TravelChick

Christmas, Doha Style

The day before Christmas, someone hit my car. It was one of those days: I was feeling sick, went to the pharmacy to get some medicine, and as I was waiting patiently for a parking spot, indicator on, the guy in a 4x4 behind me decided he didn’t want to wait the minute it would take for the car to pull out of the parking spot I was waiting for. He drove up onto the curb on the left side of us and started moving forward. Of course, there wasn’t enough room for his to go past, so he skidded against the side of my car, making an awful squelching sound.

I rolled down my window and attempted to open my door to get out, but of course his 4x4 was flush with my car. He managed, in the end, to squeeze by and I chased after him, cold medicine forgotten, and got him to pull over. As I got out of my car, someone else in a 4x4 (really, this is why I dislike people who drive them; they’re not only usually driving a car bigger than what they need, but they also quite often turn out to be the jerks and bullies of the road) pulled over, rolled down her window, and yelled over her teenage son in the passenger side that I deserved to be hit and I was holding up traffic (how people justify hitting someone simply because they have to wait a minute for someone to pull into a parking space, I don’t know. Don’t ask me, I’m not stupid). I yelled at her to shut up.

Then the guy who hit my car also said I deserved to be hit, that I was holding up traffic and parking illegally, and that I had hit his car. He also said that white people like me didn’t treat him well, and that he’s a human being, too. Funnily enough, I’m not white, and he and I have pretty much the same skin tone. He also told me I needed to learn how to drive.

I called the police and a male, Arab colleague and said I needed help, so he came on over with one another one of my male, Arab colleagues. I’ve lived in Doha for two years now and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that in the Middle East, it always useful for a woman to have a man around. Sure enough, once my two male colleagues showed up, this man admitted to hitting my car, said it was a waste of time to wait for the police to show up, and offered me 100 riyal to fix my car. I happily refused, pointed out that since he couldn’t wait a minute for me to pull into a parking space now he had to waste several hours dealing with the police, and that maybe he could learn something from this. In cases like this, one absolutely has to get a police report, otherwise no garage will fix your car. That's just the way things in Qatar work.

It looked like the police weren't going to come, so we went to the police station, and the man defended himself by saying he noticed there were several cars behind him that started honking, so he thought it better to cause (and I quote) some ‘small damage or injury’ rather than keep them waiting. Why yes, it was better to risk injuring me than waiting a minute for me to pull into a parking spot. The police said it was his fault, filed a report, then told me to come back the next day to finish up the report as the office was closed.

So I spent my Christmas morning at the traffic police building, which is severely lacking in signs. I took my report in to an office that seemed to be processing police reports, a cheerless woman signed it and then waved me off. I knew completing my police report couldn’t be as simple as getting one signature on a piece of paper, so I asked in Arabic, ‘Excuse me, what do I do now?’ She sighed and said, ‘Go over there’, waving in the direction of the exit. Not extremely helpful or specific. I said, ‘Over there where?’ and she asked one of the other people waiting in line for help to explain to me where I had to go. Clearly she had better things to do, so I asked her if there was anyone there who spoke English.

Eventually I found out I had to go to the cafeteria to get some stamps for my police report and then take the document back to the police station that had issued me the report. I thought I was mistaken when I heard I had to go to the cafeteria, but sure enough, I wandered in, asked for some stamps, and the guy behind the counter full of juice and lunch paraphernalia dutifully produced two stamps. I walked back to the police station, got some more signatures, and was told I could go to the insurance company to sort out repairs.

So that taken care of, I went to take care of my car registration. I got to the room teeming with men, did a quick scan and discovered I was the only woman there, got a number, and found there were about 100 people in front of me in line. I decided to run some errands for an hour, came back, and found there were still about 100 people in front of me.

People were crowding in front of the three people working in the office, waving their vehicle papers and trying to push to the front of the line. Clearly the strategy of waiting patiently for my number to come up wasn’t going to work.

I edged to the front, leaned over the counter, and asked in my best, helpless woman voice how long the office would be open, and if I would be helped at all that day. The man behind the counter waved me off in the direction of the one woman working in the office. I dutifully shuffled over, asked the woman if she could help me, and after she finished up with the man in front of her, she took my papers and processed my registration.

Yes, I used a helpless woman act to jump a queue of about a hundred people waiting in line, and I’m proud of it. I think I even did a little skip as I walked out of the office. That’s the way it’s done here.

So my Christmas morning was spent taking care of car business and ending up feeling quite triumphant that I had worked the system. Two years in Qatar and I’m finally getting it.

posted by Travel Chick @ 1:45 PM 0 comments