Visitors getting into a car in Guyana for the first time are often left shocked, perhaps even stunned, by our driving habits. I had a first-hand experience of it some years back with a visiting English lady who was almost traumatized by the experience. She leaned as far back in the seat as she could, eyes like saucers, and every now and then, “My God! Oh my God!” (You know how it is with the English: the way they pronounce “God”, you can almost see the deity.) At the end of the trip, she got out of the vehicle, perspiring slightly, but clearly relieved to be still intact, and said, “How can you drive in this place?”
The answer, of course, is that Guyanese drivers are able to accommodate the experience based essentially on what we know.
One has to know, for instance, that there are quite a few lunatics on the road, either driving maniacally fast or intoxicated, or both, and you have to be on guard. Unfortunately, however, identifying these miscreants is almost always a case of the lunatic being known only after the lunacy has taken place. The authorities don’t seem to be able to get this madness under control, so you always have to watch for these crazy people and try to get out of their way when they manifest themselves.
It follows that Guyanese drivers know to be cautious moving off on a green light – some last-minute idiot may be coming through the red one on the other side. Even when the get-going horns sound, you sneak a few seconds to check the cross flow, left and right, before you proceed. Guyanese drivers know that.
A prime bewilderment for new drivers here (I went through this initially) is the shortage, or sometimes total absence, of road signs. On some streets you have the right of way for several blocks and then, with no warning, at a completely unmarked intersection, you’re suddenly required to stop. Knowing the difference is a matter of acquired knowledge after some heart-stopping near-collisions and some very loud busing. One-way streets are a particular problem because they are almost always unmarked. There’s a two-way street in Alberttown (don’t ask me the name of it; I’m still a West Dem boy learning town) that suddenly becomes one-way without warning. Only after somebody frantically waves you down, or hits you with “Wan way, buddy!” do you get what other drivers clearly already know.
On my first day driving in Georgetown, having just cleared my vehicle from Customs (thanks to some professional guidance from GRA), I turned into a one-way street. I told the police officer, “There is no sign, no marking, no warning, no indication whatsoever that this is a one-way.” He turned and looked at me in unveiled astonishment. “You’re supposed to know.” My blood pressure went skyward. “I’ve never lived in Georgetown. This is my first day driving here. How am I supposed to know?” Cool as George Clooney, the officer gave me one of those shake-head answers: “If you don’t know the one-way streets, you should drive with somebody who knows them.” That’s one of the things Guyanese drivers know: policemen can be totally illogical and totally authoritative at the same time. Vexing, yes, but so it go.
Many times, prior knowledge is at work keeping Guyanese drivers out of accidents. You’re sitting at a junction in Brickdam facing east, waiting to turn right. A car pulls up alongside on your left. Conventionally, that would mean he’s planning to turn left. When the light changes, however, without even a by-your-leave, the vehicle shoots forward, makes a sharp right turn across your lane, and is gone barreling south. The English lady is screaming “Oh my God” but you’re not surprised; you’ve seen the manoeuvre before; that’s a normal GT drive.
Local drivers try to avoid leaving any space ahead of them at a traffic light. To minibus drivers that stuff is like cheese to a rat; they’re onto it in flash. Even if the gap is only a foot or two, the minibus will sneak up, from left or right, and slide into the space, blocking you off, and when the light changes he’s off like the roadrunner. Such a tactic could cause accidents in most countries; not here. Guyanese drivers recognize the move, continue munching their channa, and just let the bus go.
It’s Sunday evening. Someone is driving east on the seawall road, doing 5 miles an hour. No flashers, no signal, not speeding up or slowing down – 5 miles an hour; ticky tacka. Guyanese drivers know he’s on a reconnaissance mission, either looking for his pals before he decides to park, or perhaps scouting some nubile prospect. Nobody yells at the guy or shows him the finger. The English lady erupts: “What an astonishing display!” Guyanese drivers calmly steer around him and drive on.
Somebody unused to driving here will come to an area and not find any parking spots parallel to the road. That’s no problem to Guyanese drivers; we know you can park at right angles to the road, or at 45 degrees, or up against an electricity pole – anywhere you can fit your vehicle is a parking spot. The official road manual tells you otherwise, but Guyanese drivers don’t mind that; they know different.
Three people on a scooter doesn’t alarm drivers. The motorcyclist with a long pole sticking up in the air is no hazard; we know that’s one of the brush cutters going to a job; no need to panic. In a single carriageway here, a car stops dead in the driving lane, and the driver is gaffing with a pedestrian. Overseas, road rage would erupt. In Guyana, we just drive around the vehicle and go on our way unperturbed; sometimes, a few streets later, we’re the ones blocking the road and gaffing.
In many overseas countries, the pedestrian is king; drivers yield to them at crosswalks and at intersections. In Guyana, it’s the pedestrians doing the yielding.
Perhaps because they often don’t have the luxury of a defining sidewalk, persons on foot are in effect infringing on the edge of the roadway, and motorists treat them accordingly. In North America, pedestrians will often hold up lines of traffic at a cross walk and vehicles inching near will draw a tirade of abuse.
In Guyana, if someone stands in a cross walk lambasting drivers for not stopping, it’s one of two things: the person is either crazy, or has just landed here for the first time from a charter flight. The Guyanese pedestrian knows his/her place; they yield to traffic; that’s the rule. Furthermore, the drivers know that the pedestrians know.
Finally, Guyanese drivers know that they must always, repeat, always signal a turn. For some reason, not signaling is the cardinal road sin. Guyanese drivers will forgive cutting in, overtaking, double parking, excessive horns, loud boom boxes, failing to yield, and even coming through red lights, but failing to signal is like gasoline and match. They go ballistic. They will follow you for blocks to pull alongside you in a shouting rage, arms flying, head rolling, eyes popping. “Hey! You. Yes, you. You is a madman or wha’? Yuh signal! Yuh signal! What de backside happen to yuh signal? Yuh lef it home?”
In the end, it all comes down to experience. After a few months on the road here, you get to know what the other Guyanese drivers know, and things become easier. Also, people adapt. Last week, I spotted the English lady on Sheriff Street. She drove past me in the line of traffic, waited in the right-turn lane, and drove straight ahead when the light changed. She now knows what we know.
