This is Africa, no drink driving laws in Africa!

Last week we rented a car for the duration of my parents' stay. Wow. After months of trudging through the heat along dusty tracks, a car was an unbelievable luxury. I admit I enjoyed it to the full, blasting around the island behind the tinted windows of a Suzuki Jeep, pretending to be some local "big man".

I was quite shaky at first having not driven for over a year and, indeed, never having driven an automatic, so managed to cause quite a bit of havoc in Stone Town as I tried to pull off in park and reversed the wrong way around corners, car lurching forward due to an overly sensitive accelerator. It took us a while to work out how to turn the ignition (no it's not that simple!) so we managed to cause a scene at the garage, while puzzled attendants scratched their heads and a line of cars honked and laughed at the stupid white man unable to work a simple car. Fantastic.

Despite these initial hiccups, Africa's "make it up as you go along" approach to driving (and indeed most things) charmed me and I was soon overtaking around blind bends up hills, narrowly avoiding chickens on rocky excuses for roads and honking my heart out. Ah Africa, no rules in Africa! No pesky speed limits to worry about or drink-driving laws to stop you enjoying your night out or maximum passenger limits - if there's room, you can take your entire family and the cow.

On an island with a conspicuous lack of police, the roads is the one area where the police are noticeably present. But don't worry, they're not interested in your safety or whether you've got a bootload of marijuana, they just want to check your license, chat to you about Man Utd and maybe get a bit of baksheesh cos your brake light's out of order.

The highlight of the week was on the return drive to Stone Town, where I took a wrong turn and found myself on a highway in which traffic had been directed into a single lane due to roadworks. Things were working fine though with cars passing slowly and people backing up or pulling over to let larger vehicles through. Fine, that is, until I managed to miss the unsigned crossover point where normal traffic resumed. I began to wonder why cars were now hurtling towards me at speed and no one was slowing to let me pass. Indeed, everyone seemed quite excited by my presence, waving and honking. Like a good bemused white man, I honked and waved and smiled back, ploughing on the wrong way down a one-way street. Soon I found myself at a busy cross-roads, trying to turn right into on-coming traffic. Luckily a little old man on a bicycle held up traffic just long enough for me to pounce on this opening, rejoining the right side of the road with a sigh of relief. It was only then that I noticed two policeman had been patiently watching the whole drama, arms folded, quiet smiles on their lips. Instead of pulling us over, they merely smiled and waved us on our way.