Mark went for an early walk along the beach and took a selfie. After breakfast, Catherine enjoyed the hammock, looked for sand crabs, and shared a moment with Joseph. The rainy season is coming, and the clouds are building offshore.
In mid-morning, Tracy and I took a walk to the nearby fishing village where we saw boats, kids playing football on the beach, and boogie-boarding. We chatted to Agnes again, too.
We had a wonderful stay at Brenu and headed home just after lunch.
On the drive from Brenu to Accra, we encountered a police barricade. This is not unusual; on several occasions during yesterday’s journey from Accra to Brenu, police officers checked our boot, peered into the cabin, and waved us onward without so much as a second look. On this instance, however, the officer noticed a violation. Ghana requires, and our car lacks, two white and two red reflective stickers on the front and rear bumpers, respectively. It lacks because they were not re-applied after its finish was repaired only a few days ago. (This was probably because of the rush to finish the job, and we didn’t know better.) The officer asked for, and I handed over, my licence and international drivers permit (IDP). He gave us a hard time about our transgression and strode to his desk to write an arrest warrant for me. (Near as I can figure “arrest” is hyperbolic. It is, rather, a citation that compels an appearance in court a few days hence.) The officer told me to step back in the car, but Tracy went to plead our case. After informing that one of her students was in hospital (true) and likely has malaria (or so we and the doctor thought at that time) and promising to get the required stickers in the next day or so, the officer relented and returned my license and IDP. Twenty minutes after pulling over, we were homeward. Whew!
Within a minute, Tracy received a phone call informing us that Bethany has severe food poisioning, not malaria. Whew again!
Except that we encountered a second police barricade shortly thereafter. Or rather speed trap. After motioning us to the shoulder, the officer showed his gun: 56 kph in a 50 kph zone. (If you’re keeping score at home, 6 kph is 3.7 mph.) The officer condescendingly informed me that Ghana uses kilometers instead of miles and that I must obey the signs in kph, not mph. With Tracy in the back seat under her breath saying “Don’t hand over your license,” I SHOWED the officer my licence and IDP. When asked why I didn’t want to surrender them, I said (too honestly, perhaps) that bad things happen when I do. He took offense (“Are you trying to sort me, the police?”) and demanded my credentials. After some time, he returned my U.S. license but kept my IDP, handed me a citation (which noted my IDP had been confiscated), and walked back to his truck. We sat in our car, stunned.
When we next looked up, the other half-dozen speed trap officers joined my ticketing officer in the truck and prepared to drive away. Tracy and I rushed over to plead our case, pointing out that I need my IDP to drive legally. The driver of the police truck told us that in combination my U.S. license and the citation are sufficient to drive in Ghana. When I asked, incredulously, “really?” the officer said he’s the police and therefore the one who knows the law. We walked to our car, and the officers drove away.
We decided that Tracy should drive to Accra, despite the officer’s insistence that I was OK. As I sat in the back seat with Catherine, the realization that I must travel three hours to Cape Coast on Tuesday sank in. There is no way that I’ll be able to squeeze the trip between dropping and picking the kids at schools. Therefore, Tracy’s day will be destroyed, just as she’s attending to millions of end-of-semester details. And that’s the least of our worries. What are the chances I traverse the legal system without a scrape? NONE of this is good!
Thinking back to today’s first encounter with the law, it is small miracle that none of the spped trap officers also noticed our missing stickers! To minimize that risk, Tracy thought to purchase and apply the required stickers as soon as possible. Today, in fact. So, we stopped at the first service station we saw. No luck on the stickers, but we grabbed a few snacks and went on our way.
For five minutes. Until we encountered another speed trap!
While we looked for stickers, the same squad of officers re-established their speed trap a few miles east. This time it was Tracy’s turn to be hassled. “We got your husband and now we get you.” “65 in a 50 kph zone.” “Kilometers, not miles.” “Need to appear in court on Tuesday.”
Before the officer demanded Tracy’s license, Tracy admitted she has a lead foot, said she needs to get back to Accra for her student (she’s sick, in the hospital, and I have the text messages to prove it!), asked the severity of the fine, and asked if we could pay the fines (plural!) on the spot. At this, the officer laughed, repeated the bit about kilometers not miles, and asked for the paper (i.e., my citation). I produced my paper which the officer took to the truck. In a few moments, he returned my IDP, reminded us yet again about kilometers not miles, and wished us a safe journey. And, he gave us a tip: oncoming drivers will often warn of police presence by flashing brights.
The cop told us how to avoid the cops.
Oh, Ghana!
—Matt
