In 1999, I sold my car and moved overseas to the land of easy public transport. Actually, my dad sold my car for me. He advertised it as, "Car stereo for sale, $250...car attached." Ha. Living in Europe all these years, I somehow managed to get by without owning another car since the last century. I could ride trains and trams, buses and boats, and walk near about everywhere. I caught a ride when I needed to transport things too big for the metro. (Is there really such a thing, though?)
But here in the Middle East, it's just not the same as Europe. I've been getting around for the last year via Uber and my two feet and begging rides off of friends. It was finally time to make yet another big change for me in this slow process of transitioning my life from France to the ME: I bought a car.
Some friends and I went to the local branch of the DMV where I followed Mohammed #1 around from office to office. He would speak to the man behind the desk, turn to me and say either "Show him your ID car" or "Pay him x amount of money" or "What's your ------?" (Address, phone number, father's name, blood type, etc) After doing that for a few hours and paying a lot of money, Gandalf the Grey was mine.
But I still couldn't drive it. I didn't have a local driver's license. And while they could give locals a DL at this particular office, for some reason, they couldn't give foreigners one. I tried to charm every Arab man in there into thinking that surely he had the power to help this poor American girl out, and all of them would lead me to the next higher up's office... And I made it all the way to the top office. But alas. Either I had to pay some money under the table or they truly couldn't give me a license in that office. Either way--I walked out without being able to drive home in the car that was in my name.
Fast forward another couple of weeks to today. I arranged with Mohammed #2 to meet us at the DMV that is in another town (for some reason, not in the capital city) where they do foreigner's driver's licenses. For the most part it was the same process: follow him around to different offices for each important Arab man to put his stamp on the paper.
However, it started with a problem. Mohammed #2 asked me if I had another passport and I replied, "No...just that one." The man behind the desk said, "There is a problem in the system. You have no nationality. You are UN. This doesn't match this passport" as he waves my passport.
Can I get some diplomat license plates and driving privileges with that UN non-nationality? No? Okay...let's fix the problem in the system then.
They got that fixed and sent me to get my eye exam. I walked into a room, sat in a chair across from where the eye exam was on a wall. It had the letter E in the middle of the square. Just the letter E. Except that it was backwards. I was asked to explain the letter. I said, "It's the letter E but it's backwards." Click. "Now?" asked eye examiner. "It's the letter E but upside down." Click. "Now?" asked eye examiner. "It's the letter E, normal."
Pass. Another stamp on my paper.
A few more offices, an offer of Arab coffee, some confusion over what the "Class D" on my Alabama driver's license meant ("you can drive manual? motorcycle? bus?"), pay some more money and after an hour of many offices, a loss and regaining of my American nationality, an eye exam, and explaining that I can drive a normal car... I have an official local driver's license. Mabrook! (Congrats!)
I drove Gandalf home and marveled all afternoon at the fact that I no longer need a ride to the grocery store. Ever.
