Picture this: you've just finished groceries and a nice lunch at a local cafe with your wife. You pull out of the parking lot and head back to work. Not more than 100 meters down the road a police officer stands in the middle of the road signalling you to pull over. At the exact moment you see him you realize you have left your wallet, containing your licence, in your desk at work. If you need to change your pants after imagining that then you understand how I felt this afternoon.
At around 2:30pm today I was pulled over for a routine check only to have it exposed that I was driving without a licence on me. Not only did I not have my Canadian licence I did not have any identification, such as a passport. There were five police officers at this certain checkpoint, and nothing seemed out of sorts at first. The officer was not happy to find that I was without identification but he neither seemed all that upset. He asked where I was from and seemed interested and intrigued that I was from Canada and lived close to Toronto. It wasn't until he called over another officer, the English speaking one (well he spoke English as much as I speak Spanish), that I was asked to pull the car completely off the road, turn it off, and accompany the officer into the road-side station. I can officially say that this is when the old knees started clacking together.
All the while April has a small grin on her face thinking this will be a good experience to blog about – a real run in with the law, not just being pulled over because you crossed a line that was there 2 years ago. This was going to be a good one.
The room which I was brought into was small and contained only an old desk and a chair which had cardboard for cushions. I was asked if I spoke any Spanish, to which I answered, “si, pero solo un poco”, to which the officer said he would then try to continue in English. It was there in that little office at that moment when I heard him say “We are going to have to bring you downtown, where you will wait in prison. Your car will be held until you can be properly charged for driving without a licence, to which you will have to also pay the fine of 1000 cordobas” ($50.00 american dollars). Okay, so the knees were shaking before and now came the cold sweats – this is something when it’s a blasting 35 degrees Celsius outside. I tried to plead my case, playing all the cards at my disposal – the tourist, the first time offender, the volunteer, the missionary, everything!
Meanwhile, April is outside sitting in the car watching other cars and trucks being pulled over (by now she had turned the car back on so she could have a/c in the blasting sunshine). She is calling Steve to tell him what is happening and if he could find Kevin’s wallet.
He looked at me and smiled a little, but said that he couldn't just let me go, there needed to be something done. I asked if there were any other options to avoid being hauled away in handcuffs. Someone could bring my licence...he could have my wife’s licence...my boss could come and reason with him in Spanish. The inevitable answer came back that I could “pay” $20 for the ticket right there on the spot, he would let me go and this whole fiasco would disappear. The officer said it was the only way he could help me out. (In case you didn't pick it out – this cop was asking for a bribe. A very, very, very common experience with Nicaraguan police.)
Now, I knew to pay the bribe was the easiest way out and I admit it crossed my mind as I was starting pondering how nice those cells would be in the downtown station. I wasn't sure what to say back to him so I told him “I don't have any money officer, let me go talk to my wife”. He agreed and outside I went. April, to my surprise was actually laughing about the whole matter, not helping things for me (I do smile about it now though). She told me to stall as she had phoned Steve at the Nehemiah Centre, and he was coming along with someone to try and help out. Apparently, the police could in fact haul me to the downtown station and they could impound the car until I paid the fine.
So we stalled and I went back in to explain that my wife didn't have any money either. The officer was not happy to that news, but said we could go to the bank up the road to get money if we wanted. I said that we had no bank card and asked what else could be done. By now he had enough of the small talk and started to fill out the paper work needed to document what had happened. As soon as he started to write my name down in came Iskra (Nehemiah Centre employee and friend).
It was a big relief to see her, yet we weren't out of the woods yet. The officer now seemed embarrassed that he was being tested by another person. He put up quite the fuss with Iskra as she tried to persuade him to drop the pending charges. Because she was a Nica and could communicate with him in Spanish, more options became available to me. It wasn't until the final attempt (after about 5 minutes – felt like forever) that the officer agreed to lessen the charge and fine. Truly a blessing from God; and to quote Iskra, “Only by God's Grace”. I still received a fine for a whopping 100 cordobas ($5.00 American), to which I still have no idea what the charge was for.
Eagerly I jumped into Steve’s car and he drove me to the bank while Iskra and April waited with the car. I went inside to pay the ticket (as all tickets and bills in Nicaragua are paid at the bank) and walked back the short way to the road-side police building. It was a good feeling to show the officer the receipt! He gave me back the ownership for the car and I quickly walked out to get moving. Although the knees were still knocking from the experience, April made me drive the short distance to the Nehemiah Center.
I still can't believe it all happened, but that is how I almost ended up in a Nicaraguan jail!
At around 2:30pm today I was pulled over for a routine check only to have it exposed that I was driving without a licence on me. Not only did I not have my Canadian licence I did not have any identification, such as a passport. There were five police officers at this certain checkpoint, and nothing seemed out of sorts at first. The officer was not happy to find that I was without identification but he neither seemed all that upset. He asked where I was from and seemed interested and intrigued that I was from Canada and lived close to Toronto. It wasn't until he called over another officer, the English speaking one (well he spoke English as much as I speak Spanish), that I was asked to pull the car completely off the road, turn it off, and accompany the officer into the road-side station. I can officially say that this is when the old knees started clacking together.
All the while April has a small grin on her face thinking this will be a good experience to blog about – a real run in with the law, not just being pulled over because you crossed a line that was there 2 years ago. This was going to be a good one.
The room which I was brought into was small and contained only an old desk and a chair which had cardboard for cushions. I was asked if I spoke any Spanish, to which I answered, “si, pero solo un poco”, to which the officer said he would then try to continue in English. It was there in that little office at that moment when I heard him say “We are going to have to bring you downtown, where you will wait in prison. Your car will be held until you can be properly charged for driving without a licence, to which you will have to also pay the fine of 1000 cordobas” ($50.00 american dollars). Okay, so the knees were shaking before and now came the cold sweats – this is something when it’s a blasting 35 degrees Celsius outside. I tried to plead my case, playing all the cards at my disposal – the tourist, the first time offender, the volunteer, the missionary, everything!
Meanwhile, April is outside sitting in the car watching other cars and trucks being pulled over (by now she had turned the car back on so she could have a/c in the blasting sunshine). She is calling Steve to tell him what is happening and if he could find Kevin’s wallet.
He looked at me and smiled a little, but said that he couldn't just let me go, there needed to be something done. I asked if there were any other options to avoid being hauled away in handcuffs. Someone could bring my licence...he could have my wife’s licence...my boss could come and reason with him in Spanish. The inevitable answer came back that I could “pay” $20 for the ticket right there on the spot, he would let me go and this whole fiasco would disappear. The officer said it was the only way he could help me out. (In case you didn't pick it out – this cop was asking for a bribe. A very, very, very common experience with Nicaraguan police.)
Now, I knew to pay the bribe was the easiest way out and I admit it crossed my mind as I was starting pondering how nice those cells would be in the downtown station. I wasn't sure what to say back to him so I told him “I don't have any money officer, let me go talk to my wife”. He agreed and outside I went. April, to my surprise was actually laughing about the whole matter, not helping things for me (I do smile about it now though). She told me to stall as she had phoned Steve at the Nehemiah Centre, and he was coming along with someone to try and help out. Apparently, the police could in fact haul me to the downtown station and they could impound the car until I paid the fine.
So we stalled and I went back in to explain that my wife didn't have any money either. The officer was not happy to that news, but said we could go to the bank up the road to get money if we wanted. I said that we had no bank card and asked what else could be done. By now he had enough of the small talk and started to fill out the paper work needed to document what had happened. As soon as he started to write my name down in came Iskra (Nehemiah Centre employee and friend).
It was a big relief to see her, yet we weren't out of the woods yet. The officer now seemed embarrassed that he was being tested by another person. He put up quite the fuss with Iskra as she tried to persuade him to drop the pending charges. Because she was a Nica and could communicate with him in Spanish, more options became available to me. It wasn't until the final attempt (after about 5 minutes – felt like forever) that the officer agreed to lessen the charge and fine. Truly a blessing from God; and to quote Iskra, “Only by God's Grace”. I still received a fine for a whopping 100 cordobas ($5.00 American), to which I still have no idea what the charge was for.
Eagerly I jumped into Steve’s car and he drove me to the bank while Iskra and April waited with the car. I went inside to pay the ticket (as all tickets and bills in Nicaragua are paid at the bank) and walked back the short way to the road-side police building. It was a good feeling to show the officer the receipt! He gave me back the ownership for the car and I quickly walked out to get moving. Although the knees were still knocking from the experience, April made me drive the short distance to the Nehemiah Center.
I still can't believe it all happened, but that is how I almost ended up in a Nicaraguan jail!
