I must confess my
first misadventure behind the wheel of a car was an absolute and traumatising
disaster. The explosive impact that ended that episode probably drew the
attention of people from two streets away. We still lived on Isaac
John Street in Ikeja, although these days my former
front lawn serves as a fast food restaurant in the now commercialised part of
the Government Reserve Area. This was in my first year or so of University and
I had seen my older brother and countless friends manoeuvre the cars in confident
fashion; so why couldn’t I?
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| VW's Santana |
We never hid the
keys to our cars, so off I went to grab the keys to my Mum’s VW Santana
(the name given to that iteration of the Passat). I sat inside the car (in
defiance of that still small voice telling me plaintively, “no”), I released the handbrake, and cool as ice I turned the ignition
on. The rest was mayhem. I can’t recollect now if the car was parked and left
in reverse gear or if that was my doing (I suspect it was the latter, but I may
be an unreliable witness), what I do recall was the car taking off backwards in
full fury, I kept stamping on what I thought was the brake but the car refused
to listen as it was hell bent on making me suffer while it made its way across
the drive way, over the hedge and would have crashed into the wall, but for the
fruit tree that stood its ground.
Strike One!
I rear ended my
Mum’s car (not for the last time). My brother Abayomi, and Kosh
(Tunji Kosefobamu), and just about everyone else who was there that
night came running out to see what was going on. Yomi was pretty supportive; I
was pretty shaken as I thought of the repercussions when my Father found out
what had happened. Apart from the fear, there was also the bitterness towards
the car that had refused to respond to my futile attempts to step on the
brakes.
I remember this
very long and soul searing talk from my mum the next day. I really did feel bad
and sorry for what I had done. Poor woman, I have given her a few near misses…
But it didn’t
end there. Sometime later, Yomi and I went to one of the early morning Church
services at Arch Bishop Vining Memorial Church (AVMC) a five minute drive
away from home. We were leaving the Church a bit earlier than normal so that I
could have a rematch with the Santana. He encouraged me to pull out of our
driving spot and take the car home. Short drive, no pressure right? Wrong!
I did pull the
car out very hesitantly and as I tried to right the steering and adjust my
speed, I wound up denting the side of a Mercedes Benz on the other side of the
extremely narrow side street (I know you’re rolling your eyes but it really was
a small street). Once again the car had gotten the best of me and we now had the
added burden of having to listen to the owner’s rant and fix her Mercedes as
well.
Strike Two!
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| Peugeot's 504: learned to drive in one. Owned one too |
So I had to go
to driving school at some point (hated it!). I insisted on driving in the Peugeot
504 and not the minute, claustrophobia-inducing cage match called the
Beetle. The driving instructor was Ghanaian and had a penchant for
telling me to cut my hand (like seriously?), and he was in the worse habit of
smacking your hand if you over steered. Fortunately I had my hands on the wheel
or else I would have punched his lights out. When I told him as much and in no
uncertain terms, he began to compose himself a lot better, even though he still
wanted me to cut my hands. If I’d taken him seriously I wonder what I’d have
driven with, my feet perhaps?
Well anyway,
time heals all wounds and I was ready to get back in the saddle again, or at
least allow myself to get talked into another act of foolishness. This time
around we had dropped Yomi off in Wemabod Estate at his girlfriend’s house and
Kosh had urged me to give the Santana a spin. After all it was inside the Estate,
no room for disaster, what could possible go wrong? So I did, but I must admit
that by now it was pretty evident that car had a thing for me. She was bucking
like a wild bronco and as I struggled to control her while barrelling down the
street towards the Estate gate, I guess I raised so much dust (figuratively)
that a police officer who lived on the street looked out from his balcony and
having seen more than enough, he shouted to the guards at the Estate gate to
stop the car and prevent us from driving out.
 |
| My Nemesis! |
Strike 3!
It was now
becoming apparent that this was one stallion I wasn’t going to break. I was now
convinced that the car’s plan was either to send me to an early grave or to
KiriKiri, neither of which was an interesting prospect. So with my tail between
my legs, properly traumatised and feeling harassed (by a car!) I stopped every
attempt at driving for the next few years. If anyone ever asked, I said it was
because I didn’t have my own car. But the truth was more like driving scared
me.
It was quite
frustrating to see younger people learn to drive and take to cars like fish to
water. At some stage you start asking yourself if there’s something wrong with
you. But I liked to walk and gained a reputation for “slapping”, so life goes
on. Besides, I had Jiro (Iceman to my Maverick), Mudi, Dipo, BJ, Olayinka (gone
but never forgotten), Kemdibe, Goziem and Ekong
and the countless drivers that served my folks, I got by just fine.
Then on October
1st 2003, my uncle Bimbola gifted me with a car and I
had to face my fears once again. I vaguely remembered what to do behind the steering
wheel, but the passage of time and a failure to get over the driving fear,
stood me in bad stead. I toiled on. I wondered why all cares didn’t come with automatic
gears but I kept at it. But I reluctantly kept at it, sometimes there would be
a driver and sometimes there wouldn’t, it was a luxury I couldn’t afford. But
one day I was driving the automatic gear but still struggled with the “stick”
shift, until I had a Eureka moment,
and it all suddenly became clear and I realised what the problem had been all
along.
After that
driving became a release and not a burden. I would drive to work, drive to
Ijebu, to Benin and back. I found my mojo and my pride was restored. I was the
man again. Although, I never did get the best of that bloody Santana; wherever
cars go to die, if they go to heaven, that bloody grey evil car is probably
somewhere looking down and still revving its engine sadistically at me,
taunting me and saying “you can’t tame
me!”
On the balance
scorecard, its Santana 3 – Olaseni nil.
But
as I reflect and I think about the heap of scrap it has probably become and the
pleasure I get from having driven the Honda Civic (a jet), the MG
550, the Land Rover Defender (my dream car) and every other modern piece
of vehicular machinery I’ve been fortunate enough to drive, all I can say in
return is, “look who’s laughing now!”
IamMaverick
08August2015
lol.
ReplyDeleteNice one Mashe