Driving

I am no longer a measly pollywog in Goma, DR Congo. I have crossed the metaphorical equator of driving its crazy streets. I am now a shellback!
This morning started like any other idle Thursday: breakfast lakeside coupled with discussion of the day’s events. I did not expect that today would be the day that I lose my African driving virginity. As we piled into the car I took my usual squished place in the back seat. Once I had settled in, I heard faint jingle of keys, like the sound of Tinkerbelle sprinkling fairy dust on Peter Pan. I had been selected to drive the team into town today! I immediately jumped to my feet and rushed to assume my new position in the cockpit situated on the right side of the car. With the turn of the key, my noble steed roared to life and after a quick turn to orient myself I was out into the madness of the volcanic Goma streets. My heart pumped as I zigged and zagged through the minefield of potholes. Moto taxis (motorcycles) zipped by me, I felt like Han Solo and the Pajero, my Millenium Falcon. As I gained confidence I used the horn passing trucks full of empty beer bottles. When it came time for my first right turn I was directed by a policewoman to bust through a crowd of people. I overrode my safety mechanism and dove in horn blaring.
As quick as it started it all came to an end. With the ritual two horn blasts the mighty gates of HEAL Africa opened. We had made it to our destination unscathed. Today I conquered the task of driving through the littered streets of Goma, my pink driver’s license is my badge of honour. Who knows what I will face tomorrow.