“In your country…”
I had just dropped my passport at the sleepy Tamale branch of Ghana Immigration so I could get my 60-day visa extended to the end of my trip (“Why do you want to stay in Ghana?” Oh, um, stammer, stammer. Jeez, who knew these questions would be so difficult…) when a police officer stepped into traffic, stopped the motorbike I was riding, confiscated it and arrested the driver.
It all happened so suddenly, and so strangely, that it took me a while to realize what was going on.
“Do they do this like this in your country?” the police officer shouted at me, gesturing wildly. “Are you able to do this like this in your country?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Do what? Do men on motorbikes ferry me around while I run errands? (No, they do not, but sometimes I wish they would.)
He was looking at me as though he expected an answer, so I said, “Do you know my country?” (Sometimes I get mistaken for being Dutch, and you know, they have some pretty interesting ideas about what’s legal and what’s not over there in Holland.)
It then became clear that the cause of this Oscar-worthy performance of law-and-order fury was the fact that Daniel, the motorbike driver, was not wearing a helmet. Daniel, looking sheepish, pushed his bike into the police station – conveniently located a mere 12 steps away – where it was parked and the keys were locked away in a cabinet.
Whether it is a law in Ghana that a motorbike driver must wear a helmet is unclear to me. I’m not really sure that the laws are written anywhere easily accessible. I really wanted to ask – “May I see the article of the Traffic Act to which you are referring? I’d like to see the proscribed punishment” – but my job was clearly to just stand there, quietly.
The arresting officer made a small speech about how this was all for Daniel’s safety. Does he want to have an accident, have his brains spread all over the street, then be taken to the hospital there and have the doctor write, “serious brain injury” on the paper?
No sir, he does not.
You see all these bikes? (There were dozens upon dozens of them, including some old bicycles. Now, I know for a fact it’s not a law in Ghana that a cyclist must wear a helmet…) Then the message became garbled. I thought he was trying to say these bikes were all from people who were not wearing helmets and therefore had their brains spread on the street, but it turned out they were from people who were not wearing helmets as they passed the police station, were also conveniently arrested and then were unable to pay the, um, fine.
Daniel, who is a government employee, a civil engineer in the department of public works, just stood at the counter. I leaned against it and eyed up the prisoners. Every so often I would sigh. Especially when the “massa” would break from writing his report to study the latest in wrestling videos (“Me, I’m growing tired. Tired of these wrestlers,” he said) or talk on his mobile phone or yell at the prisoners.
He told Daniel he would be sending him to court on Friday. Daniel continued to stand by the counter. He asked him to give his mobile phone number and Daniel dutifully gave 10 digits. He told him to sign a paper, so he signed.
I continued to lean.
“What is your explanation?” the officer said.
“I forgot my helmet. I forgot it at the office,” Daniel said.
Several minutes went by as this was scratched down on the paper.
“What else?” the office asked.
“That is all,” Daniel said.
“You have nothing else to say?”
“Um, no.”
“Where is your license?”
“In my car.”
“And where is that?”
“At the mechanics.”
“Well, you go and collect it and bring it here.”
So we left. Ghanaians do not need a license to drive a motorbike – just a helmet, apparently – so when the officer asked “where is your license,” what he meant was, “where is your wallet?”
I talked it over with Daniel and he suggested it would be better if I continued to the Internet café. (I am somehow a bad luck charm for him – the day before, when we were riding out to Gambaga – in his Benz, no less – we hit a sheep. The only casualty was his tail light.)
But the officer’s question -- “can you do like this in your country?” -- got me wondering. Since we enjoy public health care, helmets are mandatory for the driver and all passengers of any kind of two-wheeled vehicle, so, no, I could not be ferried around helmetless in Toronto.
But can the police “do like this” in Canada?
My dealings with Canadian police have been rather limited. I was once in the truck when Dad got a ticket for driving around with an overloaded, um, load. And, in a humiliation to end all humiliations, I was once busted for running a red light. On my bike. By a cop on a bike. The earth did not open up and swallow me, as I’d begged for it to do, so instead I got off with a warning. It took weeks for the flush in my cheeks to fade.
Otherwise, my dealings with Canadian cops have been of the Can-I-speak-to-the-duty-sergeant/anything-to-report/lady-you-gotta-be-on-the-other-side-of-the-yellow-tape variety. I am fairly certain, though, that the police cannot seize your car if you, say, fail to wear a seatbelt.
Of course, they can’t set up random roadblocks, stop every commercial vehicle and taxi and collect their own wages from the drivers in the form of folded 5,000 cedi notes tucked into driver’s permits either.
Are you able to do this in your country? Why, no, Mr. Officer. If this happened in my country, one of us would end up in a lot of hot water.
It all happened so suddenly, and so strangely, that it took me a while to realize what was going on.
“Do they do this like this in your country?” the police officer shouted at me, gesturing wildly. “Are you able to do this like this in your country?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Do what? Do men on motorbikes ferry me around while I run errands? (No, they do not, but sometimes I wish they would.)
He was looking at me as though he expected an answer, so I said, “Do you know my country?” (Sometimes I get mistaken for being Dutch, and you know, they have some pretty interesting ideas about what’s legal and what’s not over there in Holland.)
It then became clear that the cause of this Oscar-worthy performance of law-and-order fury was the fact that Daniel, the motorbike driver, was not wearing a helmet. Daniel, looking sheepish, pushed his bike into the police station – conveniently located a mere 12 steps away – where it was parked and the keys were locked away in a cabinet.
Whether it is a law in Ghana that a motorbike driver must wear a helmet is unclear to me. I’m not really sure that the laws are written anywhere easily accessible. I really wanted to ask – “May I see the article of the Traffic Act to which you are referring? I’d like to see the proscribed punishment” – but my job was clearly to just stand there, quietly.
The arresting officer made a small speech about how this was all for Daniel’s safety. Does he want to have an accident, have his brains spread all over the street, then be taken to the hospital there and have the doctor write, “serious brain injury” on the paper?
No sir, he does not.
You see all these bikes? (There were dozens upon dozens of them, including some old bicycles. Now, I know for a fact it’s not a law in Ghana that a cyclist must wear a helmet…) Then the message became garbled. I thought he was trying to say these bikes were all from people who were not wearing helmets and therefore had their brains spread on the street, but it turned out they were from people who were not wearing helmets as they passed the police station, were also conveniently arrested and then were unable to pay the, um, fine.
Daniel, who is a government employee, a civil engineer in the department of public works, just stood at the counter. I leaned against it and eyed up the prisoners. Every so often I would sigh. Especially when the “massa” would break from writing his report to study the latest in wrestling videos (“Me, I’m growing tired. Tired of these wrestlers,” he said) or talk on his mobile phone or yell at the prisoners.
He told Daniel he would be sending him to court on Friday. Daniel continued to stand by the counter. He asked him to give his mobile phone number and Daniel dutifully gave 10 digits. He told him to sign a paper, so he signed.
I continued to lean.
“What is your explanation?” the officer said.
“I forgot my helmet. I forgot it at the office,” Daniel said.
Several minutes went by as this was scratched down on the paper.
“What else?” the office asked.
“That is all,” Daniel said.
“You have nothing else to say?”
“Um, no.”
“Where is your license?”
“In my car.”
“And where is that?”
“At the mechanics.”
“Well, you go and collect it and bring it here.”
So we left. Ghanaians do not need a license to drive a motorbike – just a helmet, apparently – so when the officer asked “where is your license,” what he meant was, “where is your wallet?”
I talked it over with Daniel and he suggested it would be better if I continued to the Internet café. (I am somehow a bad luck charm for him – the day before, when we were riding out to Gambaga – in his Benz, no less – we hit a sheep. The only casualty was his tail light.)
But the officer’s question -- “can you do like this in your country?” -- got me wondering. Since we enjoy public health care, helmets are mandatory for the driver and all passengers of any kind of two-wheeled vehicle, so, no, I could not be ferried around helmetless in Toronto.
But can the police “do like this” in Canada?
My dealings with Canadian police have been rather limited. I was once in the truck when Dad got a ticket for driving around with an overloaded, um, load. And, in a humiliation to end all humiliations, I was once busted for running a red light. On my bike. By a cop on a bike. The earth did not open up and swallow me, as I’d begged for it to do, so instead I got off with a warning. It took weeks for the flush in my cheeks to fade.
Otherwise, my dealings with Canadian cops have been of the Can-I-speak-to-the-duty-sergeant/anything-to-report/lady-you-gotta-be-on-the-other-side-of-the-yellow-tape variety. I am fairly certain, though, that the police cannot seize your car if you, say, fail to wear a seatbelt.
Of course, they can’t set up random roadblocks, stop every commercial vehicle and taxi and collect their own wages from the drivers in the form of folded 5,000 cedi notes tucked into driver’s permits either.
Are you able to do this in your country? Why, no, Mr. Officer. If this happened in my country, one of us would end up in a lot of hot water.
posted by Palmer in Africa at 4:29 AM
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