Driving in Kuwait: Buckle Up!
I heard two statistics recently. First, that the Fehaheel Expressway had the most number of fatal accidents per kilometer in the world. Second, that Kuwait has the highest incidence per capita of driving fatalities in the world. After sorting out pedestrian fatalities, I wonder which nationality has the highest percentage of fatalities? Which age group?
Most of the drivers are doing fine, but the ones driving WAAAAYYYY over the speed limits, driving too fast for the road conditions, weaving in and out to get a couple inches of advantage, making unsafe lane changes, NOT SIGNALLING lane changes, exits, entries, etc., and/or who are incapacitated due to drugs and alcohol are causing a problem for the majority who are doing their best to be good neighbors.
I don’t know how to stop crazy drivers from driving like crazy drivers. Maybe enforce the laws? Like equally, across the board, no special privileges?
But I have a modest proposal which will give you some protection against the crazies, and initiate a new way of thinking in your children. It’s so simple – Buckle up.
No one likes being all strapped in. We hated the way it wrinkled our clothes, we hated the incovenience. . . until we saw how many innocent lives it saved. Now, we don’t even think about it, we buckle. It becomes a habit, just something you do, automatically, without thinking.
First step – Moms. You have so much power. Set the example. Buckle up, and make sure your infants are in infant seats, securely fastened. Second, insist that your children use their seat belts – no matter how they whine and complain, YOU be the grown up, and insist that the car doesn’t go until the buckles are fastened. They are your most precious cargo. Even just running to the co-op for vegetables, or taking the kids to soccer practice. . . Buckle up!
The ultimate weapon – tell your husband that you want your children to grow up with a father, and beg him to buckle up, too, for you. Do whatever it takes to convince him that it is not unmanly, it is a loving act to do for his family. 🙂
We can’t control the arrogance of others (and what else is bad driving?) but we can set the example and give the next generation a fair chance.
Upgrade
We’ve lived overseas most of our married life. One of our agreements is that when I am needed back home, I go. I am so blessed, my parents are both still alive, and as they age, they need a little more support and time. I’ve been back to the US four times this year, although one of the trips (WoooHoooo!) was for our son’s wedding.
My husband and I have developed a ritual; we go out for dinner before he drops me at the airport. It’s a nice, gentle way to part, gives us time to remind each other of business sorts of things (please remember to comb the cat while I am gone, please contact the insurance company and tell them . . . – you know, married couple stuff.)
So after a nice dinner at the Ribeye at Crown Plaza, he takes me to the dreaded airport and I get in the long snaking line. Most of the line is young Americans with huge backpacks. Behind me is a group of locals, one of whom lights up a cigarette – and he is standing right under the NO SMOKING sign! I HATE smoke. But when he saw the look on my face, he asked me if it was OK if he smoked. I pointed at the sign and said “Mamnua!” (forbidden!) and immediately . . . he apologized, and put the cigarette out. Wow.
When I finally got to the front of the line and handed my passport to the beleagered desk attendant, a great big Egyptian man bypassed the line and walked up with two porters, and ten huge suitcases encased in plastic. Somehow, I guess he didn’t see me, because he shoved a handful of passports at the desk clerk who was working on my ticket.
“Bas degiga, ahi” (only a moment, my brother) I punctuated my statement with the hand motion that means have a little patience. He gave me the look we call “the dog can talk!” (For some reason, maybe because so few xpats do, they are astounded when we speak a little Arabic.) And to MY astonishment, he stepped back and waited while my ticket was processed. The desk clerk was just grinnning; I guess he gets a lot of important people pushing his way to the front of the line.
As he passed me my ticket, he also passed me an invitation to the Lounge upstairs, which is wireless, and has nice, big clean bathrooms. “How kind!” I laughed, “thank you so much!” and was off to pass the next couple hours in relative comfort.
When it came time to board, I had a very nice seat, and I was hoping to have two seats to myself so I could curl up and sleep during the night flight. But no, just as I was really beginning to hope, a big gentleman came in and started putting things away just above me and put his book in the adjoining seat. “Oh well,” I thought. And I heard my name called on the intercom, asking me to find a flight attendant.
I assumed they were going to ask me to change with some family who arrived at the last minute, so that they could all sit together. My seat was close to a bulkhead, and that is always a chance you take. There was no flight attendant nearby, so I headed to the front of the plane, where I saw the desk attendant who had checked me in, grinning. “Madam, we would like to upgrade you tonight,” he said, handing me a new ticket and an ongoing ticket so I wouldn’t have to stand in line at my layover. I was SO grateful. The business class seats go almost full flat, and I can sleep like a baby.
I go back to gather my goods and the big man says “What? You’re getting an upgrade?” and he FOLLOWS ME up to the front, and complains! “Why her? Why does SHE get an upgrade? I’M a BUSINESSMAN!”
I busied myself settling in, but I couldn’t help laughing. The flight attendant soothed him and explained that there were no more seats available, and very reluctantly he returned to sardine class.
The seat behind me stayed empty the entire trip.
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