BAD COPS, BAD COPS
When I was seventeen my friends and I went to see the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I was not much of a social go-getter as a teenager, so I would jump at every invitation extended to me. A movie? And there are even going to be girls there? The fact that the enjoyably silly romp of the first film was followed by a rather turgid second instalment, I was in. Before we could indulge in the Disneyfied world of pirates, the projector in the cinema broke. Then after that forty-five-minute delay, we were treated to the three hours of execrably dull, nonsensical dross that is Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. Feeling disheartened, my friend and I trudged home as the movie had dragged on so long that the buses had long finished.
As we were walking home through the shopping strip we noticed police cars on both sides of the road, parked facing the wrong way. A clearly inebriated girl was being wrestled by a policeman onto the bonnet of the car, screaming “Whaddya f***en think ya doin?” We resolved to keep our heads down and remain inconspicuous but as we reached the train station a police car pulled up with a screech. An overweight officer with a look on his face akin to that of a snarling pitbull emerged from the car. “Get the f**** out of here or you're all arrested” he screamed. “If I see you in the area in five minutes you're going in the divvy van.” “But…” “I don't give a f****, no excuses, people are smashing windows and raising hell, get on the train and get the f**** out of here.” Gesticulating at a poor soul on crutches being assisted by his friend “I don't care if you're limping get on the train!” We tried again to remonstrate with him that we didn't even live near the train but he threatened us again with an immediate and almost certainly unlawful arrest so we slunk chastened into the train station to take a pointless train ride to the wrong destination.
I've had an irrational fear of police ever since, with a constricting feeling in my throat developing every time I see the boys in blue, despite my innocence of any crime major or minor. This in spite of plenty of encounters with perfectly reasonable policemen just doing their duty as best they can. When travelling this anxiety only gets worse in countries where laws and customs are unknown to you, language is a barrier, and the integrity of a police force is seriously questionable. In Zimbabwe, I find myself giving the police a wide berth. As expected, the general populace are overwhelmingly friendly and helpful, but the authorities are frequently surly and unhelpful, with stories of police corruption swirling in my mind to keep me on edge.
I stumble out of the bus at the Harare bus station positively elated to be on foot after five hours in a bus from Masvingo which felt more like twelve owing to the terrible pot-holed road and my sizeable backpack jammed in between my knees. Determined to save the taxi fare and stretch my legs, I march through the rubbish strewn streets of Harare following Google Maps to my hostel. Ignoring the taxi and kombi drivers, having to literally palm off a particularly insistent beggar who is not even ten years old, I am striding confidently through a cracked and broken and half-lit African city long after sundown. There are no cars in site so I cross the road ignoring the red light and then realise halfway across there is a soldier with a large gun on the other side. Surely, it's OK? The most minor infraction if even that. But they are notoriously corrupt? And then… “Hello my friend!” He waves at me to stop. “Hello,” I reply with a nervous smile. “Where are you going?” “Err... just to the hostel.” “You live there?” he looks puzzled. “No, I'm just staying for a few days”. “And then you go home?” “No, then I go to Mozambique.” “You live in Mozambique?” “No, I am just travelling.” He looks even more confused but his furrowing brow cracks into a broad grin. “Well, enjoy your travelling my friend!”
Turns out he just wanted to know what was going down. Nice guy hey?
Marcus Macdonald is currently travelling in Africa and is sending dispatches from the field.
