The Antics Of Learners

I love God. As a believer who professes to love Him, I commit myself to serving in my local place of worship as a member of the security department with numerous responsibilities. They include directing members of the local assembly to park properly to manage the available spaces in the Church. It also includes assisting with parking their cars and watching over parked cars before, during,  and after service.

This assignment exposes us to the good, the bad and the ugly. Sometimes, we are also exposed to the comical side, especially when the vehicle is driven by a learner driver. Today, I wish to share some of these experiences, starting with Bimbo Austen(not her real name), my acquaintance.

I have known her for over 2 years from a distance, as a member of my place of worship. To her, I remained a security helper in the church, or better put, a valet or valet attendant. Recently, however, my tag as a valet attendant changed from being a long-distance friend when she realised that my professional learning as a safety professional could sway her predicament.

My lucky day was the day she drove to the church with her front tyres underinflated. After the theatrics of reversing to park as instructed, she pleaded with me to help fix her tyres. That was after it took centuries to park properly.

In fact, Jane is an exception to the hordes of virgin drivers who park with so much caution.

The Antics of Learner Drivers, the caption, is not a mockery but a reminder of the road we all travelled before we termed ourselves expert drivers. It is an instructive but humorous observation that reminds me of my first day of learning to drive in Lagos some years ago, when my instructor, after a few hours, insisted I drive the vehicle back to Mofoluku, along the Oshodi-Isolo highway.

I first froze and bluntly declined to commit suicide. My stubborn instructor insisted, and I must tell you that the sight and sound, as well as the speed of the vehicles beside me and those overtaking, were frightening, to say the least. As fate would have it, the vehicle arrived at its destination safely without a near miss or damage to the vehicle, for which I was applauded for being bold, and I dare say, daring.

Like me along the Isolo-Oshodi highways some years back, learner drivers are a recognisable spectacle on most roads in the city centre and even in the suburbs. Some are brave, nervous and occasionally terrifying souls navigating the world of motoring for the very first time.

These scenes are not peculiar to our climate alone. Whether in Africa or the developed world, learner drivers have been a source of partial sympathy, amusement and mild roadside anxiety. What strikes you in our clime, however, is the state of some vehicles used for learning, despite the reforming strides of the Federal Road Safety Corps in upgrading the standards of driving schools, instructors, and even proprietors.

Mandatorily armed with a provisional license, an ‘L’ plate and an extremely patient driving instructor, the learner driver, irrespective of status, embarks on one of the humblest experiences and journeys of learning how to control a machine. Not on a lonely road but one with all sorts of drivers and vehicles-vehicles with potential to maim or kill, while at the same time striving not to destroy anything or harm anyone.

Please come with me as we explore the characteristics, antics, behaviour, and moments that define the learning driver experience. It captures the humour and a measure of understanding, starting with the death grip on the steering wheel.

Counting on my experience as well as the experiences of others that I have seen, this learner driver anticipates the two-handed death grip on the steering wheel. I recall the moment I settled into the driver’s seat; I clutched the wheel as though releasing it for even a fraction of a second would cause the danfo vehicle  I used to learn to spin out of control, and possibly the open football field.

For those familiar with driving before the FRSC reformed it, your instructor could be your neighbour, friend, or spouse. Mine was my mechanic. Like all instructors, he spent considerable tact, skill and patience trying to coach me into a relaxed grip, but like most learners, letting go of that grip, for me, was suicidal.

So, my instinct was clear, simple and direct-hold that grip for your dear life. I remember squeezing the wheel with so much intensity, like someone dangling from a fragile electric pole. My jaws clenched. Shoulders raised, my danfo crawling forward at a snail’s pace of five to ten kilometres per hour, while my body language could be mistaken for someone driving an articulated vehicle loaded with bags of cement.

My second antic, like other learners, were the complicated, continuous stare and a deeply personal relationship with the brake pedal, whose position was either a mystery or magic, as I found applying the brake and staring at the road at the same time too demanding a multitask, like other learners, were the complicated and continuous stare and a deeply personal relationship with the brake pedal, whose position was either a mystery or magic, as I found applying the brake and staring on the road at the same time, too demanding a multitasking for me.

While today I apply the brake judiciously and proportionally, as a learner,  I treated the brake as a first resort rather than a last resort. My use of the brake was reminiscent of specialised learning and training conducted at the California Highway Academy some years back, whose details I would rather not disclose here today.

Would any observer mistake my use of the brake for a plot in a Nollywood production, approaching the roundabout? Brake. Slight bend on the road? Brake.

A surface pothole? Brake. The sight of any flying object, including a butterfly? Brake. A football player preparing for the day’s training? Brake. In fact, because the player is human, it was a complete break.

My driving style was best described as a practised rhythm for a Kiss Daniel long-awaited song series: nervous acceleration and a brake, followed by a complete brake, irrespective of the object ahead or behind the vehicle. My mechanic, who was muscular and tall, later testified that my driving caused him neck strain from the constant braking and that using a seatbelt in a vehicle was an odd practice.

Let me cap this confession by sharing my struggle with my mirror lessons. Even most drivers who claim perfection still struggle with mastering the mirror. While some claim mastery, others struggle with either the inner or side mirror, especially while reversing, which is a sight I witness weekly while serving God in the place of worship.

Like other learners, I was taught from my first day: mirror, signal, manoeuvre, which to me reminds me of the FRSC pedestrian campaign, captioned ‘look left, look right, look left’. For drivers, this is the most repeated of all driving instructions; yet the most forgotten because of the nervousness and the fear for your life. It is learning to multitask when you have yet to master one. The result is either muddying all or reversing the order, depending on your level of freight.

For learners like me who are divinely privileged to be as tall as Julius Agwu, my legendary stand-up comedian, the mirror checks in a danfo which seat was not adjustable, was like a quick scan of the environment without really assessing the environment to be sure it was clear. For those who profess to be quick learners, the stare stretches for a long while the other briefs such as monitoring the road, suffers.

During this tense moment, the now impatient instructor snaps with an apology later. But if you were unlucky to be a female learner and had your husband as your instructor, the learning will come to an abrupt end because most husbands, from my findings, are the most impatient driver instructors. His simple and humble   suggestion would be that a driving school will best suit your driving needs and antics for which he would gladly pay the cost.