company car). Total bill? Less than $6. He returned the remaining money to me, insisted on leading me back to the main road to take me home, and that was that.
We still have our car to fix (not really "ours", we are renting from the same people we are renting the house from), and it has a big dent as well as some missing paint. So I'm sure the bill will be a bit more than $6. Still, all things considered, I think I got off pretty easy. And I am grateful for super cheap car-fixers, and even more grateful that there are such kind and honest people everywhere in the world.
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