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Friday, February 21, 2014

Seeing Red (or Not)




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.   

Yay!

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