Never stop in the front row at a busy intersection
One Sunday I was driving down Mombasa road. I was listening to music on my speakers and flying past cars that were as always packed tightly together in one massive traffic jam. I got inspired by some boda boda guys and decided to drive on the side-walk for a bit where the array of cars seemed to be particularly tight and impenetrable. I accelerated for a bit and flew in one long leap of the side-walk back on to the road. The sun was shining. I was high on life.
Then I arrive at the round-about close to Nyayo stadium. The police officer, signals me to stop as he allows a swath of cars from the adjacent road to fill-up the roundabout. Novice, as I was, I was now standing in the front line, in close proximity to the police officer. He approached me and with one swift movement took my key straight from the bike. I looked at him in utter consternation, knowing that my nice Sunday cruise was now taking a sober twist.
The officer asked me for my papers. Confidently, I opened my bag to pull out my documents. After fidgeting around with the bag for a few minutes I realized to my own dismay, that out of all the days, I had actually forgotten my wallet at home. I did have my Kenyan driving license on me at least, but the insurance which was always in my wallet, was not there.
The police officer, would have probably found some other issue, but he didn’t have to become too picky, I handed him a strong case on a silver platter – boom, no insurance. After some back and forth, he requested a triple digit dollar amount from me. I was not willing to pay, but given that I did not have my wallet on me I could not pay anything anyway. So I called one of my well connected friends, and told him I needed help. He immediately got on his way to bail me out.
But, the officer was keen to create facts on the ground. He told me that the bike had to be towed, and that I was going to the police station. This of course would not only ruin my entire Sunday, it also brought in a host of other factors and risks that I was not willing to explore. But before I knew, some dodgy looking chaps were next to me and started chaining up the bike to pull it onto their truck. I was wildly protesting. Those towers were not even police officers. They were just some random dudes that the police officer had a deal with to share the bribe. A lady walking past actually, approached the officer, and asked him critically, why he was harassing this Mzungu. He pointed out that I did not have an insurance, and she conceded quickly, looked at me briefly and walked off. Her eyes clearly told me “oh man, you messed up, now you will have to pay”.
The towers had by now lifted my bike, leaving painful scratches on the bike skeleton. I had little else to do then jump on the little pick-up and try to negotiate with the lads on board. I tried all the negotiation tricks I could think of. I told them I was connected, I told them I knew this was because I was a Mzungu and what they were asking was too much money. Nothing worked. I then played the human card, “come on guys, let us handle this human to human, you taught me a valuable lesson, but do not make me bleed for this. Give me a second chance. Every human deserves a second chance”.
This actually seemed to soften their stance a little bit. I got them to stop on the side of the road, telling them that we would ask a random boda boda what the fine should be. I did as intended but as soon as the boda boda guy realized why I was asking him, seeing the towing vehicle in the background he got scared and would not answer. At this point now my friend arrived. He too got not significantly lower the fee and so ultimately, I had to open the wallet and pay up.
It was a bitter twist to my Sunday. But at least I now had a story to tell. Not sure it was worth 50 USD, but still. At least I did not lose the whole day in that police station. And I had learned my lesson too. Never stop in the front line along busy traffic intersections.