My Third, His Third, Your Third

Sometimes it’s a bit difficult to see common practices within the framework of another culture as being precisely what they are; cultural differences. Although I’ve been at various times in my life to about thirty other nations, until we moved to Malawi, I had never driven anywhere other than in the US and Canada. Our first, (by choice), vehicle here was a compact automatic, having taken into consideration the fact that I had never driven with the steering wheel on the right, as well as having to drive on the left side of the road.

All things considered, I adapted quite quickly, and Phyllis told me she thought I had mastered things fairly well. Other than a couple backward u-turns, and one relapse when I turned left into oncoming traffic, and had enough room to immediately correct the situation, I can’t recall any other serious mess-ups. Even the dreaded “backwards” roundabouts came much more naturally that I had thought they would. Once in a while I still look into the eyes of the front seat passenger to try to anticipate his next move, until I realize he’s not the one driving.

By early February, about three months in, I felt comfortable enough to purchase the four wheel drive we needed for the countless dirt roads we have to navigate each week as we go from village to village restoring wells, and working closely with the women and children. It’s a lot larger; takes up more of the road, and takes the multitude of curves, bumps, and potholes a whole lot better than the little Mazda ever could.

Describing the roads here in Malawi is almost as large a challenge as driving on them. First of all, with a couple exceptions in Blantyre and Lilongwe, all of the paved roads are two narrow lanes, narrowed further still through erosion having lopped off sizeable chunks all along the way. Pot holes, which begin as golf ball sized, rapidly grow through use and erosion through the heavy rainy season to sometimes as wide as your car’s wheel base, and a foot deep. They can be left in a state of disrepair for months on end. They are one of the main stresses to driving. The shoulders are often abrupt drop-offs, also the products of years of erosion, quite capable of causing serious damage to the sturdiest of vehicles.

With all this as a backdrop, I now need to introduce you to the fact that most of the traffic on the inadequate highways is pedestrians. Most will never even own a bike, and there are only four passenger cars for every thousand population. With most cars and trucks zipping along at 70 to 80 kilometers an hour, the constant dodging of potholes, pedestrians, bicyclists, along with the occasional goat or tractor makes one feel as though they are locked to the controls of an unending pinball game.

The constant yielding of five or so feet more than necessary to pedestrians and bicyclists by the great majority of drivers can be rather unsettling, as one then needs to squeeze all the way left in order to avoid a head on collision, with fatal consequences. For the longest time, I thought most drivers quite rude, uncivil, unlearned in regards the traffic laws of Malawi, or perhaps all three.

However, over time I have come to develop an entirely different theory. As most commerce and trade, as well as people’s daily commutes occur on foot or by bicycle, these people are being accorded the courtesy due them. I, by insisting on my right to my half of the road, am being the road hog by not wanting to yield those few extra feet in order to accommodate the brave souls who place themselves in harm’s way in order to eke out a living for their families. I may not like it, and I doubt I’ll ever feel very comfortable with it, but after all I’m the guest in their home, so I’d better get used to it, and when appropriate, maintain my third of the road.