Dude! Where’s my car?

With an 18th birthday looming it’s not long until I’ll officially be labelled as an adult. 

But in Bahrain, the perks of turning 18 are few: we are not allowed to vote until we’re 21 and I don’t know what the rules on drinking are. Overall the only major bonus of the big One Eight is the prospect of getting a driving licence.
For me, adulthood spells freedom and this freedom spells driving.  The ability to go wherever you want and not be at the mercy of taxi drivers who invariably attempt to cheat you or family members who expect you to be eternally grateful for a ten minute journey is an advantage that can’t come soon enough. 
At a time when more and more adult-like responsibilities are building up, having a bit of independence is never a bad thing.
However, right now experience in any motorised vehicles is limited to go-karts and golf buggies.  I’ve been told that the idea of me in control of a car isn’t an appealing one.  It’s an understandable thought; I simply prefer the accelerator. I tried considering which of my parents my driving would most take after but the prospect of taking after either of them is not particularly attractive. 
It’s a toss up between the Arab Baba Technique where the school run is treated as a practice rally course with giant school buses only viewed as minor obstructions or the Mother Dearest Articulations who’s an essentially “cautious” driver but prone to occasional road rage complete with indiscreetly mouthed swearing.
More worryingly though is the thought of other drivers as driving standards here aren’t good at the best of times. It’s enough to consider wearing a crash helmet when I eventually get behind the wheel, especially when I see boys barely past puberty driving in massive cars that daddy bought them, speeding down the motorway, playing at adulthood and attempting their best 50 Cent impressions.
In fact I propose that any teenager in Bahrain who gets through their first year of driving without a single accident should be awarded with a medal.
They should be handed out at a glittering awards ceremony with numerous yawning government officials in attendance and some high ranking bureaucrat smiling bountifully while handing them out.  But those yawning officials shouldn’t be anxious about boredom — it won’t take very long since I guarantee the numbers won’t go beyond double digits.

Anisa Ghuloom is a student in Bahrain