Since we are planning to be here for a while, we decided that it was better for me to get a proper Sudanese driving license. Routine checks are fairly frequent and it's better if the policemen are actually able to read my papers. We have a company pickup truck and usually V takes it to work, but it's nice for me to be able to go shopping or see friends on my own without always asking him to chauffeur me around. He's good sport and doesn't complain, but since we usually we also have to take the kids, it's a bit of a logistical nightmare.
I am no faint of heart, but we asked the company's logistics department to help us out with the formalities and what a good idea that was! First my Swiss driving license was duely translated into Arabic and certified by the University. But that was just the preliminaries.
On Day-D we showed up, V and Ali and me, at the traffic police headquarters ready to brave the Sudanese bureaucracy. Well, for about an hour after our arrival, we didn't have much to brave, since everybody was having their breakfast break, complete with ful and bread. Finally the officials started to arrive back to their desks where they sat down and stared at their black computer screens for further 15 minutes. V needed all his power of persuasion, plus some chocolate biscuits, to keep me from getting up and leaving.
In the meantime I discovered that the chairs scattered around the hall were actually placed in strategic locations. I was asked to move chairs several times, supposedly meaning that I was moving up on the waiting list ladder. Ali paid the money to someone sitting in an obscure backroom and in turn we were provided with a receipt allowing us to expect better and bigger things. I was also joined by a fellow hopeful expat working for V's company and from then on we spent our time cheering each other on. After about 90 minutes sitting in the main hall, we were herded out to the backyard and into different shady offices where we underwent an eye exam and were kitted out with further receipts and stamps.
Upon our return, we were allocated new and MUCH better chairs. I guess the eye exam is definitely a step up on the social ladder. A lady proceeded to enter my name into the computer, closely watched by two of her colleagues. My Ethiopian companion mentioned something about "job creation" at that point. Unfortunately my name was not to the lady's liking, jeopardizing our hard earned stamps and the fruitful outcome of our quest. You see, my parents were expecting a boy. When I came out obviously missing those boyish bits, they were somewhat short for name ideas. So they only gave me one first name. Now this confused the bejabers out of the veiled lady. She needed three names and I only had two. With a diplomatic incident and an IT meltdown in sight, we finally agreed that she'd put my maiden name down. Good thing I am married. What on earth would she have entered otherwise???
Another stamp, another piece of paper and I was ready to get my picture taken. If you look closely you'll be able to see the unmistakable curve of a smirk on my lips, but then you'll have to remember that we were about two and a half hours into the process at that point. Finally the holy grail (in the form of a driving license) was delivered into my hand.
It's all in Arabic, so I can't tell you what it says and I look paler than dead on the picture (and about 20 years younger than I am, according to my husband), but I've got a local license now to cruise around.
Not sure that this is a blessing. But I'll tell you about the Khartoum traffic some other day.
2 comments:
I think the aid workers and the American embassy were the only ones who had to drive themselves, and most ex-pats didn't anything about the city at all.
It used to irritate me when someone wanted to Hare to get their name, but they always had to ask me or you or Rui to go with them, because they didn't know what was outside the passenger window of thier chauffered vehicle.
You would think in a city without street signs and where all the navigation is done by landmarks, a few of them would have learned their way around.
But most of them never did. If only I had had a cruel streak at the Hash?
Haha... Who would have been the first target? Do tell, do tell!!! :-))))
I had a nice pink Angolan driving license too. It makes a good souvenir now.
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