The Blackboard is my Witness

The due process afforded to the white man in Liberia is something to be desired. This next story is a case in point as to the volatility of the professional ability of the LNP (Liberian National Police).

Now before I go on to explain how the events of my day took a nasty turn, I must tell you about how drivers here can pull off maneuvers that prompt instant road rage. Classic moves include the two lane change with no blinker, or hammering the brakes with no functioning lights, or u-turns on the main thoroughfare, etc. With this in mind, let’s return to the story at hand.

I was cruising through town (Monrovia) on the Yamaha AG-100, my favourite little “put-put bang-bang” motorcycle. I was following a Nissan pathfinder, 1994 model down Benson Street. He hung a left up Center Street, another no blinker left turn at an intersection. I was unphased by this common move. He stopped in the middle of the road, so I assumed he is either going right or just confused by the whole driving experience. I checked the opposing lane and cranked on the gas. Well, out of nowhere the Pathfinder came into my lane. He was cranking a hard left and I did my best to go around him. We both punched the gas and the final result was a gouge in his left front panel and a white man flailing through the air.

I landed on all fours like spider man. With my spidy sense I assessed the situation. The cops descended upon the situation. People came out of alleys and stores, “What? Accident? Did you see that?” They started building bleachers. “That white man can ride-o!” The cops demanded that I give them my keys. They quickly drew out the chalk line markings of the accident scene. They outlined the tire markings and the resting spot of the vehicle and bike. I began to laugh and quickly decide that if I’m going to make it out of here without coughing up some cash I will need to control my natural response to such a situation.

Everyone knew what was happening. The Lebanese shop owners tried in vain to coax me into give the cops some money and save myself the hassle of going to the police depot. For some unfounded reason I decided to fight this in an honest way. The quote “Be the change you want to see in this world,” kept pulsating through my head. You have to hate that when Gandhi quotes go through your head at such a time. You can’t just walk away when thinking of Gandhi-like responses. So, the other driver and I decided to rendevous at the police station. The one police officer wanted me to push my bike down to the precinct. I really did not want to, but he was afraid I would drive off. So, I told him to jump on and I drove my wreck of a bike with a Liberian police officer holding on as we crawled down to the depot.

Once we arrived down at the station, they continued to demand that I give them my keys. I continued to tell them politely, “Heck no!!” They asked why I would have the gall to disrespect a police officer. I gave them a truthful response, “Well, basically sir, if I give you my keys you will not give them back until I give you a large amount of US dollars. And quite frankly I am not going anywhere so you aren’t going to make money from me.” Strangely enough this did not lessen the officer’s brisk anger. I thought he would have seen the sense in what I said, since there was truth wrapped into it, but he was not in the mood for a philosophical discussion.

A funny moment came about when my colleagues showed up in an SP vehicle. I asked if I could go and see them. The two officers stood up tall, denied me access and proceeded to block me from approaching the vehicle. I thought this posturing was ridiculous. After some coaxing I was allowed to go and talk with my coworkers, as the police officer yelled at me, “You can go on with your merry making!! But once you are done making merry you come back-o!” Once again I had to suppress my laughter.

After waiting for more time than what was rationally necessary, the police officer told me to go inside. The police depot was small and ill equipped. The main hall was filled with a tattering of Liberian Blue Shirts and an odd collection of dilapidated furniture. The police officer motioned for the other driver and myself to sit down on two small stools reserved for exceptionally short midgets. Directly in front of us was a blackboard with a well laid out design of the traffic accident scene. He had labeled the streets, the movement of the two license plates, the date and time and other details drawn out. He was beaming with pride. I suppressed a chuckled as he began the “proceedings.” He asked both of us to give our statements of what had happened that afternoon at 2:47 pm. I gave my side; the opponent gave his version. We both asked the obvious questions:
Marcel: “Why didn’t you have your blinker on?
Driver: “Why did you hit me?”
We were not getting anywhere.

The police officer looked at me a broad smile smeared across his face. He leaned forward and began to fire questions in my direction. “Mr. Michelle! Why were you in the lane of oncoming traffic? What were YOU doing in the wrong lane?” I swallowed hard on my laughter and explained to him in a moment of passionate defense as I stood up from my miniature wooden stool that it was a safe driving move if there is no traffic is coming down the road. His smile never dimmed as he retorted, “BUT, you were in the wrong lane. I thereby find you guilty!” I leaned forward as I pressed him, “Of what?” I asked. He replied in a tone that indicated the answer was completely obvious, “You are charged with reckless driving and illegal lane maneuvering. You are guilty as charged!” I looked away, “Oh Liberia!” I muttered under my breath. One of the guys in the adjacent jail cell burst out laughing when the police officer pronounced his verdict. He muttered something to the effect of, “Oh that police man not correct-o!” (which in Liberian English means he is has a few screws loose upstairs.) I laughed too. It was a funny moment, one that I am glad to have experienced.

In a final act of exasperation I looked up at him and asked one last obvious question, “Where is the witness? This man says one thing, I say another. We need a witness to clear this up.” The police officer looks down at me, way down to where I am sitting on my midget’s chair and points his stick at me, leaning in he says, “The blackboard is my witness!”

I sat there in the precinct as they took down our particulars. Outside my coworkers were rushing around trying to get the insurance guy down there and find some US dollars to give my new found friends at the Liberia National Police. I guess I did not win in the end. People (in general) say that you need to pick your battles. Maybe this one was not worth fighting, but there were moments you just cannot experience in other parts of the world. (I also had the chance to get to know a little boy who was lost from his aunty. We looked over his homework together and practiced his ABCs in the jail. Fantastic time of smiles.)

Lesson learned: 1) don’t get too cocky on the AG-100, 2) carry US cash, 3) hire a witness.

Cheers to you on this spinning planet,
Marcel

PS – My plan is to stay away from any police depot or station in the near future. It either proves a costly experience or a big old time waster. In the end though everyone becomes your friend, even the smiling police officer wanted to be my friend, if I would give him something nice that is.