TRIBUTE TO A DIPLOMAT POLICEMAN
Been a tough week. Thought seriously about attending the Cameroon Vs Comoros game. You know... To change ideas a little. Actually went out to buy an entry ticket. The ticket vendor couldn't find me a ticket presented in English.
I refused to take a ticket that I couldn't read without knowledge of a second language.
I insisted and I think he underestimated my resolve as my refusal of his French-only ticket was done with utmost politeness and a hint of a smile.
He tried to joke his way out of the embarrassment of which he was clearly not the cause but the consequences of which he had to deal with... THERE, and THEN.
I thought I should reward his effort at joking. So I chose not to keep a stiff upper lip. I smiled. Almost laughed... Perhaps a chuckle... Not long enough to distract from the matter on the table.
"A ticket in English please, Sir" I said.
The queue was starting to pile up behind me. Some were just waiting for their turn; Some moved to another till to be served; Others waited to see how this would pan out.
I paid close attention to the murmuring all around "Les Anglos, vous aimez trop les problèmes" one bystander said.
"Il a raison. C'est pas lui qui a écrit dans la constitution que le Cameroun à deux langues officielles d'égale valeur" said another.
I turned around. Smiled. And without nodding, I hoped he would see (or perhaps feel) the nod of approval.
I guess he did. I'm sure he did.
Back to the vendor...
By then, he had realised that ‘the gentleman was not for turning’. He asked me to move on (the word he used was ‘dégager') if I didn't want to take the ticket on offer.
Tension had become palpable due both to the situation and to the fact that some were running out of patience. The vendor had clearly exhausted his patience. He called the police… they were all around to ensure the peace.
A superintendent came along. Big tough guy. Five bright starts upon his shoulders. His walkie talkie kept beeping… giving the impression that he was overseeing an important operation. I worried that if the scene registered in his mind as an unwarranted distraction from his important tasks, he would flex his muscles (not literally) on me. The vendor explained the problem. Basically, he told the policeman that I was disturbing the peace. The policeman asked for my version. I told him that all I had done was ask for a ticket in English. This was a deliberately naive account, because the real problem was asking with insistence. Or, for the more alert, I wasn't been “a good Anglophone”.
The policeman thought for a second then asked the vendor if he had received my money. The vendor said he had. He took out the five thousand francs note that I had given and handed it to the officer as requested.
He handed me the note and asked me how many words in English were on it. I knew the answer and without looking at the note, the smile on my face told him that I knew there was none. Of course he would have won his case, regardless of the note (value) that I had paid with. Then he asked me why I was insisting on receiving a ticket presented in English when I had paid with a banknote that didn't contain a word of English.
Jesus could not have done better even when he showed the face of Caesar on the coins to traders at the temple.
At that point, I looked at his name tag. His name (which I withhold) was suggestive both of his region of origin (which I withhold) and of the understating of the issues that had inspired his approach to solving the stand off.
He looked at me in the eye and fixed his gaze for about three seconds. I could feel him saying to me: “Brother, we understand this problem, but please let go… do it for me".
I did it for him. I let go. I took my money and walked away.
I'll have to think of other ways to have fun this weekend.
I refused to take a ticket that I couldn't read without knowledge of a second language.
I insisted and I think he underestimated my resolve as my refusal of his French-only ticket was done with utmost politeness and a hint of a smile.
He tried to joke his way out of the embarrassment of which he was clearly not the cause but the consequences of which he had to deal with... THERE, and THEN.
I thought I should reward his effort at joking. So I chose not to keep a stiff upper lip. I smiled. Almost laughed... Perhaps a chuckle... Not long enough to distract from the matter on the table.
"A ticket in English please, Sir" I said.
The queue was starting to pile up behind me. Some were just waiting for their turn; Some moved to another till to be served; Others waited to see how this would pan out.
I paid close attention to the murmuring all around "Les Anglos, vous aimez trop les problèmes" one bystander said.
"Il a raison. C'est pas lui qui a écrit dans la constitution que le Cameroun à deux langues officielles d'égale valeur" said another.
I turned around. Smiled. And without nodding, I hoped he would see (or perhaps feel) the nod of approval.
I guess he did. I'm sure he did.
Back to the vendor...
By then, he had realised that ‘the gentleman was not for turning’. He asked me to move on (the word he used was ‘dégager') if I didn't want to take the ticket on offer.
Tension had become palpable due both to the situation and to the fact that some were running out of patience. The vendor had clearly exhausted his patience. He called the police… they were all around to ensure the peace.
A superintendent came along. Big tough guy. Five bright starts upon his shoulders. His walkie talkie kept beeping… giving the impression that he was overseeing an important operation. I worried that if the scene registered in his mind as an unwarranted distraction from his important tasks, he would flex his muscles (not literally) on me. The vendor explained the problem. Basically, he told the policeman that I was disturbing the peace. The policeman asked for my version. I told him that all I had done was ask for a ticket in English. This was a deliberately naive account, because the real problem was asking with insistence. Or, for the more alert, I wasn't been “a good Anglophone”.
The policeman thought for a second then asked the vendor if he had received my money. The vendor said he had. He took out the five thousand francs note that I had given and handed it to the officer as requested.
He handed me the note and asked me how many words in English were on it. I knew the answer and without looking at the note, the smile on my face told him that I knew there was none. Of course he would have won his case, regardless of the note (value) that I had paid with. Then he asked me why I was insisting on receiving a ticket presented in English when I had paid with a banknote that didn't contain a word of English.
Jesus could not have done better even when he showed the face of Caesar on the coins to traders at the temple.
At that point, I looked at his name tag. His name (which I withhold) was suggestive both of his region of origin (which I withhold) and of the understating of the issues that had inspired his approach to solving the stand off.
He looked at me in the eye and fixed his gaze for about three seconds. I could feel him saying to me: “Brother, we understand this problem, but please let go… do it for me".
I did it for him. I let go. I took my money and walked away.
I'll have to think of other ways to have fun this weekend.
Comments
Post a Comment