Laugh Out Loud - The Traffic Who Cause Traffic

S’up peoples?

So before I give y’all this humorous article to read, you gotta understand—s’cuse me, try to understand—Tanzanian police. We call them traffic police, and they are NOTHING like police in the States.

(1) They all wear white uniforms except for the military ones.

(2) None of them have cars except for the important ones.

(3) None of them have guns except for the superior ones.

(4) They all accept bribes except for the decent ones.

(5) They all lean on your car and often pull you over just to say hello. No exceptions.

So how do they pull you over if they don’t got no cars? Excellent question. They walk out onto the road in front of your advancing car, hold up their hand, and direct you to the shoulder.

You’re kidding.

Nope.

But can’t I just run them over?

You could. But that would be disobeying at least one commandment, right?

*sigh* Right.

Let me tell ya, having police like these tests your patience (I mean who wouldn’t get annoyed with a dude who calls you bro and asks how life has been when you’ve never seen him in your life??), and it gives you new respect for these guys who actually risk their lives to ensure safety on the roads. Sure, they can be trying, but imagine what it would be like without any police. That makes you think, huh?

Anywho, I’ll quit with the chitchat so y’all can have a laugh at our wonderful police. Oh wait, don’t laugh at them…life would be chaos without them after all.

And by the way, this article is not entirely fact, but it is based on my personal experience. I just altered it slightly to give it a little more humor.

Oh, and one more thing: it’s a common joke among me and my brother and our American cousins living here with us that the police cause more traffic than they fix. So whenever we’re stuck in traffic, we say, “Yup, that’s the traffic police doing their job.”

Ok, now I’m done.

Oh wait! I honestly forgot—5000 Tanzanian shillings is about $2 and 30000 TZ shillings is about $13. Gee ok, I’m done now.

The Traffic Who Cause Traffic

You’re driving along down a fifty-km/h speed limit road, making sure that you’re not going above fifty kilometers. They’re ahead of you, and you’re sure they’re not going to get you. Then a white stork proudly walks onto the road and holds up one of its wings. You sigh and turn onto the side of the road as the traffic police officer directs you to the very same place. With an informal “hi how are you?” he leans on the car, scrutinizing every detail.

"Can I have your license?” he asks. You fumble for it and hand it to him. He glances over it and walks around the car. He looks at your insurance stickers, your tires, and your windshield. Coming back to the window, he gives you your license and says, “There’s a crack in your windshield.”

“Where?” you ask in surprise. He points to an area behind the wipers where you finally spot a tiny line.

“It’s so small,” you protest. “Is it really important?”

“We take cracks in windshields seriously,” he replies, just as a car with cracks that look like a spider on its windshield passes by. “I’ll have to give you a ticket.”

“But please, I’ll get it fixed. Just forgive me; I’m going to fix it.”

“Well, I’ll let you go because you’re speaking so politely; but only this once.”

You thank him and drive off contentedly.

Some days later, you’ve already fixed the windshield and are driving carefully as you see the traffic police ahead. But to no avail. One of the storks, a female, walks out in front of you with her wing up. You reluctantly drive to the side as she strolls up to you.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” you reply a little tersely.

“Can I have your license?” You hand it over and she looks at it and then walks around your car. You smugly watch her go, knowing that the car is absolutely in tip-top condition. She comes back and before giving your license to you, she says, “You were speeding.”

“I was?” you ask in disbelief. “When?”

“Just around the bend,” she says confidently. “You were going fifty-one.”

"Fifty-one? But even if I was going over, it’s only by one kilometer.”

“You were still going over.”

“But I should know the proof of that.”

“You were going fifty-one. Now should I write the ticket?”

“But—”

“Should I write you the ticket?”

“See here, it’s only fifty-one. I won’t do it again. Could you please just forgive me?”

“No, I can’t just forgive you. Should I write the ticket?”

“Well, I suppose so. What other choice do I have?” She takes her little machine and prints out the ticket, giving it to you with your license. You take it with an ill grace and drive off without a backwards glance.

About a week or so later, you’re turning from a side road to join a larger highway and see them. An older bird comes out and holds up his wing. You turn to where his hand directs you and wait as he comes over.

“Hello, how are you?” he asks.

“Fine,” you reply.

“Do you know that you crossed the solid line?”

“I did? When? Where?”

“Come out of the car. I’m going to teach you the law.”

You stifle a laugh and say “okay” and follow him a little way down the road.

“You see that line?” he asks, pointing.

“Um, yes,” you say.

“What is it for?”

“Well, it’s to show that you can’t cross it.”

“It’s not just a show. It’s a command. You do not cross that line. You wait for the dotted line, and then move lanes.”

“Okay, I understand. I’m sorry, and I’ll be more careful next time.”

“I’ll have to write you the ticket.” You both walk back to your car, and you climb in to get your money. The officer leaves you to a younger man and goes off to ruin make someone else’s day. As you dig around in your wallet, the man asks you, “Why did you make yourself pay the ticket?”

“Well, the other policeman told me he’d write a ticket,” you answer a little shortly.

“He’s old enough to be your grandfather, you know. You shouldn’t have argued with him.”

“It doesn’t matter how old he is.”

“Well, you don’t have to pay the ticket you know.”

“What other choice is there?” you ask, annoyed.

“Well, you could just give him a little money, five thousand or so shillings, and you go free.”

“But I thought the fine was thirty thousand shillings?”

“Oh, it is. But I’m not talking about the fine. You know, just a little gift.” Suddenly, it hits you.

“You mean give you a bribe?”

“Well, you could put it that way—”

“Excuse me? So that’s why so much money meant for the government goes other places!”

“Um, no, not exactly—”

“Not exactly? No, write the ticket. I’ll pay the fine.” The sheepish officer takes your money and walks away. You carefully turn to go around someone in front of you, and as you drive away, still muttering under your breath, you pass by the older officer leaning on someone else’s car. You catch his words as you go: “Well, I’m an old man, but if you don’t want to just give me a little money…”

~shellyK

P.S. I wasn't name-calling when I described the police as birds; it's just a metaphor.