Friday night, or should I say Saturday morning, I was driving home, tired, after a night out drinking and dancing with friends when I came upon a traffic police roadblock slightly beyond KBC. 

If you’ve been drinking too much, a traffic police checkpoint is the scariest sight in the world and with good reason. Rwanda has some of the toughest drink-driving laws I’ve ever encountered; spending a day or two in prison and then paying a huge fine is a punishment you’ll expect to receive.

I knew that, and I’d been drinking quite moderately. So, when I saw the roadblock, I didn’t have the jitters.

When I was stopped I cheerfully greeted the police officer and waited for instructions

 "Give me your papers”, he demanded. "Which ones? I asked insurance? vehicle registration or permit”?

"Your permit”. I gave it to him smiling but obviously I had done something to rub him the wrong way. Maybe it was the car radio that I refused to totally switch off. "Are you drunk”, he asked.

 "No”. "Yes you are”. "Prove it”. He ordered me to get out of my car and follow him towards a group of his colleagues. One of them, who looked like he’d had a bit too much to drink, in my unprofessional opinion, didn’t like my entire demeanour, especially when I insisted on speaking to them in English.

Of course you can say I was provoking them by not speaking Kinyarwanda, but anyone who has heard me speak it can attest to the fact that I’m better off not attempting it.

Funny enough, the rude officer, who kept insisting that "this is not London”, was not wearing a uniform.

The group of officers, maybe four or five, kept attempting to get me to admit that I was drunk while I kept insisting that they employ a breathalyzer.

Seeing that I was sticking to my guns (and citing our law on official languages) Mr. Un-uniformed Officer asked, "are you a lawyer”? I certainly wasn’t going to tell him I was not, so I said yes.

They pulled me aside and unleashed the dreaded breathalyzer.  I cheerfully took a deep breath and blew hard into the contraction.

It beeped and then a few seconds later showed its reading.  The officer who was administering the test asked me to blow into it once more.

I did so. But something was wrong; they didn’t look too happy. My blood alcohol level was still very low.  They gave me back my driving permit and bade me adieu. But they didn’t look too happy.

Actually, to be honest, they looked like I had robbed them of good fun.

I can’t assume to know what they teach in traffic police training school about service, but I’m pretty sure that officers aren’t taught to think that a law abiding citizen is the bad guy.

In fact, I’m of the opinion that I should have had a lot better treatment because I wasn’t a menace to fellow drivers. But in all honesty, all I felt was open hostility.

Rwanda is touting itself as the service and ICT hub of Central Africa, but I must ask, how will this be possible when something as simple as common courtesy is lacking? When good, law-abiding behaviour is not rewarded by a smile and a wave?

Are we supposed to stay in our homes on weekends because we might be the victims of bullies?  We are celebrating ‘Traffic Week” and all the talk is about road safety and what not.

While it’s pertinent that the National Police asks us to be responsible, I feel that they must also treat us, with respect and courtesy. A smile wouldn’t kill you dear officers.

sunny_ntayombya@hotmail.com
Twitter: @sannykigali
Blog: sunnyntayombya.wordpress.com