Read Online Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) by Bruce Trzebinski - Free Book Online
Authors: Bruce Trzebinski
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ignoring the proffered hand and
getting up on his own.
‘The hands-up,
he say, you must come,’ said the driver, pointing at the one with
the swagger stick.
‘Look, I’m not
going. I have to get to work.’ said Brian adamant.
The cop walked
over. ‘Ok, let’s go,’ he pointed at the pickup.
Brian set his
jaw. ‘No way, mister.’
The policeman
gave Brian a nasty look. ‘You want to leave the scene of an
accident?’ he challenged.
‘Enough of this
farce.’ Brian said, and made to move off. The policeman barked out
orders to the other two cops in Kiswahili. Brian was manhandled
into the back of the pickup protesting loudly losing his shoe in
the process. They handcuffed him to the steel frame that held the
canvas cover in place. The two drivers, urged on by the policeman
jumped in with him. Brian started to shout out in earnest.
The tuk-tuk
driver shushed him. ‘Please,’ he pleaded, ‘don’t make them angry.
Please, mzungu man, best to be quiet, please amigo.’
Brian looked in
disbelief as a cop stood over them cradling a sub-machine gun. The
Land rover drove at high speed through town, and turned into the
police enclosure, stopping in a squeal of brakes. A dust cloud
enveloped him and the two drivers.
A high, rusted,
barbed wire fence enclosed the compound. In one corner, accident
vehicles in impossibly contorted shapes lay gathering dust and
weeds. A rooster perched on top flapping its wings and crowing, as
though to announce their arrival.
A cop jumped
out of the cab and undid Brian’s handcuffs. ‘Ok, we go,’ a jerk of
his head indicating a low grubby building off to one side. A tin
roof with words stencilled along it. “Truffic Headquarters
Malindi,” was its unlikely title.
Brian climbed
out, helped by the taxi driver. His ankle hurt and with only one
shoe he hobbled along. He took the other shoe off and walked into
the police station in his socks. He muttered. ‘I’m going to report
all this, it’s outrageous.’
The reception
consisted of a long high counter. The cop with the baton was
already behind the desk. He told the two drivers to follow him and
instructed Brian. ‘ Mzungu . You wait here, to take
statement.’
‘What about my
briefcase,’ Brian asked, ‘and my other shoe?’He held it up
defiantly.
The cop
replied. ‘You write statement on accident. This is traffic, not
robbery division.’
‘Oh,
“truffic”,’ muttered Brian, as the three of them disappeared into
the building.
Brian was
grateful that he still had his wallet and mobile phone, not daring
to think about the loss of his briefcase. Perhaps it was under the
tuk-tuk, had fallen out as the crash happened, and the taxi now lay
on it.
A voice coming
from over the counter interrupted his thoughts. ‘Yes, mzungu , what do you want?’
Brian looked up
to see a tall man looking down at him. His torso at the level of
the counter hiding the rest of his body, legs long enough to be out
of Alice in wonderland.
‘I was told to
wait here, to make a statement.’
‘About what?’
the man asked.
‘An accident, I
have been in an accident.’
The man leaned
forward resting his elbows on the counter and scratched his ear
with the end of a ballpoint pen, peering at Brian in idle interest.
‘You had an accident?’
‘No, I was
involved in one. I was a passenger.’
‘Where is this
accident?’ The man asked, and not waiting for a reply, he went on.
‘You were the driver, it was a car hire, you drank beers, you a
German, where is your driving license?’
Brian didn’t
know what to say. ‘Listen, the man with the stick, he went in
there,’ he pointed at the corner doorway, ‘he knows about the
accident.’
‘Yes but, it is
an offence to drive in Kenya without a license. You will be charged
in a court of law,’ the man said with finality. ‘This is not
Germany.’
Brian felt a
panic rising. I’ve lost it, this can’t be real. A semblance of
reality returned with the policeman and the two drivers.
getting up on his own.
‘The hands-up,
he say, you must come,’ said the driver, pointing at the one with
the swagger stick.
‘Look, I’m not
going. I have to get to work.’ said Brian adamant.
The cop walked
over. ‘Ok, let’s go,’ he pointed at the pickup.
Brian set his
jaw. ‘No way, mister.’
The policeman
gave Brian a nasty look. ‘You want to leave the scene of an
accident?’ he challenged.
‘Enough of this
farce.’ Brian said, and made to move off. The policeman barked out
orders to the other two cops in Kiswahili. Brian was manhandled
into the back of the pickup protesting loudly losing his shoe in
the process. They handcuffed him to the steel frame that held the
canvas cover in place. The two drivers, urged on by the policeman
jumped in with him. Brian started to shout out in earnest.
The tuk-tuk
driver shushed him. ‘Please,’ he pleaded, ‘don’t make them angry.
Please, mzungu man, best to be quiet, please amigo.’
Brian looked in
disbelief as a cop stood over them cradling a sub-machine gun. The
Land rover drove at high speed through town, and turned into the
police enclosure, stopping in a squeal of brakes. A dust cloud
enveloped him and the two drivers.
A high, rusted,
barbed wire fence enclosed the compound. In one corner, accident
vehicles in impossibly contorted shapes lay gathering dust and
weeds. A rooster perched on top flapping its wings and crowing, as
though to announce their arrival.
A cop jumped
out of the cab and undid Brian’s handcuffs. ‘Ok, we go,’ a jerk of
his head indicating a low grubby building off to one side. A tin
roof with words stencilled along it. “Truffic Headquarters
Malindi,” was its unlikely title.
Brian climbed
out, helped by the taxi driver. His ankle hurt and with only one
shoe he hobbled along. He took the other shoe off and walked into
the police station in his socks. He muttered. ‘I’m going to report
all this, it’s outrageous.’
The reception
consisted of a long high counter. The cop with the baton was
already behind the desk. He told the two drivers to follow him and
instructed Brian. ‘ Mzungu . You wait here, to take
statement.’
‘What about my
briefcase,’ Brian asked, ‘and my other shoe?’He held it up
defiantly.
The cop
replied. ‘You write statement on accident. This is traffic, not
robbery division.’
‘Oh,
“truffic”,’ muttered Brian, as the three of them disappeared into
the building.
Brian was
grateful that he still had his wallet and mobile phone, not daring
to think about the loss of his briefcase. Perhaps it was under the
tuk-tuk, had fallen out as the crash happened, and the taxi now lay
on it.
A voice coming
from over the counter interrupted his thoughts. ‘Yes, mzungu , what do you want?’
Brian looked up
to see a tall man looking down at him. His torso at the level of
the counter hiding the rest of his body, legs long enough to be out
of Alice in wonderland.
‘I was told to
wait here, to make a statement.’
‘About what?’
the man asked.
‘An accident, I
have been in an accident.’
The man leaned
forward resting his elbows on the counter and scratched his ear
with the end of a ballpoint pen, peering at Brian in idle interest.
‘You had an accident?’
‘No, I was
involved in one. I was a passenger.’
‘Where is this
accident?’ The man asked, and not waiting for a reply, he went on.
‘You were the driver, it was a car hire, you drank beers, you a
German, where is your driving license?’
Brian didn’t
know what to say. ‘Listen, the man with the stick, he went in
there,’ he pointed at the corner doorway, ‘he knows about the
accident.’
‘Yes but, it is
an offence to drive in Kenya without a license. You will be charged
in a court of law,’ the man said with finality. ‘This is not
Germany.’
Brian felt a
panic rising. I’ve lost it, this can’t be real. A semblance of
reality returned with the policeman and the two drivers.
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