Read Online Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) by Bruce Trzebinski - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bruce Trzebinski
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The cop
barked out an order to the taller one in Kiswahili. Brian overheard
the word “statement” in English.
The tall cop
said. ‘Yes sah,’ as he stepped down from his hidden pedestal, and
motioned Brian with an occurrence book in hand. ‘Follow me,’ he
instructed as they walked out of the station into the sunlight. He
looked for somewhere to rest his book, and chose an upturned oil
drum in the shade of a scrawny tree. Brian stood in the sun in his
socks, while the lorry driver waited by the gate; they were joined
by the tuk-tuk driver.
‘You have to
make statement, amigo, otherwise insurance people won’t pay for
damage to my taxi,’ he explained.
‘Ah,’ Brian
said the penny dropping. The cop wrote the date in the book, and
then spoke to the taxi driver in kiswahili asking questions and
writing the answers in the book. When he seemed satisfied, he asked
Brian for a name and address and wrote this down, then handed him
the book and asked him to sign it.
‘What am I
signing?’
‘Your
statement,’ said the policeman.
‘But I haven’t
said anything?’
He pointed at
the book. ‘Look sign it here.’
The tuk-tuk
driver said. ‘Listen amigo, it’s good. See, read it, it is your
statement.’
Brian read the
report written in schoolboy English, loosely outlining the cause
and effects of the accident.
‘Please sign’
said the tuk-tuk driver, ‘or insurance, you see. Please amigo.’ He
consented and signed, only correcting the spelling of his name from
brain to Brian.
‘Ok,’ said the
policeman, ‘you can go,’ pointing his chin at the gateway. The two
drivers immediately set off. Wiser men would have followed them,
but Brian, annoyed at the way he had been treated, was
self-righteously determined to see the police do their job
properly. He stood his ground.
‘Look,’ he
said, addressing the policeman, ‘you people forced me to come here,
against my will. I lost my other shoe in the process, my briefcase
has been stolen, and I can’t walk because I have hurt my
ankle.’
The policeman
was disinterested. ‘You have medical insurance?’
‘Yes,’ said
Brian, ‘but.’
The cop
shrugged. ‘No problemo, your foot, they fix it.’
Brian sighed.
‘Where can I report my briefcase stolen?’
‘It was full of
money?’
‘No, listen, it
had important papers, where do I report it?’
‘Come with me,’
the cop said, leading him back into the station walking behind the
counter and through into an open courtyard, surrounded by offices
and rooms on three sides. The cop knocked on an office door, and
then opening it slowly, leaned in and spoke in Kiswahili, he then
stood back opening it wider. ‘Get in, this Detective Mugo, you make
your robbery here.’
Brian stepped
into the office. A man in civilian clothes sat at a desk behind a
typewriter, hitting each key hard and sporadically. On his desk was
an elaborate wooden carving between what looked like a hut and a
tree with the name W.K. Mugo in flowing letters. Mugo glanced up at
him, pointing at a chair. ‘You sit there.’
Leaving his
typing, he leaned back and took a single cigarette out of his top
pocket. He lit it and blew a puff of smoke in the air. ‘So tell me mzungu , you have had a robbery?’
Brian explained
the events as they had happened. He was glad to talk to somebody.
Mugo listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding for him to
continue. He carefully nudged the ash off his cigarette into an
already overflowing ashtray. Once Brian had finished, Mugo asked
him what was in the missing briefcase.
Brian described
the contents - passport, money, dollars and travellers cheques,
bank documents to do with his job. His English driving license, a
couple of credit cards, car keys, Nairobi apartment keys - and the
flat keys here in Malindi.
Mugo wrote
nothing down and asked. ‘So you have no ID. How about a copy of
your passport or work permit?’
‘No,’ He shook
his head.
‘This is very
bad.’ Mugo took a long
barked out an order to the taller one in Kiswahili. Brian overheard
the word “statement” in English.
The tall cop
said. ‘Yes sah,’ as he stepped down from his hidden pedestal, and
motioned Brian with an occurrence book in hand. ‘Follow me,’ he
instructed as they walked out of the station into the sunlight. He
looked for somewhere to rest his book, and chose an upturned oil
drum in the shade of a scrawny tree. Brian stood in the sun in his
socks, while the lorry driver waited by the gate; they were joined
by the tuk-tuk driver.
‘You have to
make statement, amigo, otherwise insurance people won’t pay for
damage to my taxi,’ he explained.
‘Ah,’ Brian
said the penny dropping. The cop wrote the date in the book, and
then spoke to the taxi driver in kiswahili asking questions and
writing the answers in the book. When he seemed satisfied, he asked
Brian for a name and address and wrote this down, then handed him
the book and asked him to sign it.
‘What am I
signing?’
‘Your
statement,’ said the policeman.
‘But I haven’t
said anything?’
He pointed at
the book. ‘Look sign it here.’
The tuk-tuk
driver said. ‘Listen amigo, it’s good. See, read it, it is your
statement.’
Brian read the
report written in schoolboy English, loosely outlining the cause
and effects of the accident.
‘Please sign’
said the tuk-tuk driver, ‘or insurance, you see. Please amigo.’ He
consented and signed, only correcting the spelling of his name from
brain to Brian.
‘Ok,’ said the
policeman, ‘you can go,’ pointing his chin at the gateway. The two
drivers immediately set off. Wiser men would have followed them,
but Brian, annoyed at the way he had been treated, was
self-righteously determined to see the police do their job
properly. He stood his ground.
‘Look,’ he
said, addressing the policeman, ‘you people forced me to come here,
against my will. I lost my other shoe in the process, my briefcase
has been stolen, and I can’t walk because I have hurt my
ankle.’
The policeman
was disinterested. ‘You have medical insurance?’
‘Yes,’ said
Brian, ‘but.’
The cop
shrugged. ‘No problemo, your foot, they fix it.’
Brian sighed.
‘Where can I report my briefcase stolen?’
‘It was full of
money?’
‘No, listen, it
had important papers, where do I report it?’
‘Come with me,’
the cop said, leading him back into the station walking behind the
counter and through into an open courtyard, surrounded by offices
and rooms on three sides. The cop knocked on an office door, and
then opening it slowly, leaned in and spoke in Kiswahili, he then
stood back opening it wider. ‘Get in, this Detective Mugo, you make
your robbery here.’
Brian stepped
into the office. A man in civilian clothes sat at a desk behind a
typewriter, hitting each key hard and sporadically. On his desk was
an elaborate wooden carving between what looked like a hut and a
tree with the name W.K. Mugo in flowing letters. Mugo glanced up at
him, pointing at a chair. ‘You sit there.’
Leaving his
typing, he leaned back and took a single cigarette out of his top
pocket. He lit it and blew a puff of smoke in the air. ‘So tell me mzungu , you have had a robbery?’
Brian explained
the events as they had happened. He was glad to talk to somebody.
Mugo listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding for him to
continue. He carefully nudged the ash off his cigarette into an
already overflowing ashtray. Once Brian had finished, Mugo asked
him what was in the missing briefcase.
Brian described
the contents - passport, money, dollars and travellers cheques,
bank documents to do with his job. His English driving license, a
couple of credit cards, car keys, Nairobi apartment keys - and the
flat keys here in Malindi.
Mugo wrote
nothing down and asked. ‘So you have no ID. How about a copy of
your passport or work permit?’
‘No,’ He shook
his head.
‘This is very
bad.’ Mugo took a long
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