Driving on the Left Side of the Road- Part 1
By: Jayne Garrison
Shopping at Kingsway in Lagos , Nigeria
Naturally, our interests were varied. Mother focused on
food. In the Common Wealth years, this was a matter of finding those products
which could somehow stand in for substitutes in our American diets. For
instance, hot, brown mustard from the Netherlands
Beyond foods, however, merchandise was more obscure. No
telling when an interesting toy or European garment of some sort might show up.
Often, these were beyond our missionary budget, so my sister Barbara and I hoped
for little things like china figurines, pretty handkerchiefs, colored pencils,
plastic combs or wonderful soaps in interesting shapes---all things that the
Europeans were great at producing in those days.
There was one thing we could absolutely depend upon, that my
sister and I grew to dearly love---the British comics. These were not like
their American cousins, the comic book, which our parents didn’t approve of. British
comics were small newspapers full of comic- strip style stories that were
almost always dramatic and usually part of a continuing series so that one
looked forward to each issue with high expectancy. For a stack of these, we
were even willing to baby-sit our youngest sister, Baby Noel, while Mother and
Daddy shopped.
We were too young to be left at home alone and so our baby
sitting took place in the parked car on the water front with Baby Noel in a
carry cot and our two-year-old brother, Chris, bouncing up and down on the seat
beside her. None of us would be leaving the car during this time, not even to
stretch our legs, because the minute Mother and Daddy disappeared, we became an
island in a sea of on-lookers who would want to touch us, play with us, and ply
us for money, and while we were not afraid of them, we also knew we did not
have the skills to safely maneuver through the crowd. Not that this cramped our
style inside the car. As soon as we were on our own, we immediately
sprang into action. It was time to drive.
The air was now filled with the high pitched sound of our
voices arguing over who was first. I can still hear it today.
“You drove last. It’s my turn.”
“No, it’s mine. Remember, you had your chance when Daddy
went to the post office.”
Finally, by some quirk of luck, I succeed in convincing my
older sister that I should be the driver and take my place behind the wheel. Barbra
has reluctantly taken the front passenger seat.
“Everyone ready?” I call out behind me.
I grab hold of the wheel as I simultaneously flick the
blinkers and punch all the buttons within reach. We are on our way to an
imaginary destination. Of course, we have not been left the keys. But the
on-lookers surrounding our car don’t know this and are very uncomfortable with
the idea of me behind the wheel.
“Don’t forget to drive on the left side of the road,” Barbra
calls out mimicking our mother’s warnings to Daddy.
“You should not be playing with the motor,” a beggar with a
twisted leg says.
“It is very dangerous,” chimes in another.
The on-lookers are pressing in close, actually hanging into
the windows, but we pay no mind as we fly down our imaginary street en route to
visit an imaginary friend before shopping at the imaginary market.
