This year’s return includes the drive from the Masai Mara to Nairobi (5 hours), stay overnight in Nairobi with Munir and family, then drive to Mpala Research center to drop of the car (4 hours), take a taxi back to Nairobi (4 hours), fly from Nairobi to London (8 hours), fly from London to Newark (9hours), then drive from Newark to spend a few days in Boston with Kevin (5 hours). This may sound back but compared to last year where I had to fly from Mfuwe to Lusaka (in Zambia), stay overnight in Lusaka, then fly to Nairobi thru Dar (stay overnight in Nairobi), then fly from Nairobi to London (with 9 hour layover) then from London to Newark – it was actually much worse - nonetheless a lot more driving this year. The drive out of the Mara was uneventful. But I have only driven to Mpala once before and had rather minimal directions, so I knew it would be interesting and I left time for getting lost. Also unlike the drive from the Mara, I would be going it alone to Mpala.
I left early and was enjoying the countryside and the lack of turns, when I arrived at a police break. These are common as you might recall from my earlier blog about the one I got stopped at with Munir. For most of the summer, my attitude towards these has been to not make eye contact with the police, but not to pass too quickly. I had even commented (to one of the passengers from the Mara to Nairobi drive) that when the police wave for cars to stop I try not to pay much attention as I would rather claim negligence than get stopped and have to deal with the corruption. But this time the officer didn’t just wave the cars over, he stood in the middle of the road and he very clearly motioned for me to stop. Here we go, I thought.
I rolled down the window and smiled. “You were speeding. There will be a fine,” he said looking authoritative. “I was going the same speed as everyone else,” I said. In fact, I had been going slower than everyone else as matatus and crazy Toyota corolla drivers had zipped passed me several times. “That is why we pulled over three cars,” he replied pointing at those pulled over in front of me. “Well, no signs post the speed limit. What is it?” I asked. “110 kph,” he spoke confidently. I looked at him, surprised. I have seen my car go 120 kph once with Wilson driving on our trip to Naivasha. I have difficulty getting it over 100 kph (haven’t really figured out the acceleration thing with a stick shift, especially when there are hills). I knew for a fact I hadn’t gone over 110 the whole ride – not even sure if I could. He decided to beef up his argument before I could respond. “We have a machine down the road that tells us your speed,” he said. This aught to be good I thought, it’s like one of those games at a carnival – guess your age or your weight for five bucks. I wondered what speed he would choose. “You were going 6 kph over the limit,” he speculated. This is ridiculous. “That’s interesting,” I said. “This car can’t go over 100 kph unless I am going downhill. It is an old car you see,” I told him. His face sunk and I could see the defeat in it. I had been careful to avoid mentioning the fine and I felt assured I could get away without paying his bribe now. He started asking more random questions – where was I going, what were my plans for the day. I told him I was leaving the country today (which was true) and didn’t have any more money (in fact only enough for the taxi back). I think he realized I hadn’t just come off the boat – I had played these games before and wasn’t about to lose on my last day here. His mannerisms had changed. “You should give me something,” he said. I pictured the children that sometimes ran alongside the car. “Give me, give me” they would shout. The cop had gone from an authority with a “legitimate” claim to a simple beggar and the truth behind the ugly process revealed. It wasn’t a fine, it was a bribe he wanted and just like the children, I wouldn’t be giving anything just now. “I have a long drive and I need to go,” I said. He pulled his hand away from the window and I rolled it up and drove away.
The rest of the drive was more as I expected. I got lost three times, arrived to find no taxi waiting, and then waited for an hour at Mpala for a driver to come so I could do the whole journey over again and in reverse.