Rex's Tirade April 2015: 

     When I came to Fiji, I was told I had to wait 6 months before I could get a Fijian driver’s license. At the March Zone Conference, Elder Smith showed me his new Fijian license. He came out the same time we did and served on the island of Taveuni. He had read through the driving manual and went in just before noon to take his tests and get his license. Just as he started talking to the official, a worker handed the official a sack of hot food. The man looked at his lunch and then at Elder Smith and said, “Did you drive here?” Elder Smith acknowledged he had. The official hurried and filled out all the paper work and said, “Here, go get your license,” and he started eating his food.

The day after the March Zone Conference, we had awakened at 4 AM to take three Elders to Savusavu to catch a bus. We had to turn around and come right home. We were just three miles from our flat when Betty, thinking about trying to drive, asked me if the pedals on the truck were in the same location as at home. It came out of nowhere and short-circuited my brain, and I had to look down at my feet to tell her that the answer was, yes. When I looked back up, I saw cones in the middle of the road and a car pulled off the road.  It was a speed trap.  A policeman signaled for me to pull over. He came to the window and showed me his radar gun. While I was looking down, I had missed a decreased speed sign. We were going 73k/hour in a 60k/hour zone.  (In other words, we were going 44 mph when we should have been going 36 mph.) He gave me my first Fijian ticket and hopefully my last. The officer asked how long I had been in Fiji, and I said five months. He said, “You have only one more month to get your license.” I had been told wrong. I guess the ticket was a blessing in disguise, and the fine was only $25 Fijian or $12.50 US, but still getting a ticket makes me feel sick. The only way to feel better is to pay it. It is like repentance. The officer said to pay the ticket in the office building across from the New World grocery store. On Monday we went to pay.  We found the city office building by New World and stood in line where people were paying their bills.  When I finally got to the front of the line, I handed the teller my ticket and the correct amount of money. He handed it all back and said, “This is not where you pay traffic tickets.”

I asked, “Where do you pay?’

He said, “In the police station behind the post office.” We went on the other side of New World to the Post Office and asked where the police station was.  A man said his relative worked there and escorted us to the place. This time before I handed anyone the ticket and the money, I asked, “Is this where you pay traffic tickets?

The answer was, “No!”

I questioned, “Where do we go to pay?”

The answer was, “At the courthouse across the river by the hospital.”

We drove to the courthouse.  As we got out of the truck, I saw a man in a long black robe carrying a white wig. At first I thought he was a preacher, and then I remembered the old English judges and lawyers from the movies who wore wigs like George Washington.  Since Fiji used to be under English rule, they had carried on the tradition. That was like going back in time. Cool for a history teacher.

We went into the courthouse to the payment desk. I showed the ticket and asked, “Is this where you pay traffic tickets?” She said, “No.”

I just started laughing.  Seriously?  How many places could they send us and still be the wrong place? I had made one little mistake and now I had confessed it all over town.

When we questioned her again, she said, “No, your ticket has not been processed. It takes 21 days to process a ticket. Wait 21 days and then come back.”

Betty jumped in, “If we wait 21 days, the ticket says we have to go to court. We don’t want to go to court. We just want to pay the fine.”

Hearing this, she said to go to the LTA, the Land Transit Authority, behind the Post Office. (We had been close.)

This time we paid for parking so we could be close.  Our feet were getting sore from walking.  When we got there, the LTA was closed. They were gone for 1 ½ hour lunch.  We had missed them by 5 minutes.  We just shook our heads and said, “Let’s go eat.”  

At least we had found the right place.  We went back another day and paid the fine without any problem except it took 20 minutes, and we were first in line. I had finally paid my debt to the Fijian government, and my repentance was complete.

We had learned this lesson the hard way: Don’t ask regular Fijians where to pay a traffic ticket.  Unless they’re taxi drivers, they don’t drive; and they have no idea.

While we were paying the ticket, we bought a driving manual to learn the rules of the road.  They have their own terminology. They say “over take” a vehicle instead of pass. They say “carriage-way” instead of highway.  Their signs are different. Luckily, most of them have obvious pictures on them. I studied for the oral test and read what they watch for in the driving test. But nothing prepared me for the real thing.

My brother, Bill, took the driving test in England several times, but they always found some nitpicky thing and flunked him every time. He never got a license, and I had that fear in the back of my mind. “What if I don’t pass? What if I can’t drive?”

What I had to go through was nothing like Elder Smith described.  While Betty stayed in the truck, I stood in many long lines to make an appointment to take the test. I filled out the paperwork, I got pictures, and my TIN (Tax Identification Number). While I waited for my turn to take the test, I talked to a lady who had a son in California. She was getting her license so she could drive in the USA.  We had fun talking of the driving differences in the two countries.

A man called me into his office. He was very stern and business like. (He talked just like a tech support person from India we had spoken to at home. “Hello, my son. Is there anything in life you want knowing about?”) When he asked a question for the oral test, I had to translate it into American English and then answer in Fijian road manual English. I had to get 27 right out of thirty to pass. I passed. I knew all the signs except one. I was excited when he pointed to the upside-down triangle with the exclamation mark I knew meant other danger. The sign I didn’t know was a round red sign with a white blank horizontal rectangle in the middle. I had no idea. (As we were driving home from the test, I saw one. They had deleted the words “No Entry” from the rectangle. If they had left the words in, I would have known it. )

During the driving test, I had more trouble understanding what he was asking.  He had me pull off the road on a hill.  I thought he wanted me to show him how to park on a hill, and I made sure I did everything correctly. That was not what he wanted. He had me drive a little farther and stop on another hill.  This time I understood and was able to stop and then start on a hill without rolling back. I did a three-point turn in the middle of the road and headed back to the LTA office. Near the top of one hill, there was a traffic cone blocking the middle of my lane. The road was narrow with a double white line in the middle and a big drop off on the left. I pulled up to it, not remembering anything in the book that described this situation. I thought, “This is my Billy moment.” I chose to cross the double white lines and pass it on the right.  (My other thought had been to pull off the road and move the cone.) As I pulled back into the left lane, I was afraid I had made the wrong choice, but the LTA officer said, “That’s a stupid place for a cone!”  I felt a wave of relief. I had thought it was part of the test.

When we got back to the office, the officer sternly said, “Follow me,” and went up the stairs into the building. The lady I had made friends with asked, “Did you pass?” I didn’t know but I said, “Well, we made it back alive.”

In the office, he started writing on a small piece a paper. He made checks, marks, wrote dates, signed his name and handed me the paper saying, “Go get your license.” We drove to town and had sweet and sour to celebrate.

I told you I was competent! At least Fiji thinks so!

A few days later we went to the LTA to get the license. At least we knew where it was. We went early so they would not be out to lunch. There were some people ahead of as so Betty sat down, and I got in line.  Twenty minutes later, the lines had not moved. Five minutes after that a man came in and crowded in front of me in the nonmoving line. After what seemed like an hour, I got to the teller window. I handed my Certificate of Competency.  The lady looked at it for a while, checked on her computer to verify it and asked for my TIN number, then my passport.  I do not have my passport on me. They kept the original in the mission home. I gave her a printed copy of the passport. She asked for another form of ID with a picture on it. I looked in my zippered pouch where I always keep my Idaho drivers license. It wasn’t there. I looked again, still not there. I looked in my wallet. Not there. I had had it at the driving test. I had shown it there. I looked in my pouch again. Not there. I looked in my wallet. Not there. I felt panic flowing across my body. I had lost my Idaho drivers license. (On my first day in Fiji I had lost a Credit Card. I had almost lost the other one in a store but Betty saw me drop it when I thought I had put it in my pouch.) The lady demanded, “Sir you need a picture ID!”

Betty sensed my impending melt down. I was inches away from getting my Fiji license, and now it was not going to happen. Betty said, “Let me look.” She took my wallet, found it, and handed it to me. My license had been hiding with the Monopoly-colored money. I had evidently put it there at the driving test to make it handy because they kept asking to see it.

I paid the lady and got my license. I told her thanks. She gave me back my license, and I started to put all my stuff away. I told her she had not given me back my copy of the passport. She said she had. I sat down by Betty and went through my stuff, no passport. I asked the lady again and she said she gave it back. I looked again. Betty looked with me. I had both licenses but no copy of my passport. Betty showed the lady her passport copy and said, “It looks like this.” She left and came back with the passport. Yeah! Done at last! Done at last! Done at last!

Betty never wanted to drive here, and now it is confirmed. She is not even going to try for a Fijian license. If for some reason I can’t drive, we will pay for a taxi!