Interpretation

Cultural cues are important- how people express pleasure, disagreement, etc. And I know I need to be observant and not assume the meaning I perceive is the meaning they intend. I'm OK at that in the situations I normally come across. But last night I seriously misinterpreted a policeman, and then his backup, and then their backup...

At night in Nairobi, there are police checkpoints all over the place- traffic is narrowed to one lane using tire-puncturing spikes, and there are policemen around on foot, sometimes shining flashlights. I've never been told the purpose of these checkpoints, but a coworker had said, "Don't make eye contact and just keep driving if at all possible. And if you do get stopped, take off your watches and hide your electronics and your wallets. Don't look wealthy." And that was all the instruction I had on the subject. So I've never stopped at one. But I should have known better than to listen to only one source of information.

Last night I was driving on the far side of town with my friend Jeannie Heacock and her sister Jerri. Jerri and her husband are missionaries in rural Kenya, and Jeannie was a coworker in Los Alamos who just retired. Both sisters are sweet and smart white haired ladies who can be depended on. They were riding with me to give me directions to the Methodist Guest House, where lay the green chile Jeannie had generously brought me from New Mexico. =)

A police check clogged the road, and a policeman moved his flashlight. Was it a "pull over" or a "keep moving" indicator? I don't know the difference, so I chose the latter. I apparently misinterpreted. He whacked the back of my car. I misinterpreted again- he was frustrated, but what does that mean to me? I kept driving. He whistled. That means nothing. Another policeman whacks my car. What is going on here?! I want to get away from this! Keep driving! A third whack- good thing my car is already dented! Now they're yelling- that I can interpret- words of displeasure, telling me to stop. So I pull over where there's space down the road.

There are 3 big policemen, still yelling, and their first phrase upon arrival to the car is, "ARE YOU CRIMINALS?" (Yes, the three of us frail missionary women. Hardened criminals). All of us are talking at once. They won't come over to the driver's side of the car. They take my license and inspect my vehicle stickers. They are clearly working to intimidate us- automatic weapons in full view, towering over the car, continuing to tell us what "we" were doing wrong (it was just me- don't yell at them!). I remember my friend Brenton saying that often, if you can just keep talking, things will work out. But I knew a 3 on 3 conversation wouldn't be effective. So I asked if I could get out of the car and went over to them very humbly, saying to Jeannie, "Don't talk. Just pray." I thought maybe Jerri could help me since she's lived here longer, but they wouldn't let her out of the back seat.

And they told me, "You are in contempt! You must go to court! And you must pay 10,000 shillings! (almost $200) Why did you do that! What were you doing! It is good you do not have tinted windows- if you did, we would think you were a criminal trying to escape and we would spray the car with bullets!" I explained I was new to Kenya (true), I was very sorry (true), that I don't live around here (true), that I don't often drive at night (true), that I didn't understand the flashlight signals (true). And I did it very sweetly (mostly true).

Jeannie and Jerri were praying like mad in the car. It worked; I was given understanding of the situation that I wouldn't normally have. I don't often interact with groups of Kenyan men. There were three of them- one was pushing especially hard, speaking roughly, and kept shifting his weapon. But I could see from how he looked for approval from other two that he was the lowest rank. The second guy seemed pretty neutral and kept asking me if I understood. I replied honestly that I didn't; please teach me. The one with the most impressive insignia was the one saying the least and looking the kindest. How I could see all this in the dark is a mystery... I could also see that things went best when I let them have all the power- when I apologized and put myself in the position of a learner. So I kept doing that, and repeated back what they were teaching me about flashlight signals and the purpose of checkpoints. I don't know how long this went on. It seemed like forever, but I just kept relating and letting them feel successful in their intimidation. Then they asked for money; I told them I didn't have it. They asked again; I repeated that I didn't have cash. They asked again; I humbly responded that I was a teacher, that even though my skin was white, I didn't have much money. The second man said, "It has nothing to do with your skin color. It is that you did wrong." I responded, "I am sorry. I did not mean to do wrong. I came here to do right, not wrong. These women are missionaries and volunteers. They also came to do right, not wrong. Please." I could see at that point that each one wanted to let me off, but no one could afford to lose face in front of the others.

So I cried. It was honest- I definitely felt like crying. But I could also see that it gave each one a way to let me go without looking too lenient. I was clearly chastised and not a criminal. I got back in the car, shaking but holding it together. I _hate_ being in trouble. We drove a few blocks and arrived at the guest house. I came in to receive the green chile, get directions home, and calm down a bit. I sat on Jeannie's bed and cried and cried while she rubbed my back and told me I had done well. I'm so glad she was there. She has prayed for me in crisis before- back in Los Alamos when I had my first kidney stone, she was the one who found me drifting in and out of consciousness on the girls' bathroom floor. She prayed then, and things turned out. She prayed now, and things turned out. I'm grateful for her.

The night's trauma was not complete- I misinterpreted the directions home and ended up in a sketchy area of town by myself, lost and vulnerable... But Jerri's husband Bill was able to help me get unlost via cell phone, and he made encouraging small talk about road conditions under various Kenyan presidents until I knew where I was again.

It's probably inevitable that I would need to learn police cultural cues at some point. Hopefully I'll be more knowledgeable and appropriately compliant at checkpoints in the future. And all said, a few more dents on the car and a few tears shed is not a big deal. No fee, no court date, and a lesson learned in power dynamics. But I do hope the rest of weekend requires less... interpretation.