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Getting hold of a good, reliable and honest driver in
Lagos
is a Herculean task. Any young man with two hands and two eyes who can beg, borrow or steal the odd 4000 naira to buy a driving licence feels qualified to describe himself as a professional driver. He then proceeds to terrorise other road users and traumatize the car owner until something gives – usually the patience of his boss or the car itself, and then hastily moves on to his next unsuspecting victim. (Unless he suffers a “ghastly accident” and loses one of said hands or eyes in the process, thereby disqualifying himself from the honourable profession.)
My first driver was a mature man with excellent driving skills who knew all the back streets, as well as how to outwit the usual suspects stalking the mean streets of
Lagos
. I felt highly fortunate to have him and he was handsomely rewarded for his efforts. With
hindsight, I should have known he was too good to be true. To wit, a wise Yoruba saying (by yours truly, circa 2007): ti osise re o ba lese rara, sora fun o! (If your employee is without sin, beware!)
Three months into his employment, Johnson (not his real name) failed to turn up for work. Someone rang up on his behalf to say Johnson had been arrested during a neighbourhood dispute and he was on his way to bail the driver out. Alarm bells rang in my mind that something was afoot. The following day Johnson reported for work as usual, strangely mute about his alleged treatment at the hands of the police. Alas, he was setting the scene of pathos for a bigger drama.
That night he got paid his monthly salary plus bonuses and caught a danfo the short distance home. The next morning came the delayed sting: Johnson had been accosted by “one chance” muggers on the way home, who had relieved him of his entire salary, as well as the mobile phone I provided for his use. He stood before me with a fake hangdog expression, wiping away tears with a tatty handkerchief whilst sniffing loudly like a man inhaling bad snuff. He was clearly expecting sympathy, as well as a replacement pay packet from his hitherto generous and understanding (i.e. gullible) boss. Unfortunately for him, “Madam” did not believe a word of it, and furthermore, if the “handset” were not returned immediately, the fictitious police station would become a reality. Sure enough, the mobile phone miraculously reappeared shortly afterwards. I was now sans driver, but thought at least I was now wiser in the ways of the more dubious sections of the chauffeuring classes.
To my chagrin, however, there followed a number of charlatans and con men at the wheel of my car. One new driver pleaded that his licence had been seized by an unscrupulous policeman and asked for money to replace it before starting work. He soon followed this up with a request for a hefty “assistance” to buy some essentials. Finally he told a pathetic story about needing funds to attend his brother’s funeral in the village, but this time his request met with a flat refusal. He was spotted skulking in the neighbourhood on the very day the funeral was supposed to be taking place.
Yet another driver supplied by a so-called reputable agency worked for two days until we decided to check out the address he had given as his place of residence. He drove us there himself, rather reluctantly I felt. The house was deserted and dark, due to a power cut. As we made to leave the compound, an elderly man arrived and demanded to know what we were doing there. When we explained the reason for our visit, he took one look at the driver and witheringly declared, “I know this rogue but he doesn’t live here, and he never has.” Exit bogus employee without further ado…
Just when despair and paranoia were about to set in, I discovered that our experiences were not uncommon. The trusted live-in driver of an elderly relative systematically fleeced her for months, selling off the diesel she bought for her generator, and colluding with petrol station attendants to pocket part of the money meant for filling her tank. She felt and still feels utterly betrayed.
And finally, a cautionary tale… Early one morning, a neighbour rang my doorbell in distress to say that her driver had just taken off with her car containing her laptop, mobile phone and handbag. She had been left standing on the doorstep in shock, instead of being on her way to work as usual. Later the matter was resolved; the driver, apparently not realising his boss was not seated at the back, had driven all the way to the office (an hour’s journey through traffic) in blissful ignorance, despite frantic calls to his mobile phone - which he failed to answer because he was driving. He may have gone too far in adopting the role of the discreet driver who is deaf, dumb and blind to whatever goes on in the back of the car. Or could there be a more sinister explanation?
There is a fortune waiting to be made by some sharp entrepreneur with the necessary doggedness and thick skin to capture some of the hordes of unemployed youths who still have the desire to earn an honest living. Once thorough background checks have been carried out, you smarten them up, train them to drive professionally, and then unleash them onto an eager public. The same feat has already been successfully achieved by a few organisations in the security sector.
Until then, to paraphrase a popular saying, “Condition don make crayfish bend”. I have discovered a real flair for weaving in and out of traffic, narrowly missing okadas, potholes and one-legged beggars, like all the best
Lagos
drivers. Who needs a driver after all? Abeg, comot for road ojare!
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Posted by Robot| 17.05.2008 17:21