Nadia Negm was our photography assistant last year. She is an Olympic rower (for Egypt,) a humorist who gave a TED talk, and is now kitesurfing in the Red Sea while creating wildlife videos to stop wildlife crime for a Hong Kong based environmental group. She is not only a genius, but a wild and crazy soul. Here is her story of getting her driver’s license in Cairo… -Richard Blair

In the summer of 2019, I was interning with a construction company in Cairo. At this point I had just turned 21, and was well past the age of getting my license for the first time. I decided that for my birthday, I was to get my license. However, getting a license in Egypt is not a very straightforward process, as we have a handful of complications when it coms to bureaucracy. In Egypt, there is an unspoken understanding that bribery is sometimes part of the process. Now, as a socialist, Cal grad, who wants nothing more than to see a world that runs on honest, fair, and equal opportunity, I understand that what you are about to read goes against all of the above. I know that I am writing from a place of great privilege, as an upper-middle class, white-passing, Egyptian woman.

It was mid-August, and the dry temperatures of the dense city of Cairo were hitting the 100s. I had been pestering my parents about helping me get a ‘wasta’. A wasta, is a person who knows the ins and outs of a bureaucratic establishment, and can help you bribe/talk your way through. In Egypt, it is close to impossible to get anything done if you ‘don’t know a guy’. So the ‘wasta’ is ‘a guy’.

My parents, being opposed to using wastas, refused to help me find one, and preferred that I got my license in the United States, through the DMV. Which in all honesty, is what I should have done; it’s safer, legal, and would have actually given me the tools to drive properly. But as a 21 year old, I said “fair enough, I’ll find one myself”

So, I asked one of the security guards at my workplace if he knew ‘a guy’. He asked me which county I’m from, and told me a man named Shaaban would meet me in front of my county’s DMV at 9:30 AM the next day. I took a taxi to the DMV and met with Shaaban, a tall, funky looking man wearing snakeskin boots, a pink button up shirt, and a fedora. He had a toothy grin lined by a skinny moustache, and big bushy eyebrows. We approached the entrance of the DMV and nobody asked us for my information, appointment confirmation, or name.

When we passed through the gate, I found myself in a tiny outdoor plaza, with several kiosks lined up, each designated with a different driver’s ed task. Feral dogs slept under the shadows of the kiosks, as flies buzzed lazily around them. Shaaban lead me from kiosk to kiosk, where I paid for each test and a ‘processing fee’ of about 50-100 pounds (which converts to about 2.5-5 US Dollars). I did not fill out a single form. When it got to the written test, the woman at the kiosk quite literally said “Don’t worry habibti” and filled out the whole sheet for me without blinking. Spoiler alert: I got 100/100 on my written test. I went through an eye test, where Shaaban stood behind the examiner and mouthed the letters for me.

Finally, we got the practical test. After speaking with multiple friends, and family members who have gotten their licenses, I was informed that I would just pay a ‘processing fee’ and would not need to take a behind-the-wheel test. Well, this is where Shaaban and I ran into an issue. Shaaban’s ‘regular guy’ was no where to be seen. Instead, we were met with ‘regular guy’s cousin’ who was not having any of our shenanigans. This is how it went down:

Examiner “I am a man of honor, I need to see you drive a car”

Me: “Well I don’t have a car with me”

Examiner “How did you get here?”

Me: “A taxi”

Examiner: “Why didn’t you drive here?”

Me: “Because I don’t have a license.”

Examiner “Well, no car, no test, no license, sweetheart”

I turned to Shaaban, who looked horribly stressed, as he desperately scrambled to figure out a solution to our very valid, logical, speed bump. I then asked him “How did you get here?”, and he told me his taxi-driver friend drove him and was in the parking lot. Shaaban pointed at the taxi, and I walked over. The driver rolled down his window, as classic Arabic tunes were blaring out the window from his car speaker.

“Good morning sir.” I said.

“Hello madame, how can I help you?” he responded, as he rustled around trying to turn down the music.

“I’ll give you 50 pounds if you let me drive your taxi for my test.” I replied.

“Hmm, a new windshield wiper costs 200 pounds in Cairo” he stated.

“It doesn’t rain in Cairo” I grinned

“100 pounds?” he suggested

“80. Final.” I said.

“Mashy ya gameel” (translates to ‘ok beauty’)

Shaaban looked on in horror as the taxi driver and I finished our transaction.

I walked over to the examiner and said “I will drive this taxi for my test.”

“You cannot drive a taxi for your test” he snapped.

“What about 200 pounds?” I responded.

“I guess a taxi is a car” he grinned, shook my hand, and told me he’d be back with the test form.

It’s important to note that taxis in Egypt are not your London cab, or your New York taxi. They are beat up, dusty, machines from hell that are held up by duct tape and faith. The drivers have an extra sense, and can finagle their way out of any bumper to bumper traffic. A taxi driver in Egypt does not drive like they are in a car, they drive like they are on a motorcycle on an empty freeway.

I stepped into the taxi, and sat on the deep, red velvet, dusty driver’s seat. Classic Arabic music kept blaring through the crackling speakers, as I put both hands on the pink faux-fur, dreaded steering wheel. A little toy Rastafarian man, and a crusty pair of fluffy dice hung from the rearview mirror. I adjusted the mirror, only to notice that dark, leopard print, curtains were completely covering the rear window. Taking a big breath and looking down, I froze. “Three pedals?”. It took me a moment to realize that I was in a manual car. To this day, I have no idea how to drive a manual car. Frantically, I pulled up google, and typed in the golden words ‘How to drive a manual’. A wiki-how page titled “How to drive a manual in 9 easy steps” pulled up. I studied the list carefully and prepared for the worst.

The examiner came back with a flimsy form, “Alright, what you’re going to do is go forward…….. and reverse.” he announced. I glanced at Shaaban who played with his moustache nervously. To be completely honest, I have no idea what I did, I could not tell you how to go forward and reverse in a manual, but I did it without stalling the car. It was a miracle sent from the gods, and I humbly stepped out of the car, as the examiner shook my hand and uttered “Congratulations, you have earned your license.”