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I met a police officer the other day named Doofus. Well, okay…I don’t know if his name was actually Doofus. I’m just saying it should be. I was on my way to the blood bank with the guys to donate blood for a friend of a friend who was in a bad accident. That’s the way things work here I guess…you need to find people to deposit if you want to withdraw. Anyhow, on our way, Officer Doofus decided to pull me over for the unconscionable crime of being a gringo and driving a nice truck.
Let’s just take a moment and appreciate that I used the word “unconscionable” in a sentence and as far as I know, used it correctly.
For a long time there was always something that the police could nail me for when they pulled me over for being a gringo…my driver’s license had gone through the wash and was kind of trashed (I still say that you tell it was me...the picture was blurry but still obviously of a white guy. Besides, “Ke__e_h Swi__er” was pretty close to my name)…the back windows of my old truck were tinted too dark…I’d forgotten to pay for my registration…blah, blah, blah. That kind of stuff. (One time they confiscated my truck for over a week ‘cause they thought it was stolen. In the end they gave it back to me…even though no one ever decided for sure if it was stolen or not…and then charged me $50 for parking it on their lot for the week.)
But for the past couple of years, everything has been in order. My driver’s license is new…I’ve got my registration and papers for the truck…none of my signal lights have fallen off…it’s all good. But that day, Officer Doofus (hereafter simply known as OD) got lucky. Immigration wanted my ID card for something to do with my VISA to live in Bolivia. Immigration trumps police, so they got to keep it. You don’t want to annoy immigration people here. I’ve already been fighting with them for nearly a year to get my new VISA. They keep coming up with new things I need to do…things that no other missionary in the history of Bolivia has ever had to do. So you can understand why I want to keep them as happy as possible.
I explained all of this to OD, how important it was for us to donate blood, but he couldn’t really see me for all the dollar bill signs flashing in front of his eyes. He insisted that I needed to go with him to INTERPOL. When he said that, I just stared at him for a moment. It was probably one of the dumber routines ever thrown at me. INTERPOL? Really? But he wouldn’t back down. He did, however, make a big show of telling me how long and annoying a process it would be. Obviously I wouldn’t want to go through all of that.
But see, by now? I was annoyed. I wasn’t backing down either. I put my guys in a taxi to continue on to the blood bank, and trust me when I say I took my time and did everything as slowly as possible. When OD came over to ask what was taking so long I gave him a look that would have killed the innocent and told him that I was trying to save a life by getting my guys to donate blood for our sick friend. Ha ha…I’m not proud of it, but there you go. He had the wisdom to not push it and went back to his motorbike. My guys took off and I started to follow Officer Doofus.
We went one block before he stopped and came back to my truck. ONE BLOCK! He told me again in no uncertain terms how long it would take at INTERPOL and that I really didn’t want to go there. It would be okay with him if I just helped him buy his lunch (the oh so subtle code used here to ask for a bribe) and we could call it a day. Again, I just glared at him and then said no, it was fine with me if we went to INTERPOL.
As a side note, it’s nice that my Spanish has progressed to the point where I can use sarcasm effectively. It’s a good feeling...
We glared at each other some more, and then without a word he handed me back my driver’s license, went back to his motorbike and took off with dirt flying. At first I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to go with him (‘cause I’m kind of dumb), so I took off with dirt flying as well. But it quickly became obvious that he wasn’t waiting for me. I smiled my triumphant “I’m Canadian and we’re polite but stubborn beyond imagination” smile and called the guys to get out of the taxi and I would pick them up.
Then we spent two hours looking for the blood bank ‘cause everyone knew where it was…but that’s another story…
On the way home another cop waved us over and asked me where I was from. I explained and then he asked for my driver’s license and ID card. I handed him my license and was about to explain (with dread) that I didn’t have my ID card, when he turned to Ronello (one of the guys from the house) in the back seat and asked for his ID card as well. Ronello didn’t have it and the cop asked him where he was from. Ronello just started laughing and said, “Bolivia!” All the guys started laughing (Ronello’s one of the darkest guys in the house and is obviously not a foreigner). The cop got embarrassed and drove off.
And finally there was yesterday...I got nailed coming home from the airport. In six years I’ve seen two radar guns. Well…three if you actually include yesterday. I was waved over and told that I was going 100 km/h in an 80 zone. In my defense, I was driving slower than 90% of the rest of the traffic, but whatever. I was told that the fine was 200 Bolivianos (a lot of money here). I graciously agreed with the officer (really, I did) that yes, I had been speeding, and that I would pay my fine.
But that I would need an actual paper ticket for my records.
Well, he grimaced and rolled his head to the side and hemmed and hawed and told me that might be a problem. He didn’t have any tickets on him he told me, but he could reduce my fine to 50 bs and give me a coupon for a free beer instead.
I am seriously not making this up. He had the coupon in his hand.
I explained that I wouldn’t be comfortable paying that, and suggested, preemptively, we could just go to Transito (the Transit Police station). He didn’t really want to do that either (I’ve learned that they don’t want to go there any more than we do) and told me that 20 bs (about $3) would be sufficient. I explained again that I still wouldn’t pay that, and besides, I only had US dollars on me (which was true). He asked me how much I had, and I told him (truthfully) the smallest bill I had was $100 (I was paying for stuff for the Saskatoon Christian School). He quickly agreed that wouldn’t work either.
So as a last resort he asked for 5 bs to buy a pop. I honestly didn’t even have that and told him so. He just stared at me and finally gave me back my license and told me to slow down so that our next conversation could be nicer and more relaxed. I agreed wholeheartedly (although I was pretty relaxed the whole time), and went on my way. When I told the boys what had happened and that my fine started at 200 bs and in the end I didn’t pay anything, they were all duly impressed. I just smugly told them that I’ve become Bolivian and am no longer a dumb gringo. They smiled and nodded and went along with me even though we all knew it wasn’t true.
So there you go. Another little glimpse into the life of Missionary Ken...
For those of you who are waiting to hear about the Saskatoon Christian School’s time here, come back tomorrow. I’ll try to post some pictures and stories. They were a great group by the way! =)
