This may sound somewhat trivial, but I changed a tyre last week. I declare that proudly, to anyone interested in the greasy details, because I know several car owners out there who don’t know how to do it.
Admittedly I haven’t known since 2009, which is when I bought my first car.
I’m aware of the general location of the spare tyre, the battery and other important components, in case I find myself in a pickle and need to open the bonnet or boot for a Good Samaritan who stops to help me out. The manual in the glove compartment is as long-winded as Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaram and seems only to be useful for when the air conditioning needs adjusting.
After living here for quite some time, please excuse me for taking for granted the lightning-speed car-recovery services, and help from the numerous petrol stations that are adept in assessing minor technical issues.
That isn’t to say that I, or anyone else, should not know how to change a flat tyre or jump-start the car after leaving the headlights running all night. I’ve been in those kind of situations a few times and vividly remember the feeling of helplessness.
A local auto-maintenance workshop in Al Quoz recently held an auto-training workshop for women.
The fact that the organiser, Hammerhead Auto Specialists, has a woman, Nazli Koseoglu, at its helm shouldn’t be a surprise or newsworthy in an era of empowerment for women in many parts of the world.
But why was this workshop only for women? I know a lot of clueless men who would benefit from a guide to maintaining their valuable vehicles.
However, I understand the decision to target women in this session, based on the dominant cultural demographics here.
Judging by the turnout for the first such event, I can say that women in the Emirates are not shy about confessing their ignorance about the subject of car maintenance.
Koseoglu, who was inspired to organise the workshop by the experience of a friend who found herself stranded on the road with her two kids when her car broke down, said she plans to continue organising such workshops, focusing on mothers and younger drivers as well.
I would bet my bottom dirham that such gender-specific sessions wouldn’t fly in a matriarchal society such as Iceland, or with men who may be too arrogant to admit they don’t know much about the workings of their supercar, expect for the ridiculous speeds they can clock on Sheikh Zayed Road.
Not everyone is expected to be a motorhead, but what I realised during that two-hour session of identifying warning signs such as overused oil, sudden smoke, leaks and audible sounds, along with a run-through of replacing a tyre and powering up a flat battery was that this know-how isn’t intimidating and fairly easy to teach and learn.
Taking time out to read the manual, and knowing when to put your foot down when the service centre insists on an unnecessary change of brake pads or tyres, makes financial sense in the long run. I’m sure the men would agree, too.
aahmed@thenational.ae
