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As I didn't have a UK driver's license, I spent my first few months in Libya driving on a fraudulently-obtained international license. (How I obtained it is another story!) However, Libyan law only allowed the use of an international license for three months, after which time you had to pass a driving test at the local Dept. of Transportation office. So after three months I had to set about getting a Libyan license. Luckily, one of the students in our school happened to be the Deputy Minister of Transportation. I went down to visit him in his office to see if I could get a license without bothering with a test. He was very sympathetic but insisted that I absolutely had to take the test. Even he couldn't make an exception. But, he said, he could arrange for me to take the test that very day - and he was sure (wink, nudge) that I would pass it.
Leading me by the hand, he took me around the various offices and had clerks complete the necessary forms for me. Then he talked for a while with a police officer, who then took me out to the testing area. This was a stretch of road behind the D. of T. building.
The scene that greeted us outside was astounding. Several hundred people were standing or sitting in the roadway, waiting to take their tests. Every couple of minutes they had to rush to one side or the other as someone taking their test drove down the road in a car or a truck or rode down on a motorcycle. Every time someone completed their test, he would get out of (or off) his vehicle and shout out the result. "I passed." Loud cheers from the crowd. Or "I failed." Equally loud cheers from the crowd.
The system for driving tests was ... interesting. The cars used were Volkswagen Beetles with dual-controls. The examiner sat in the passenger side front seat. A policeman sat in the back seat, to make sure that there was no funny business. Then three applicants squeezed in - two in the back and one in the driver's seat. As soon as the driver passed or failed his test, he got out and one of the applicants on the back seat moved to the driver's seat.
When my car arrived, "my" policeman got in the back and motioned for me and another applicant to join him.
The third applicant was put into the driver's seat. He peered at the dash. "Let's go," the examiner said sharply. The driver turned the key in the ignition. There was a horrific grinding sound. The motor was already running. The examiner didn't hesitate: "Fail." The unlucky driver got out and did a little jig in the roadway: "I failed again. Nine times I've failed." The cheers for him were deafening.
My other companion moved to the front seat. He confidently threw the car into gear, released the handbrake, stepped on the accelerator and released the clutch. Wrong gear. People screamed and threw themselves out of the way as our car hurtled backwards through the crowd. "Fail." The driver got out to what I thought were rather less enthusiastic cheers than he deserved.
Now it was my turn.
(Contd.)
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