On Sunday morning, I took the kids and Ginger to the beach. We had a great time. Matias decided to sleep in, so he didn't come, and thus I was driving.
On the way back, Ginger decided to sit in the front seat and put her head out the window and drink in the cool sea air, like all dogs like to do. We were driving home on the marginal, the road that hugs the edge of the sea, when I passed the ubiquitous Mozambican...or African police truck--four skinny guys inside toting rifles, with nothing to do, and hungry for extra cash on a Sunday. I passed them and before I knew it, they passed me back, gesturing out the window. It looked like they were just saying hello, so I waved back. They slowed down, so I passed again, and they waved again.
Finally, it was Nalia who said, "Mommy, I think they want you to stop."
When you get stopped by the police in the U.S. or any other country with laws that are remotely functional, it usually means you have done something wrong. Not here. It usually means something else. There are no laws here.
After I stopped, one of the young skinny guys holding a rifle (these are called cinzentinhos here, which means little gray guys because of their gray uniforms and general lack of respect from the population) approached the car. He looked serious- ready to accomplish a mission.
"Senhora, you have violated the transit code of the Republic of Mozambique. This code states that human beings are not allowed to put any body appendages outside the vehicle. This law also includes animals, such as dogs. Therefore you will be issued a fine because your dog had his head out the window. And I'd like to see your license."
After 11 years in and out of this continent, I have learned that questioning and getting tense and angry will only make things worse. But I was also secretly very worried because I had only my American drivers license. Mozambican law now requires all foreign residents to get international or Mozambican licenses, and I haven't gotten around to doing this. He took my license, and then I got called over to the police truck to talk with the boss.
He scrunitized my license and then looked at me.
"This license is not valid in this country, so you have committed two illegal acts," he frowned, "and we will have to impose two fines on you, one for your dog putting her head out the window and the other for driving without a valid license."
I did NOT want to give these guys any money, partly because the police here are all corrupt bastards and I'm sick of it, but mostly because I'm trying to save up all our money to pay off our plane tickets to New Zealand for Christmas, and didn't want to give them a single cent.
I knew my best bet was to play the stupid card.... and be effusively apologetic, playing into their need to feel like they are powerful and important men. But sometimes I also just can't help myself. By nature, I'm someone who likes to push buttons and stir things up a little. And while the mantra in my head may be, "What would Obama do? Be like Obama," I am not Obama, so what comes out of my mouth is often drastically different from my internal mantra.
"I am deeply sorry and do admit that I did something wrong, but I would like to ask a question. May I?"
They nod.
"What does the law say about goats, because I see them in the back of trucks, on top of buses, with their appendages clearly outside the vehicle?"
They are not understanding the sarcasm. So this is positive. I am enjoying the sarcasm, and they are prepared to give me a serious explanation.
"Senhora, e assim. It's like this: goats ride in the back of trucks and not in passenger seats like your dog. Also, the goats have a special permit issued by the Police of Mozambique that allows them to put their heads, legs, etc outside the vehicle."
Again, I can't help myself.
"So, if I get a permit for my dog, she can put her head out the window?"
They are getting frustrated, but they're laughing. This is good.
"So," says the boss, "how will we resolve this."
This is a rhetorical question, of course, so there is no question mark.
"You're the boss," I respond.
"You can't drive in this country because you don't have a valid license."
"I admit that I violated the law and will not drive home, so I'll call my husband and he can walk down here to drive the car home. He can be down here in about an hour."
"But we're working and can't wait around for your husband."
"Then, what's your suggestion?"
The oldest one is primed and ready to respond.
"Senhora should buy us a refresco."
Refresco means a bottle of soda in Portuguese, but in Maputo it is parlance for a bribe. The police will usually not sink as low to ask directly for a bribe.
"Sure, I'd love to get you a soda. I'll just run into the gas station and buy a round for all of you. Sounds great."
"No, Senhora, you don't get it. We need almoco, refresco." Almoco is lunch.
Now the bribe is getting bigger.
"Great," I answered, "let's got to that restaurant down the street with my kids and my dog and we can have a nice Sunday lunch."
"No, you don't understand. Just give us the money and we'll buy the food."
"Unfortunately I have no change, but I'd be very happy to take you out. My kids are in the car waiting and they'd love to eat too."
They are all smiling, sighing, exasperated.
Finally, the old one shows his frustration.
"Deixa-la... vai embora!" This means Just Go Home.
The skinny young one hands me my license.
I go back to the car, but sit to make sure they leave first. By this point, they think I'm stupid as nails. When they pass me, they yell out the window, "We said you could GO HOME. GO!"
I have won, and am very proud of myself, but I do put up all the windows on the way home.
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