The Cone Family Is Safe

I had much to be thankful for on Thanksgiving Day. Tracy drove me to the Mimosa driving course to attempt passing the test again. With a new boarding certificate (obtained on Tuesday at a different office) and my “failure” slip from my previous adventure, I approached the examiner. Decked out in a bright orange vest, he was a younger fellow. Looking over my papers he directed me to get an “aero plate”. Huh? I know my hearing’s deteriorating, but I heard it a second time. He then waved me towards a group of men gathered under a tree and said, “You must get an aero plate.” As I walked over to the cockpit crew I remembered that “L” and “R” are interchanged here. Then it dawned on me he was saying I needed an “L” plate. What in the world is that? As I met the men I saw they had white squares with the letter “L” painted on them, probably for “learner”. That smarted. So did paying 5,000 kwacha to have one of those attached to our vehicle!

The examiner then walked over to our car and asked me if I had a driver’s license from the states. That was when Tracy knew he was going to just give me a license and not make me drive through the cones again. Before I could hand it to him he had entered the car and said, “Let’s drive down this path to the right.” As I drove on the left side of the road he remarked, “Don’t worry. I’m going to give you your license.” As we chatted I felt the nervousness drain out of me. I was so thankful I didn’t have to put the Cone Family at risk—even though I’d practiced that week.

As we parked the vehicle near the examiner’s station (a trunk of a car) I explained that in the states the steering wheel is on the left side of the car and we drive on the right side of the road. He expressed surprise! “Truly?” After he completed my paperwork he took it over to an older man standing near the cones. “Oh, oh,” I thought. He’s got to approve my forms and the cones will tell him what I did last time.” My nervousness stirred again. I met the man as he came towards me. In Zambian fashion I curtsied and shook his hand. The gentleman immediately put my fears to rest again, “We’re going to do this the Zambian way.” The next day I could pick up my license at the office in town. Did I need to take my “failure” slip? “No, you don’t want to take anything that would destroy you.” The next day I received my temporary license and now I’m a legal driver in Zambia! A great day!