In 1973 I was taking a 3-month US Army Officer's course, the students including some foreign officers from countries around the world. A couple of them were Cambodians, before the fall of their government to the Khmer Rouge and the madman Pol Pot. That calamity happened after they returned to their country, and I must assume they were among the millions exterminated in the Killing Fields.
But in 1973 I used to hang around with them, because they mostly spoke French and needed an English translator, and an American they could talk with. One of my fellow US officers took a short leave at one point, and generously let the Cambodian Captain have the keys to his Mustang convertible while he was gone. The Captain in turn asked me to come along with him on some errands he was running, to aid with translating.
He had no concept of a US car with high horsepower, and was spinning the tires constantly and fishtailing, and locking brakes at every touch of his foot, pitching me into the dashboard. Worse, he'd run through stop lights and stop signs, and then inexplicably stop the car in the middle of a 4-way intersection, while he thought about where he wanted to go next, horns honking all around us and other cars dodging us.
At the first place we stopped I tried to diplomatically ask him if he had a driver's license, assuming he had an international one. What he produced was a handwritten card from our post motor pool that said he could drive a jeep during training exercises, same as we were all issued for the course. It was only good on a military post and not in the civilian community. When I asked if he had a Cambodian license he said no, he'd never owned a car, just drove military vehicles, for which he didn't need any authorization.
OK... well, I tried to explain to him that he was violating US law, and he should let me drive. But he refused, saying the car's owner had entrusted it to him, and he couldn't breach that trust. So he continued to drive in his crazy way, me grabbing the steering wheel as needed to keep us from head-on collisions, and talking him through traffic.
He'd never driven an automatic transmission, and I failed to make him realize that all he had to do was gently step on the accelerator and the car would do the rest. Instead, he treated the brake pedal like a clutch, jamming it down with his left foot at stops. Then he'd stomp on the gas to move forward, left foot still mashing down the brake, gradually releasing the brake to get us moving as if it were a clutch pedal, often causing the rear tires to spin and smoke.
Miraculously he didn't wreck the Mustang, and when its owner returned I explained to him what had gone on. He said the Captain had assured him he had a valid license and driving experience, but I told him all he had was a temporary Army motor pool permit that was meaningless on public roads. That was the last time anyone loaned the Cambodians a car, although one Nigerian officer came up with another approach, making me his personal driver using my own car while he cruised US women. But that's a different story for another time...