I have road rage.
And when I’m in the car I positively f*cking lose my marbles. I honk at people who overtake recklessly. I scream obscenely at people who turn abruptly in front of me, and occasionally I even throw the middle finger at taxis who come to sudden stops in the middle of the bloody road, forcing me to slam on my brakes. All for that next, elusive N$10.
It’s not pretty, it’s not ladylike and I’m not proud of my behaviour.
But I can’t help it.
Getting into one’s car should be an easy, relaxed, nifty way to get from point A to destination B.
It isn’t.
In this country, getting into your car and attempting to share the road with anyone else becomes a frightening, stressful, nightmarish thing. In this country, attempting to share the road with anyone else… might just be the last thing you ever get to do. Even if you obey the rules of the road.
Even if you buckle up and keep to the speed limit. Even if you shake your head and say ‘no thanks, I’m driving’ when an after-work drink gets passed your way. Even if you do everything right. Even if you take all precautions to stay safe.
And that’s pretty much what my anger, fury and hysteria boils down to. The unfairness of losing your life and that of your loved ones … in an accident which you didn’t cause. Because when I ride… I ride along with everything I have ever loved and held dear in my life.
And so I scream and honk and cuss and stress and make rude hand gestures (all before 07h00, no less!), not out of fear of bumping the car or losing my own life…but of fear of losing The Trolls.
And so, the mom who has been busting her balls for the last 10 years trying to un-troll her Trolls and teach them manners, etiquette and propriety, becomes a troll herself at times. Because I fear nothing in this world or the next, except losing them.
Troll 1, my 12-year-old lean, muscly, puberty stricken Man in the Making is my co-driver come rain or come shine, and has been watching my road rage moments of insanity with initial bewilderment and (more recently) with increased interest. Until a couple of days ago during the 17h00 rush hour traffic when this conversation happened.
Troll 1: You hate driving, don’t you, mom?
Me: (Sighing tiredly) Yes. With everything in my soul.
Troll 1: You should teach me how to drive so that one day when I’m old enough, I’ll drive you around and you won’t be so stressed out any more.
Me: You’re 12, kid. You’re not allowed to drive.
Troll 1: Most boys get taught at 12, mom.
(Silence)
Me: Do you know the different pedals?
Troll 1: Yep.
Me: And the gears?
Troll 1: I watch everything you do, Mom, I’m your kid!
Me: Uhm… OK.
And just like that, from being overly tired, stressed and stuck in rush hour traffic, I, the Urban Single Mom, just agreed to start giving my first born son driving lessons.
More on that (disastrous) decision next week!
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