i am no che guevara and don't have books and movies named after me, but i have a tale to tell about getting a motorcycle license in kenya.
i signed up with Budget Drivers School who advertise "Very cheap and the best instructors." Okay, should have been my first clue, but Rocky Driving School admitted they kind of forgot to maintain or take care of their motorbike and thus couldn't offer me lessons at the time.
Day one
I was told I could show up "any time i wanted" which i found strange, but i took their word for it. i showed up on a monday at 1pm and was sent into a small classroom with two tables and lots of chairs. at least 30 people were crowded around a small table with a table top road set up and dinky cars. my instructor "brown" directed me to sit at the empty table and he started driving the dinky cars around. i thought perhaps i had come to the wrong place - was this a daycare or driving school? who plays with dinky cars on a play map of a town? well, my 3 year old nephew does. perhaps he could come get a kenyan license.
so the play map has a traffic circle with 4 lanes with 3 and 4 lane roads branching off 4 sides as well as a parking lot and a side street. we didn't really receive any instruction about kenyan road rules. just told to follow the blue car there with the red car here. so, i start, with my understanding of canadian traffic circles. "NO! you can't do that! start again." i was told. utter confusion on my face. the next student, grabs the red car, proceed to swerve the thing all over the road, make several u-turns, drives through the parking lot, goes through the traffic circle (or roundabout known here) and after about 5000 turns ends up behind the blue car. "Very good" says Brown, "did you understand that alida?"
"is that for real?" i question.
"yes, of course. what is the problem?"
"well, why did the car have to change 4 lanes from the right side of the road to the left, only to move back 4 lanes three seconds later in order to turn right?"
"well, you have to move to the slow lane of traffic, of course, and then move back into the right lane, or fast lane, so that you can slow down and make a right turn" replies Brown (by the way, his real name, not a "The Office" episode)
"i am sorry, but kenyan road rules may actually cause fatal crashes, rather than prevent them"
"well, when in rome, do as the romans"
so, for the next hour, i have to drive dinky cars around a play map around road blocks and thru parking lots. i am hoping they have snack time or something.
finally, it is time for actual riding on a motorbike. Brown hands me a gigantic helmet and a rubber rain jacket. the helmet is fit for a giant and has no chin strap. it immediately falls in front of my eyes and i am still standing on the street. I ask Brown where the straps are. He has never seen straps on a helmet and I show him where the attachments are inside for the straps; where they once were. He surmises that a student must have removed them at some time because they didn't like them. We get on the motorbike, he turns around, and insists that i do up all the buttons on the cheap rubber rain jacket for my safety. jaw gaping, i reluctantly button up the whole jacket and pray that we don't crash since the helmet will fly off before i hit the ground.
we stop at the gas station and he has them put in half a litre of gas. that should get us far! he actually has to shake the bike around to swish the gas around in the tank to see if it actually in there.
we drive to an empty field with a dirt road around it. Brown shows me the clutch, gas, gears and foot brake and tells me to start driving. he points out that the front brake is missing (again thanks to a previous student) but it doesn't matter because the rear brake is more important. i notice the clutch is almost vertical and i find it difficult to release slowly. that might because it is also partially broken. i start driving it around the road, and notice that it has no side mirrors, the spedometer doesn't work, the right side of the handlebars seemed to be attached with a piece of rubber, and the headlight is taped on. i ride around a couple of times and he motions me back to the centre of the field.
"so how was that?" he asks.
"well, most of what is on the bike is broken, and the helmet keeps falling in front of my eyes" i reply.
"oh, but is much better to learn on this bike, because it keeps you alert. if everything worked, you would fall asleep."
i then have to ride in small circles around a tuft of grass and move onto figure eights formed from random stones. i have to stop at one point because i am so dizzy that the grass is blurring together.
"great, we're done. i just have to stop at my house. i forgot something" says Brown and we head to "his place." i stand reluctantly in the parking lot. what driving instructor takes his student to his house? (don't worry, i was limbering up to use my self-defense moves).
we return to the office downtown to return the bike and high quality equipment. the school owner is yelling at someone at the phone and i slink out as quietly as possible so i do not suffer the same wrath.
Day two
i return tuesday morning, ready to play with cars again. but instead, 60 students are stuffed into benches in the too small room reciting road signs - or "sings" as the schedule indicates. i notice then, that someone in the office has a spelling problem. Friday is spelled "fhariday", saturday is "satir" and all signs are "sings." This does not bode well.
The instructor does not actually teach or explain road signs. the students are expected to memorize them off the handout given and then stand up and recite them for the rest of the class. most students mutter under their breath and no one pays attention. they are texting on their phones or yawning. the instructor walks in and out of the room, randomly deciding that the rehearsing student has made a mistake, like reading the signs out in a horizontal fashion instead of a vertical one. they have to start again.
fortunately, i escape having to recite them that day.
Brown and i take out the stellar bike again, once again, filling it with half a litre of gas.
i drive around in more circles while Brown relaxes and picks at the grass. i do notice though, that the dirt road i ride on simulates real conditions in that it is filled with potholes and garbage. i even get to compete with other cars - those being filled with learning drivers who seem to be terrified of the motorbike. they stop the car and freeze any time i come near them.
school children stop and stare. somehow they can tell it is a woman on the bike and they stop and stare as if it is the 8th wonder of the world. when i ride near them, they scatter and scream.
i drive in more small circles, figure eights for "my safety." apparently these are defensive driving mechanisms.
i am happy, though, that it feels totally natural to ride a motorbike. it must be in the genes.
day two is done. i haven't broken anything or fallen down. and the instructor didn't take me home.
day three
back to playing with cars on the wooden board. the instructors step up the difficulty and throw in road blocks all over the place. i have to try to figure out how to get around the road blocks, while obeying absurd kenyan road traffic laws. he then puts in some very easy situations, that as an experienced driver i figure out easily while my kenyan counterparts struggle. however, they seem to get the long routes with a million turns before i do.
before we head out to the motorbike, i have a word with the driving school owner. i admonish her for having such poor equipment and dangerous helmets. she shrugs and says the helmets came without straps. i assure her that they did not and show her where the straps should be attached. she becomes angry with Brown for not telling her that things are broken and how is she supposed to know if she doesn't ride a motorbike? She demands that he have straps attached for tomorrows class and doesn't care where he finds them.
back in the field, Brown tries to convince me that straps are not necessary and that the helmet falling in my eyes is to "keep me awake" while i am driving. if everything worked so well, i might fall asleep behind the handlebars. i then explain what working neurosurgery is like and the patients i took care of because their helmet came off. his jaw drops and his eyes bulge. he has never heard of anyone having to be fed by a tube or having their bum wiped because of such a severe head injury. he assures me he will find some straps somewhere.
Day four
i can't escape having to recite the road signs. while waiting for my turn, Brown tries to make me fill out information forms for future students and i put the pile of papers back on his lap. he then starts stretching his neck to and fro and saying "oh, i need a massage..."
"so, go get one" i say.
"oh, but where?" whines Brown.
"where ever they give massages" and i turn back to my handout so i don't blunder during my recital.
when i stand up and take the stick so i can point at the road signs painted on the wall, everyone stops their phone playing and yawning and sleeping. the mzungu girl is up and is she going to get everything right? i apparently state something wrong in the "regulatory" signs and some men in front of me start giggling.
"is there a problem?" i ask.
they keep giggling. apparently leaving a zone of 40km an hour is pretty funny.
then i start reciting the "information" signs. i say "restaurant ahead" and i am stopped by the instructor. "you don't need to say ahead, it just means that the restaurant is there. maybe it is behind you."
"okay, fine. restaurant. refreshments. camping area. caravan area...."
then i have to demonstrate the hand signals. when i start with left signal, which involves whipping your right arm up and down three times, then turning it in three giant circles. i get in trouble for turning my arm the wrong way. i tell the teacher that is it probably dangerous to be doing the front stroke with my right arm when i should be having them on the steering wheel in order to actually drive the car. i sit down and then get in more trouble from Brown for having had my left hand in my pocket while demonstrating the hand signals. Apparently, if i were to do that during the exam, or chew gum loudly in front of the police officer, i will fail the test. not because i don't know how to drive, but because i have my hand in my pocket.
Back in the field, i drive around while Brown lays in the grass. i am driving through a bumpy part when i see a half naked man bent over in the bush. his bum is facing me, his face is to the busy road. he is trying to go poo and i nearly hit several pot holes. i am shocked at first, but then i feel bad for him as he is still trying to go on my 4th way around the field. the poor guy must have been constipated.
when i stop in front of Brown, i explain about the man, not so hidden in the bush. he tells me "he is nuts and lives in this field." i tell Brown the man is mentally ill, but that Brown, himself, is nuts.
I ride in my circles and figure eights for half an hour.
on my final ride around the field, the clutch actually falls out of its resting place and is hanging off the handle bar. i have to put it back in place and hope it still works as i try to slow down. when i tell Brown, he says it is to keep me awake, and smiles.
Day five
Having taken the weekend off, i return monday morning for my last lesson. i manage to spend only 30 minutes driving the dinky cars before we head out.
as we drive to the field, i see combat police lining up on the road. riot police on a monday morning is not a good sign. the politicians had finally agreed on something on sunday and announced the cabinet. Brown tells me the Mungiki gang was demonstrating that morning (as he drove the wrong way through the traffic circle and then the wrong way down a one way road).
I stall the bike several times and swear it has something to do with the half working clutch. Brown is convinced it is my inability. I do my routine and at the end of the lesson have to take Brown on the back of the motorbike around the field several times to practice having another person on the bike. As i am speeding up, he suggests he puts his arms around my waist. i told him if he touched me i would throw him off the back of the bike before he knew what hit him.
(this is after last week when he asked if i had a boyfriend or fiance, and then called me several times over the weekend - phone calls i did not answer)
At the end of the lesson, he seems to have "forgotten" something at his house again. I ask if he takes his male students to his house. He acts very astonished and says "i don't do funny business! i am saved!"
okay, saved man, stop taking me to your house then...
Test day
Tuesday morning, i show up bright and early and i head over to the testing centre with 2 other students. it turns out they are social workers with a catholic agency and we work in the same area and will all be riding yamahas around the village.
we arrive at 8:30 and wait for something to happen.
at 9am the police officer in charge comes out of his office and we all stand at attention. for the next 45 minutes he gives a speech about how we should not be nervous and that we have practiced well and that no one will fail. the speech then becomes more sermon like when he starts telling us how we should and should not dress. if we are "showing our stuff" with low cut shirts, that reflects bad character and what will people think of us.
then, reflecting on mondays violence involving the gangs, he instructs us all to "pray and go to ch---"
"Church" replies the crowd.
(a kenyan thing that you complete only half the word and then wait for the audience to finish the word).
He finished his sermon with the instructions to "let the ladies go first because they have to go home and take care of the children and cook food for us."
i stifle my gasp and tell my new friends that i will withhold my comments until after i have passed the test.
we then sit on the grass in the hot sun for more than 2 hours waiting for something, anything to happen. i suspect the police officers are taking a nice long tea break.
finally they start calling in people for their oral exam and playing with cars (yes, they even have dinky cars in the exam). i am near the end and the police officer is surprised that a lady was left to the end. i manage to withhold comments. he calls me "fleln" (instead of fernhout) and he asks me where i work and what i do. i tell him i am a nurse in a village not far away.
"what is your lore?" he asks
"what is my role at the hospital?"
"no, what is the lore?"
"the role of what?"
"the lore of the road?"
"oh, the rule of the road?" ( i then am able to figure out which tribe he is based on his switching the letters r and l).
i answer his traffic questions, repeat road signs, and drive a dinky car around a traffic circle.
i am then instructed to go drive the motorbike in 3 circles around the parking lot and stop in front of the office. he will be able to see me from the window, while quizzing other students.
so, i get on the motorbike, and all other activity stops in the compound. all eyes are on the white girl driving the motorbike. it is probably still being talked about in people's houses.
i get called back in the office and congratulated on passing.
"Alida Danfelle" now has a license. i try to correct the fact that my middle name is spelled incorrectly throughout, but that is what is on my Kenyan ID card, so i stop arguing. as far as kenyans are concerned, i am alida danfelle.
as the police officer is filling out the paper work, he asks me to sponsor his son to go to school in canada. i clarify that he means pay for his university education. yes, of course that is what he means as he laughs. i tell him i am still paying for my own education and i also laugh. as long as he gives me the license. if he doesn't and still talks about sponsoring his son, i plan to point to the "no corruption" signs all over the walls. fortunately, i do not have to resort to that and happily take my papers.
but it is not over. then i am directed to another place. i squeeze my way through a broken door into a shack area. although 6 men are waiting their turn, i am told by this police officer that it is "ladies first." i don't argue as i have spent almost 7 hours sitting on a patch of grass in the hot sun to get my license, when the whole process could have taken no more than 30 minutes.
finally, i have my 20 papers signed and in order, but i do not yet receive my interim license.
i am instructed to return to the driving school the next day to get my certificate and then proceed to the Revenue Authority office where i have to pay more money.
so finally, today, i submitted my pile of papers saying i am a competent motorbike driver.
and i have not yet driven a motorbike on a road with other traffic.
this is kenya.
and this is my motorcycle diary.
