What Happens When You Keep Driving With An Expired License? By Nuzhat Shahzadi

“While driving, be alert when you come to a roundabout . . . ,” my son kept advising me on the rules of the road as I was packing for Kiribati.

I had accepted the offer (he possibly forgot that I was streetwise after having worked for 4 years in Afghanistan . . . managed to drive in Sri Lanka during crazy times . . . ). I understood what the ground situation was by spending a week in Tarawa on my reconnaissance visit prior to accepting the offer. After the highly stressful, tumultuous years in Herat, I tried to seek solace in the isolation of the island-country dancing on the foaming waves of the Pacific Ocean.

Actually, there is only one road in Tarawa, the capital of Kiribati where I was based. There were no signal lights, no roundabouts. The concept of parallel parking was unknown.

I was the prisoner of water and water . . . too much water everywhere. During my reconnaissance visit, Akoia, our Administrative Assistant, took me around to see prospective bungalows that I could choose from to rent. I remember one particular incident . . . the bungalow looked okay but when I opened the back door of the kitchen I almost stumbled into the ocean. It was only 4-5 feet away from the door. The spray from the waves splashed on the door, the side walls.

“Oh my God! What if Godzilla walks into my house in the middle of the night?” No!No” I was petrified, dramatic. Akoia laughed her head off.

. . . I bought a small Toyota. The only road was broken in places. In some spots it was terrifyingly narrow, enclosed by the ocean on both sides. A small vehicle was easy to maneuver. In the beginning, if the road to a store was too narrow, precariously close to the waters, I would just drive off to another location. I had seen vehicles half hanging on the waters while trying to reverse or park. I didn’t want to fall into the ocean.

I lived in the Temwaiku village. It’s in the wider part of the island––9.77 km/6.1 miles in width. The average width of Tarawa is 1,480 feet, and elevation is 9.8 feet. However, in some sites, we were 2-3 feet above sea level. I could hear the Ocean 24/7. On some nights if I strained my ears, I could also hear the humpback whales singing . . . a singsong haunting sound.

When I was in Kiribati, there were 400 police in the country, out of which 25 were female police. One policewoman was always on duty to protect the first lady, Madame Meme Tong. By the way, Kiribati has no guns (except for the two huge guns––reminiscence of WW2. I named them “the guns of Navarone”). Kiribati has no military. The police only carry batons.

We involved the police in child protection activities. They were trained on CRC in batches by trainers we hired from New Zealand. On completion of their training, I was invited to give a closing speech and certificates of training-completion to all trainees. I shook their hands, smiled and handed over the certificates to each.

. . . One morning as I was driving to Beito (on the other side of Tarawa), I saw some cars lined up ahead of me and a couple of police men. Unusual––there is never a traffic jam in Tarawa. I stopped.

“Nuzhat, driving license, please,” a policeman asked courteously. I got my license right after I arrived. It was for all kinds of motor vehicles––motor bikes, trucks, tractors . . . though I requested motor cars only. I never drove any other kinds.

I handed out my license.

“It has expired,” he said to my surprise. “You have to renew it every year.” I didn’t know that––never checked the expiry date. 99.9% of the time there are no police on the road. This was new for me.

“I will let you go this time. But please renew your license as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, officer,” I was grateful and a bit ashamed. “ . . . You knew my name?” He had addressed me by my name before looking at my license..

“You gave me a certificate after the police-training,” he grinned broadly. “I know who you are.”

OMG!!!

According to our driver Matike, the police were lazy.

“Look Nuzhat, they drive up, down . . . around the island . . . just burning diesel . . . government money . . . for what? Nothing to do.” He was critical.

On an island where there were no street brawls, no burglary . . . no/(hardly??) any murders, what was the job of the police? I am sure they were bored to death. However, we involved them in our child protection programs. They assisted us in keeping young people out of trouble by organizing “blue disco” nights where they discussed responsible behavior.

The adolescents/youth in Kiribati didn’t have semi-automatic weapons or engaged in any kind of hard-criminal activities. All they did was get drunk on beer (out of boredom?) and sometimes threw coconut shells or empty beer-cans at neighbors’ houses.

That was their crime . . .

Queen waves usually  flooded our road

A Policeman

Nuzhat with policewoman Tani