The “first” is in the headline for a reason. Driving here is extraordinarily dangerous. And deadly. The rate of fatalities per 100,000 people is 27.4, annually, in Abu Dhabi, which is one of the highest rates in the world. In the European Union, the fatality rate is 11.0. So. Compare and contrast.

I expect to be in more accidents.

But now I have No. 1 under my belt.

Have to admit, I eased into the mayhem.

I was in a cab, headed to the office, and the driver didn’t seem crazier or more ridiculously aggressive than any other 50 cabbies I’ve been with. Or he didn’t seem to be.

Most cabbies here drive like they are playing a full-contact sport. And their manhoods are at stake. Lots and lots of aggression. People who have studied the driving here have commented on that. It may stem from the eternal traffic jams … way too many cars in not enough space. And cabbies who might be working 12-14 hours per day, banging around in that. They’re gonna snap, eventually.

You know how people in SoCal will make nutty lane changes for the sake of one car length?

Here, they do that while traffic is at a standstill. Somebody will decide the third lane of four (and all the major streets have at least four lanes in each direction) looks more appealing … and will swerve out of line and try to jam into a tiny crack in the next lane over, hoping to squeeze into it when traffic finally begins moving again.

Which sounds nutty. And is. But if you’re here long enough, you realize why they fight for that one length. Because the signals are ver-r-r-ry long. And one car length can make the difference between being the last car through an intersection … and sitting there at the light for 2-3 minutes.

On the rare occasions when the road opens up, everyone speeds. We were hauling along pretty good the other day … at least 70 … when a Mercedes blew past us. Doing at least 100 mph.

Anyway, it’s nuts.  And you’re going to be involved in something. Eventually.

So, we’re getting close to the office, and I direct the cabbie to take the shortest route, which runs past two schools for boys. Unfortunately, the kids were just coming out of the school, and their parents were clogging the road with their monster SUVs (and everyone here drives an SUV, if they can afford it) … and my cabbie just kind of lost it.

He switched “lanes” about five times in the space of 50 yards on this narrow back road. Jostling for any sort of position. I just sighed. I was already later than I wanted to be, but I wasn’t driving.

Just past the second school, the street narrows and bends to the right, merging with another road. And here is where everything came to a near-standstill.

My guy had positioned himself in the far left lane — or he thought it was in the far left lane. Till the minibus loaded with about a dozen students lurched to life from its parking place on the curb. To our left.

Then began a slow-motion game of chicken. We were moving about one foot a minute. And the minibus wanted to merge. He edged over. My cabbie edged ahead. The minibus insisted.  My cabbie kept pushing the nose of the cab further up. This was a slo-mo vehicular throw-down.

The minibus was about half a length ahead of the cab, but the cab was in the lane, and the bus was not, though he was angling in.

We were jammed in there. Right up against the minibus on the left and an SUV on the right, all of us trying to get to the curve, and to freedom (for a few yards) … inching …

And suddenly my cabbie slammed the transmission in park and opened his door as far as it would go (with the minibus right next door), and that was about eight inches, and my driver squeezed out of the vehicle. Leaving me sitting there, and the meter running.

I had no idea what he was doing … asking for directions? … till the driver of the minibus appeared behind the bus and the two of them began shouting at each other. They took turns peering at the place where the vehicles, apparently, had touched. Cab’s front-left bumper; middle of the minibus’s right sliding door.

Clearly, from the reaction of the drivers, there was damage, and too much to ignore. They continued to shout and gesture. The kids in the bus leaned out the windows and shouted at the cabbie, too. Everyone was angry.

The “impact” had been so tiny and so incremental … that I didn’t even know when it happened. I hadn’t realized I was in my first Abu Dhabi accident for at least 30 seconds. Not until the cabbie got out of the taxi.

But with both drivers standing on the sidewalk, and arguing, and pointing, this was going to have to be adjudicated. No blood had been shed, but dents had been made. And the drivers appeared to be going nowhere, now, until Someone in Authority came up and refereed the dispute.

I did not need to be part of this. I was close enough to work to walk the rest of the way, and I got out of the cab, handed the driver what was on the meter, plus a little more (because it was still running) … and walked off. No one stopped me. I am sure I wasn’t needed as a witness. It was plain what had happened, and whatever the laws are here, well, somebody would figure out if the minibus had impaled itself on the cab’s bumper, or whether the cabbie had made the fateful move that resulted in a new dent in the bus.

So, Accident Numero Uno. I only hope the next comes as gently … and as near to the office.