February 27, 2009 Cars. SUVs. Bicycles. Donkey carts. Goats. Police vehicles. Busses. Taxis. Transports. Trucks. Green license plates (INGOs). Blue license plates (United Nations). White license plates(resident of Kabul). No license plates. All share the city streets of Kabul in a rhythmic traffic dance that miraculously seems to work.Driving in Kabul is a test of will. It is a good thing that alcohol is not sold or consumed in this Muslim country so driving under the influence does not come into play. Since I am only driven and do not drive myself in Kabul, I can only imagine what it must be like to be in the driver’s seat. The word “intrepid” applies. Split-second timing and instant reflexes are a must.
Kabul has no stop lights. Well, that’s not exactly the truth. It has ONE stop light and it either runs red or green for 24 hours at a stretch. There are stop signs on the side streets that lead into the main arteries, but they are more decoration than deterrent.
There are traffic circles scattered throughout Kabul, each with a diminutive rotary in the middle that looks like the children’s merry-go-rounds found in the public parks of the 1950s. At every rotary, a policeman swings a cautionary Stop sign the size of a ping pong paddle at merging traffic. Herding cats, for the most part. The policeman with the ping pong paddle is merely street furniture. No one pays much attention.
The rules of engagement are simple: a driver approaching a main artery from a side street must pull out at least halfway into the jet stream of oncoming traffic no matter what is heading his way. Vehicles on the main arteries build up considerable speed because there are no traffic lights, but this does not stop the average Afghan driver desiring to enter traffic from the side. A proud driver cedes no ground, but rather steps on it as a speeding vehicle approaches, plunging his (gender-inclusiveness does not apply here; most Afghan drivers are male) vehicle into the flow of traffic.
When a driver has established ground, the game is on. Two cars are now vying for one space. And as I learned from my 12th grade Physics teacher, Admiral Orville Gregor, two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time. This is physically impossible.
But maybe not in Kabul!
At the moment of near-engagement, there is a subtle exchange of eye signals between drivers. The oncoming driver stops within inches of the side street encroacher. Looks go back and forth. The encroacher sends a signal to the oncomer that somehow salvages the oncomer’s pride and allows the encroacher to proceed into traffic. The term “road rage” has no equivalent in Dari or Pashto!
Once launched on a main street, a more sophisticated skill set is required. Driving on Kabul’s main streets is a game of Thread the Needle as vehicles, pedestrians, and animals vie for space on a two-lane two-way street with all of the above in play: donkey carts, children and women in burkas begging in the street, SUVs, taxis, bicycles, rickshaws, transports, and trucks. Surprisingly, a car horn is a weapon of last resort.
Driving in Kabul is simple. Proceed at all speed, never mind direction. Stake your claim. Keep going. You will encounter vehicles hastily parked curbside, pedestrians darting in front of your path, the occasional herd of goats making their way through the city. Accelerate, don’t negotiate.
I have never seen one of my drivers lose ground. Never. In the two months I have been in Kabul, I have seen only two automobile accidents in the city streets. This is improbable, to say the least. Every trip by car is a thrill ride. Bumper cars. Chicken. I Double Dare Ya!
It seems to work. When I complimented my driver, Sayed Mohammed, on his masterful driving skills, he said, “It is easy. I was a tank driver in the Afghan National Army. Driving this car is like driving a bicycle.”
But maybe not in Kabul!
At the moment of near-engagement, there is a subtle exchange of eye signals between drivers. The oncoming driver stops within inches of the side street encroacher. Looks go back and forth. The encroacher sends a signal to the oncomer that somehow salvages the oncomer’s pride and allows the encroacher to proceed into traffic. The term “road rage” has no equivalent in Dari or Pashto!
Once launched on a main street, a more sophisticated skill set is required. Driving on Kabul’s main streets is a game of Thread the Needle as vehicles, pedestrians, and animals vie for space on a two-lane two-way street with all of the above in play: donkey carts, children and women in burkas begging in the street, SUVs, taxis, bicycles, rickshaws, transports, and trucks. Surprisingly, a car horn is a weapon of last resort.
Driving in Kabul is simple. Proceed at all speed, never mind direction. Stake your claim. Keep going. You will encounter vehicles hastily parked curbside, pedestrians darting in front of your path, the occasional herd of goats making their way through the city. Accelerate, don’t negotiate.
I have never seen one of my drivers lose ground. Never. In the two months I have been in Kabul, I have seen only two automobile accidents in the city streets. This is improbable, to say the least. Every trip by car is a thrill ride. Bumper cars. Chicken. I Double Dare Ya!
It seems to work. When I complimented my driver, Sayed Mohammed, on his masterful driving skills, he said, “It is easy. I was a tank driver in the Afghan National Army. Driving this car is like driving a bicycle.”
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