Having been in Gauteng the week before, I didn’t think it would be possible to find worst drivers in the country. But a few days’ stay in the Eastern Cape put that opinion to bed for good. We were in East London most of the time, although, you have to remember, we drove there and back, so our judgement is based on both town and open road antics.
Most of the roads where we were staying led, at some stage or another, to a roundabout; a traffic island if you prefer. Now that’s not a particularly novel idea; they have a selection of them in Welkom, I seem to recall from my teaching days there. And they worked well enough.
However, East London’s traffic islands bring only one thing to mind: dodgem cars. You’ll no doubt remember those devices at agricultural shows. The main aim is to ram your car into another’s, anyone’s, with enough gusto to cause a serious case of whiplash or even the dislocation of a vertebra or two, if you are an accomplished driver.
In East London, everyone rushes towards the roundabout assuming that everyone else will lose their nerve and give way to the most aggressive driver. Avoidance is a skill practised so frequently at every road junction that it becomes a fine art in itself. But for a first-timer, the process of having numerous vehicles steaming towards you at high speed with no intention of braking does provoke a dodgem-like knee-jerk reaction as you stand on your middle pedal. Inevitably, this action on your part will necessarily create consternation in those who are behind you. Alternatively, you may wait for a decent gap before lurching into the roundabout traffic. This will irritate the living tripe out of those to your rear, some of whom might be tempted to terrify you into action by almost shunting you into the flow. So stuff roundabouts. I still prefer traffic lights.
And no, I’m not overlooking Nelson Mandela’s death. But words are utterly inadequate for such an iconic human being. I bow to your spirit, Madiba.
Tony Ullyatt
