Now who would ever want to cause trouble for these lovely ladies?
It was bound to happen. In the nine months we’ve been here, through numerous traffic checkpoints, Marnie has never had any trouble. So I suppose she was due.
The ominous warning signs were there early in the week, when the police were sniffing around Sahra’s restaurant looking for bribes. Though Marnie has never asked Sahra directly, she thinks the cops turn a blind eye towards the khat chewing in the restaurant in return for a little something on the side. For the uninitiated, khat is a leaf that is chewed like tobacco, with an effect like radioactive caffeine. It’s very much a social drug and isn’t debilitating, but was made illegal here when non-Somalis started chewing it.
The police have also been ratcheting up roadblocks, both in Mayfair and in general. The intent, as stated by the police, is to get unsafe vehicles off the roads, catch drunk divers, seize guns and drugs, etc. Unfortunately, the real purpose is money, as in collecting unpaid traffic fines and taxes for the government, and shaking down foreigners for bribes. Turns out these multi-purpose traffic stops may be unconstitutional as well, but you know, it’s all in the public interest.
So on Wednesday Marnie was in Mayfair dropping off her assistant Sowdo when the police flagged her down. Usually the cops check Marnie’s documents and wave her through, but this time the policewoman wanted to perform a search. Though annoyed, Marnie didn’t say anything when the woman rummaged through her purse, including opening her wallet to see how much cash she had. Marnie’s pillbox, containing everyday headache relievers, aroused temporary suspicion. The stop was nothing out of the ordinary—just your typical plodding, annoying, South African procedural BS. Then the woman said she was writing Marnie a ticket.
She cited the fact that Marnie didn’t have what is the equivalent of a car registration, though Marnie realized later the cop hadn’t actually asked to see it. When we bought the Corsa, our dealer said it wasn’t necessary to have the document on your person, that the registration sticker on the window was sufficient. When Marnie explained this, the woman chided, “They are not the police--they are car dealers. Why didn’t you ask us?”
Marnie explained the registration was at home, and that she could call me to get the number. The cop said I would have to bring the registration in person, which might have taken a while, given it’s a couple hours walk to Mayfair from Parktown North. The cop said she was arresting Marnie and driving our car to the station. Marnie would have to plead her case to the magistrate.
Naturally, Marnie was having none of it. What followed was a circular conversation, whereby Marnie explained that she was unaware of the law, but could get the registration number, and the cop insisting she would have to take her downtown. In the meantime, another policeman is searching the car, pulling off interior panels. He said to Sowdo that Americans “don’t understand”, and asked why she was with Marnie. Sowdo replied that Marnie was “her sister”. You gotta love that girl, she’s a real pisser.
It was bound to happen. In the nine months we’ve been here, through numerous traffic checkpoints, Marnie has never had any trouble. So I suppose she was due.
The ominous warning signs were there early in the week, when the police were sniffing around Sahra’s restaurant looking for bribes. Though Marnie has never asked Sahra directly, she thinks the cops turn a blind eye towards the khat chewing in the restaurant in return for a little something on the side. For the uninitiated, khat is a leaf that is chewed like tobacco, with an effect like radioactive caffeine. It’s very much a social drug and isn’t debilitating, but was made illegal here when non-Somalis started chewing it.
The police have also been ratcheting up roadblocks, both in Mayfair and in general. The intent, as stated by the police, is to get unsafe vehicles off the roads, catch drunk divers, seize guns and drugs, etc. Unfortunately, the real purpose is money, as in collecting unpaid traffic fines and taxes for the government, and shaking down foreigners for bribes. Turns out these multi-purpose traffic stops may be unconstitutional as well, but you know, it’s all in the public interest.
So on Wednesday Marnie was in Mayfair dropping off her assistant Sowdo when the police flagged her down. Usually the cops check Marnie’s documents and wave her through, but this time the policewoman wanted to perform a search. Though annoyed, Marnie didn’t say anything when the woman rummaged through her purse, including opening her wallet to see how much cash she had. Marnie’s pillbox, containing everyday headache relievers, aroused temporary suspicion. The stop was nothing out of the ordinary—just your typical plodding, annoying, South African procedural BS. Then the woman said she was writing Marnie a ticket.
She cited the fact that Marnie didn’t have what is the equivalent of a car registration, though Marnie realized later the cop hadn’t actually asked to see it. When we bought the Corsa, our dealer said it wasn’t necessary to have the document on your person, that the registration sticker on the window was sufficient. When Marnie explained this, the woman chided, “They are not the police--they are car dealers. Why didn’t you ask us?”
Marnie explained the registration was at home, and that she could call me to get the number. The cop said I would have to bring the registration in person, which might have taken a while, given it’s a couple hours walk to Mayfair from Parktown North. The cop said she was arresting Marnie and driving our car to the station. Marnie would have to plead her case to the magistrate.
Naturally, Marnie was having none of it. What followed was a circular conversation, whereby Marnie explained that she was unaware of the law, but could get the registration number, and the cop insisting she would have to take her downtown. In the meantime, another policeman is searching the car, pulling off interior panels. He said to Sowdo that Americans “don’t understand”, and asked why she was with Marnie. Sowdo replied that Marnie was “her sister”. You gotta love that girl, she’s a real pisser.
After several more minutes of repeating nonsense, the policewoman walked off with Marnie’s passport, which I can attest is the most helpless feeling in the world. After deliberating with her partner, she said that Marnie should get in her car and go home. What she meant was “It’s obvious you’re too stupid to know you are supposed to bribe me, and there’s a long line of other people I need to shakedown for money, so you may as well leave and stop wasting my time.”
We found out from Dr. Landau, super anthropologist extraordinaire of Wits University, that the requirement to have your registration in the vehicle is a relatively new one, and he had been harassed about it a few times himself, before getting a certified copy to keep in his car. It would be nuts to keep the original in there—someone could easily steal the car and have a crooked official transfer it into their own name. Then again, common sense isn’t this government’s forte.
So Marnie escaped her first brush with police corruption unscathed, and without having to pay a bribe, which the Somalis were all very impressed with. If nothing else, it bought her a little street cred. It also underlined the fact that, despite being “privileged” whites, we are still very much foreigners in this country.
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