To protect and serve...

During the course of any evening spent with friends, it seems the conversation inevitably turns to funny police stories at least once. It seems the rules of the road are a little different here. For example, talking on cell phones while driving is strictly prohibited and rigidly enforced. If the police see you using your cell phone while driving they will pull you over and demand you hand over your cell phone (this is the prescribed course of action for police). I have heard of this happening to people at least 30 times and each time the police officer has been adamant about cell phone surrender - that is, until the driver politely refuses to hand over the phone. Usually it goes back and forth - 'give me the phone' followed by 'I'm sorry sir, you can't have my phone' - until the police officer gets tired and sends the offender off with a warning. That would never fly back home. Most speed traps seem not to have any squad cars around to pull people over - the police officers just stand next to the road waving their arms and most speeders 'voluntarily' pull over to be ticketed. All tickets must be paid in cash immediately to the police officer - if a person does not have the money to pay the ticket the car will be impounded. It is all a little different here.

My first experience with a police officer was back in July. I was driving home when a uniformed police officer pointed at me and waved his arms, signaling me to pull over. Nervously I pulled my car to the side of the road and rolled down my window. My mind raced to come up with anything that I had done incorrectly - our stickers were up to date, it was heavy traffic so I certainly hadn't been speeding, ... I couldn't come up with anything. The police officer jogged over and greeted me with a polite, 'hello, good afternoon mam. Where are you going?' I smiled, greeted him, and explained that I was returning home. 'Yes, mam, but where is your home.' I responded that my home is in Mmopane. 'Oh, okay. Continue on.' That was it - the police officer had waved me down, hoping that I would give him a lift so that he wouldn't have to wait for the bus. In the US hitchhikers are arrested by the police, in Botswana police officers use their power to be hitchhikers.

A few weeks ago the police set up a temporary road block checkpoint at the turn to Mmopane - we were stopped many times over the next few weeks. Most checkpoints have one specific item they are concerned about; some of our friends have actually had police tell them, "Its a good thing we are only checking brake lights today, if we were checking turn signals I would have had to give you a ticket." At our checkpoint they only seemed to be checking licences and vehicle registration. The first time Jon went through the checkpoint a female police officer asked him to pull over so she could perform a vehicle inspection. As she looked through our car she found a stack of three blankets in the back and asked what they were for.

'Oh,' Jon replied, 'those are camping blankets.'

‘Camping blankets? You go camping? Where do you camp? I have always wanted to go camping but I don’t know how. What do you do when you go camping?’

Jon explained the basics of camping: that you just find a nice place and sleep in a tent. The policewoman laughed at how funny it sounded and then waved him through the road block.

The next day Jon and I went through the roadblock together and had the same policewoman. Not recognizing him, she asked Jon for his license. As soon as she saw his name on the ID her face lit up with a big smile, ‘Oh, Mr. Bell’ she said, ‘you may continue. Have a nice day.’

A day later Jon went through the checkpoint again and was stopped by the same woman. After greeting each other, the policewoman asked who the woman in the car with him had been.

‘That was my wife.’ Jon informed her.

‘Oh,’ said the policewoman, ‘Do you think she would be my friend?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Can you give me her number? I have a question that I need to ask her.’

‘What do you want to ask her?’

Giggling and grinning, the policewoman replied, ‘I can’t tell you. I can only ask her.’

Jon gave her my number and she waved him through. The next day I received a phone call from this policewoman asking to be my friend and wondering if it would be okay if she called me sometimes. ‘Sure’ I replied. She thanked me, said good-bye, and then hung up. Since then I have received four or five calls from this woman. The phone calls are always the same; we greet each other, she asks how I am liking Botswana and Mmopane, and then says good-bye. It is strange. I still have no idea what the mystery question was.

Those are the two police stories we have to contribute to the conversation. Not nearly as interesting as many, but I’ll be happy if they stay this simple: a hitchhiker and a giggly wanna-be-friend. Not too bad.