WEEP, oh weep, for the citizens of Dar es Salaam, which we hear is being remodelled on the lines of Dublin, city and county. This presumably means that whatever signposts might be there will be removed in emulation of South County Dublin's policy of signpostlessness from Blackrock to Killiney.
The huge roundabout on the inland road between Dun Laoghaire and Dalkey, which has about six exits, has successfully been deluding visitors for years. Baffled tourists, already scared witless by having to drive on the wrong side of the road and with a large map on their knees, flapping all over the place like a swan trying to escape a crocodile, cannot know which exit to take because of the utter dearth of signposts. Many of them have been in earth orbit for years, circling in hungry and howling melancholy, their fingers stabbing futilely at their useless, hysterical maps.
In the back seat, their three children, who arrived in a blissful condition of infancy, have grown to man's estate. Or, in Astrid's case, woman's. Astrid managed to clamber out at a service station some time ago, and in a few brief but satisfying moments beside the Unleaded Super Plus managed to get pregnant. Father unknown, as so much else about their journey to Ireland has become. Granny died some time ago, when the children were very young, and was shoved out of the side window when the family slumbered. They hardly mention her at all these days, though sometimes during the darker watches on a midwinter night there is an odd tap tap tapping on the window through which she was bundled while the children slept.
Time Travellers
Jurgen, you'll be happy to hear, has not lost his interest in soccer, nor has he lost all hope of going up to Derry to take part in a few civil rights, one man, one vote marches, and maybe while he's in the North see George Best play. His brother, Hans, wants to see Harry Gregg play, but Astrid would also prefer to see George Best, and maybe do a few other other things, too; but when Jurgen asked what things she told him to mind his own business. Her son, Kurt, says he would like to see George Best play. He might, too. His voice broke last week, so he's certainly old enough to go to a match alone.
Since he's spent his entire life, apart from fuel stops, on the roundabout outside Dalkey, Kurt's left side has grown in a more pronounced way than his right. When he pops out to go to the lavatory during the fuel stops he finds he walks around in small circles, like a crab whose right legs have had an argument with a lawnmower and lost. He struck up a friendship with a Swedish girl called Ulla, whose parents set out to stay with friends in Dalkey village in 1986 and have unsuccessfully been trying to get there ever since - though they still talk in glowing terms of the day they saw the sign "Dalkey", their hearts racing with a joy which soon died when they found it led back to the same roundabout.
Ulla and Kurt are compatible because gravitational pull has made them equally lopsided, and their courtship, conducted in service stations, consists of a few wobbly spirals towards one another, somewhere between the diesel and the car wash, before they miss one another completely and go spinning back towards dearth orbit, hoping that their future petrol shortages coincide.
Inescapable Roundabouts
No doubt some suitably inescapable roundabout will be erected in South Dar es Salaam, capable of retaining tourists for an indefinite time, including, very possibly, Joan Burton, who is out there now. In North Dares Salaam, they will erect signposts of a different variety. Alongside the generally vague indication of the whereabouts of your destination, the northern part of Zanzibar, capital of the island of the same name, will emulate Fingal and erect scores of signposts dedicated to directing all visitors to its golf driving range.
Odd, is it not? South County Dublin does its best to keep your location, and the whereabouts of your destination, state secrets; but North County Dublin's sole ambition is to get you to play golf at its golf driving range. Privately owned golf driving ranges - such as Tyrellstown House, owned, I own, by friends of mine - must get planning permission for a single signpost. But since North County Dublin's dearest wish is, to have every single visitor shuffling round its own golf driving range in Elm Green you can hardly stray a few hundred yards north of Cabra without seeing signs beckoning you to Elm Green, much in the way urchins in Marrakesh once urged you to visit their sisters.
Was planning permission, given for these signposts? Was the normal planning fee of several hundred pounds paid? Does Elm Green golf course pay rates, as my friends, the Wilkinsons, pay rates? I do not know. North County Dar es Salaam might find out, but I could not. Take this tip, North County Dar es Salaam: do not appoint a press officer, as Fingal County Council does not employ a press officer, and then you can keep the secrets of your rates as they were intended to be secret.
Impending Traffic Chaos
It is not only Dublin's, counties which will be able to make a contribution to the growth of Dar esSalaam. The city of Dublin, too, will be able to exercise its influence, and should within no time at all have taught the city authorities to conjure Africa's, largest traffic jam out of three ox carts, a couple of dried dates and a mongrel cur.
No doubt the citizens of Dar es Salaam, when faced by the blockade of ox carts, dates and a dog, will resort to bicycles; and, if the example of Dublin city is followed, it means that downtown Dar esSalaam will have virtually no safe bike parks and that bicycles will vanish within moments of being chained to lamp posts. No doubt bike theft could be virtually eliminated, and the traffic problems of the city reduced, if video monitored bike parks were introduced. But that would probably be too sensible for downtown Dar es Salaam, as it is for downtown Dublin.
Oh lucky, lucky Dar es Salaam: unsignposted suburbs, golf courses paid for with taxpayers' money, and traffic jams galore. Dar es Salaam - and Dar es Chaos.