It was getting late, our Friday night worship team meeting had just wound up and we headed out of Outpost Lodge, what is fast becoming our downtown ‘office’.
I had dropped our guest speaker back and was making my way home, relieved to now be on tarmac after 6 kms of dusty, rough road. However, everything was pitch black, nicer road but very poor visibility. There was obviously a power-outage making it darker than usual.
The streetlights are not normally turned on even if the power is available (barring the presence of a visiting dignitary), but one gets some benefit from the ambient light of the houses and shops.
It was now 9:30pm and very busy, pedestrians dressed in dark colors, carts without reflectors, cars and taxi vans with only one headlight working (in most cases the curb side one, deceiving you into thinking it’s an oncoming motorbike hugging the side of the road!). The edge of the road is unmarked and uneven. All senses are on high alert; the later the more treacherous, as alcohol begins to take its toll.
A late model white Suzuki was forcing its way out from my left (curbside). I slowed to a stop, allowing him to pull around and head back past me – I wasn’t in a hurry. He was cutting it close, but the roads are narrow and we all have to get pretty good at cutting it close.
This time, however, he came round my front and just kept turning instead of straightening, ploughing into the side of me.
A loud hiss and my front right corner dipped, as the tire deflated. There we were, driver to driver, intimately positioned, about a foot apart nose-to-nose. I wound down my window and calmly asked the young Tanzanian, “What on earth were you doing?”
“I’m sorry”, he said, “let’s get away from the crowd”.
In seconds we were surrounded by a mob of excited men. I agreed with the guy, Kijenge Juu intersection is a rough area.
We gingerly disentangled the cars. Someone handed him a car part that was lying on the road (turned out to be from my car). His front tire was lodged into my rear wheel well. He might have taken off, except for the fact he’d lost his front steering. I limped the car over to the side of the road while he did the same … how, I don’t know.
I called Judi, who happened to have a couple of our friends at home. All I got to say, with the growing crowd was, “I’ve had an accident. I’m being surrounded… do I want you guys to come? Yes … good idea. Can’t drive!”
Emmanuel is a tall guy, I’d guess in his early twenties. He claimed to have full-comprehensive insurance; quite possible given the lower cost of insurance in our parts.
The tell-tale smell of booze confirmed my suspicion.
He didn’t want to deal with the police and I agreed. Reports are always done back at the station and come at a cost. Sometimes the cars are impounded and variable rates are levied to get them out.
That’s when Godfrey appeared. He was better dressed than the average and spoke reasonably good English. I was cautious at first but had little choice other than accept his help.
“Make sure everything is locked – I’ve asked my friend to watch the car while we find a place to talk to this drunk driver”.
Things were now going better. I got Emmanuel to give me his license and wrote down the particulars, and was just about to write a statement for him to sign, when things got even more interesting.
A policeman appeared, and on seeing a sole white face, decided he would take things into hand, declaring in a loud, slurred voice, “I am a policeman and have the responsibility given to me by the government of this land to protect you!”
Godfrey turned to me and said quietly, “You don’t want to do this!” I agreed.
Things got quite unpredictable as he and Emmanuel argued with the cop that everything was under control and that we were going to sort this out amicably.
He reluctantly withdrew for a couple of minutes, leaning against the car. I wasn’t sure who was more drunk – the guilty party or the Law!
The young man was now getting more difficult, not wanting to admit any liability by signing a statement. A mate he’d called arrived on motorbike, as did Judi and our friends, and we now had sides forming.
Things began to get ugly as the policeman decided he would sort things out after all. When the Emmanuel raised his voice in protest, the cop grabbed his phone that he was trying to call with, and spun him round ready hand-cuff him. Godfrey quickly intervened and said something in Swahili that calmed the guy. I was impressed.
I whispered, “That was cool … what did you say?”
He grabbed my arm and said urgently, “Let’s get out of here!”
We went back to my car and, with the help of my friend Darryl and the loan of his jack, Godfrey proceeded to change the tire and got us out of there.
The steering appears to be ok, and the damage ended up being quite superficial – the runner-board and a rear mudguard part need replacing. Otherwise we’re fine.
Monday I’ll go into the insurance and hope they cover it, regardless of not having a police report.
In spite of central locking, my rear door ended up being open the whole time, with my bag and laptop on the floor. The trick in these parts is for a by-stander to hold open the handle while you lock, so that that door doesn’t lock. They then wait for you to move away in order to help themselves. In this case, there must have been an angel…
I had dropped our guest speaker back and was making my way home, relieved to now be on tarmac after 6 kms of dusty, rough road. However, everything was pitch black, nicer road but very poor visibility. There was obviously a power-outage making it darker than usual.
The streetlights are not normally turned on even if the power is available (barring the presence of a visiting dignitary), but one gets some benefit from the ambient light of the houses and shops.
It was now 9:30pm and very busy, pedestrians dressed in dark colors, carts without reflectors, cars and taxi vans with only one headlight working (in most cases the curb side one, deceiving you into thinking it’s an oncoming motorbike hugging the side of the road!). The edge of the road is unmarked and uneven. All senses are on high alert; the later the more treacherous, as alcohol begins to take its toll.
A late model white Suzuki was forcing its way out from my left (curbside). I slowed to a stop, allowing him to pull around and head back past me – I wasn’t in a hurry. He was cutting it close, but the roads are narrow and we all have to get pretty good at cutting it close.
This time, however, he came round my front and just kept turning instead of straightening, ploughing into the side of me.
A loud hiss and my front right corner dipped, as the tire deflated. There we were, driver to driver, intimately positioned, about a foot apart nose-to-nose. I wound down my window and calmly asked the young Tanzanian, “What on earth were you doing?”
“I’m sorry”, he said, “let’s get away from the crowd”.
In seconds we were surrounded by a mob of excited men. I agreed with the guy, Kijenge Juu intersection is a rough area.
We gingerly disentangled the cars. Someone handed him a car part that was lying on the road (turned out to be from my car). His front tire was lodged into my rear wheel well. He might have taken off, except for the fact he’d lost his front steering. I limped the car over to the side of the road while he did the same … how, I don’t know.
I called Judi, who happened to have a couple of our friends at home. All I got to say, with the growing crowd was, “I’ve had an accident. I’m being surrounded… do I want you guys to come? Yes … good idea. Can’t drive!”
Emmanuel is a tall guy, I’d guess in his early twenties. He claimed to have full-comprehensive insurance; quite possible given the lower cost of insurance in our parts.
The tell-tale smell of booze confirmed my suspicion.
He didn’t want to deal with the police and I agreed. Reports are always done back at the station and come at a cost. Sometimes the cars are impounded and variable rates are levied to get them out.
That’s when Godfrey appeared. He was better dressed than the average and spoke reasonably good English. I was cautious at first but had little choice other than accept his help.
“Make sure everything is locked – I’ve asked my friend to watch the car while we find a place to talk to this drunk driver”.
Things were now going better. I got Emmanuel to give me his license and wrote down the particulars, and was just about to write a statement for him to sign, when things got even more interesting.
A policeman appeared, and on seeing a sole white face, decided he would take things into hand, declaring in a loud, slurred voice, “I am a policeman and have the responsibility given to me by the government of this land to protect you!”
Godfrey turned to me and said quietly, “You don’t want to do this!” I agreed.
Things got quite unpredictable as he and Emmanuel argued with the cop that everything was under control and that we were going to sort this out amicably.
He reluctantly withdrew for a couple of minutes, leaning against the car. I wasn’t sure who was more drunk – the guilty party or the Law!
The young man was now getting more difficult, not wanting to admit any liability by signing a statement. A mate he’d called arrived on motorbike, as did Judi and our friends, and we now had sides forming.
Things began to get ugly as the policeman decided he would sort things out after all. When the Emmanuel raised his voice in protest, the cop grabbed his phone that he was trying to call with, and spun him round ready hand-cuff him. Godfrey quickly intervened and said something in Swahili that calmed the guy. I was impressed.
I whispered, “That was cool … what did you say?”
He grabbed my arm and said urgently, “Let’s get out of here!”
We went back to my car and, with the help of my friend Darryl and the loan of his jack, Godfrey proceeded to change the tire and got us out of there.
The steering appears to be ok, and the damage ended up being quite superficial – the runner-board and a rear mudguard part need replacing. Otherwise we’re fine.
Monday I’ll go into the insurance and hope they cover it, regardless of not having a police report.
In spite of central locking, my rear door ended up being open the whole time, with my bag and laptop on the floor. The trick in these parts is for a by-stander to hold open the handle while you lock, so that that door doesn’t lock. They then wait for you to move away in order to help themselves. In this case, there must have been an angel…
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