After enduring
countless cuts in water we finally got our proprietaire (landlord) to agree to
install a chateau d’eau (water tank). He
agreed to provide the tower and to pay for the installation, if we bought the
tank. That was how the events of this
morning came to be.
I decided to head
downtown (au centre ville) to buy a 1000-litre tank at a place recommended by a
coworker at SIL. It was to be a
straightforward affair. Armed with
Google Map printouts and my vastly more direction-enabled wife’s instructions I
headed out alone to the moto-packed streets of lunch-hour traffic to buy our
polytank.
I imagine that there
resides in some dusty cabinet in some government official’s office a compendium
of all of the laws, rules, and regulations governing traffic in Ouaga. That is the only place they reside. Once in traffic one quickly finds that
custom, convention, and convenience trump any written code. Motos drive in lanes reserved for motos and
they drive on the streets swirling and flowing among cars like small fry around
big fish. Suddenly opening a car door at
a red light can put you in immediate contact with a handful of bruised moto
riders. Left turns by cars and motos can
occur on either side of one’s car. Red
lights are a suggestion and turns in one direction can easily begin in the
opposite lane. You get the idea.
A mere block away from
the store where I was to buy the polytank I encountered a bevy of policemen who
were excitedly gesturing for me to pull over to the right side of the road and
the left side as well. I chose the right
side because the policeman on that side appeared to be having a better day
judging by his expression. Bad choice. He was immediately joined by a second officer
who demanded to see my papers. I’ve seen
enough black-and-white movies to know it’s never good when an official asks to
see you papers…”pleeease.”
The two officers
proceeded to offer me a litany of all the rules residing in the file cabinet
that I had transgressed beginning with the red light I had passed (J’ai brulé
une feu!). I responded that the signal
had no light lit. No score. One officer began to explain that my visite
technique was expired. I showed him that
I had a copy of the results of the inspection and had had the necessary repairs
made. No score. He told me that it would cost me dix mille
CFA (10,000cfa or just over $20.00.) The
other officer continued to examine my papers.
The amount began to climb.
Discretion being the
better part of valor I sunk to obvious squirming. I offered to the offices an increasingly sad
tale beginning with the fact that my wife will be very unhappy with me and may
hit me when I tell her what happened. I
tossed in a couple of “Ooh la las” and talked more of how angry she would
be. I allowed my French comprehension to
degrade and repeated “Qu’est-ce que je dois faire?” (What am I to do?) a few
times.
In a sudden bolt of
perception and while looking around to see that no one was watching, the
policeman offered me a discounted fine.
I tried to hand him the money and he, while looking way down the street
instructed me to put the money on the seat.
He picked it up with some of the papers sitting on the seat, took the
cash and handed me the papers. He then
encouraged me to move along. I offered
my hand with a relieved, “Bon jour” both of which he waved off and urged me to
leave--now.
I spent the next
20-minutes or so looking for the store to buy our poly tank. Using the Google Map printouts, I managed to
make my way back to a familiar landmark to recommence my hunt for the polytank
vendor. The route on the map brought me
back to the precise spot where I had just done my part to support Burkina’s
economy. The police officer with whom I
delighted part of my morning was nowhere in sight, perhaps because he saw me
coming or maybe he subsequently discovered that he did in fact have enough money
to buy lunch.
Maybe I should have asked him for a receipt.
Then again, maybe not.
We have our water
tank.
