Eliana and I started our day with yet another bath, packed up our belongings, and enjoyed breakfast in the hotel’s restaurant. Eliana took delight in ordering her grown up Americana breakfast with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and hot tea. I enjoyed the Nicaragüense, which consisted of gallo pinto (pronounced guy-oh peen-toh, meaning “painted rooster,” a traditional Nicaraguan dish of red beans and rice that can be eaten at any time in the day), scrambled eggs, and a cup of black coffee.
We organized our groceries on the floorboard in the second row of Slim Shady to make room in the very back for Fred’s luggage. We then headed toward the Agusto C. Sandino International Airport. After yesterday’s ordeal with the police officer, I was very careful to follow all road signs and not make any unnecessary turns or lane changes. I promised myself I would not, under any circumstance, make a U-Turn.
We made it to the airport in 30 minutes, and Fred was waiting outside for us with his luggage. Eliana opened the door and jumped out of the car to run out and give him a big hug and a kiss. As started to run she yelled back to me, “Hey! He didn’t cut his hair!” We had been thinking (hoping) that maybe he’d surprise us with a hair cut. Fingers crossed for next time. We exchanged hugs and kisses, quickly loaded in his luggage, and began our 2.5 hour drive home.
It’s no secret that the Managuan police can be ruthless. In fact, almost (maybe every) travel travel book of Nicaragua mentions how treacherous the roads can be and how sneaky the cops can be, and advocates that, unless absolutely necessary, travelers avoid driving themselves. It is highly recommended to hire a driver or take taxis. Without living here it can be difficult to understand why, so let me explain.
In the states the police officers drive around town, along the freeways, and in the cities. They park in parking lots, at intersections, and in hard to see places. When police officers notice a registration has expired, plates are stolen, a light is out, or that someone has done something illegal, they leave a ticket on a parked car or turn on their lights and pull a moving vehicle over. Once the officer has pulled over one car, every passing car that violates a law is off the hook. Additionally, police officers must have a reason to pull a driver over, they cannot legally pull someone over to check for documents hoping to bust the driver for something unseen. And under no circumstance, unless they want a huge lawsuit and headache, is a police officer to pull over a driver based on racial profiling. Yes, I know it happens, but that is not the point. Your interactions with a police officer are fairly predictable. There is a feeling that the officer is first and foremost watching out for everyone’s safety.
Here, however, officers stand on the side of the road in small groups and pull people over. When they see a driver do something illegal, they merely wave the driver to pull over and there are two other cops ready to pull over the next person. Additionally, the cops here make routine stops when the driver has done nothing wrong. They simply want to see all of your documents to make sure they are current (hoping that they are not). The officers want to see your registration, proof of mechanical inspection, proof of insurance, fire extinguisher, and hazard triangles. If one of these 5 items is expired or not in the car, they will issue an infraction (in-frac-see-own). If the officers can see a white person driving the car through un-tinted windows, the driver is more likely to be pulled over, because it’s a well known fact in this country that every white person is filthy rich and the officer will receive more bribe money. Securing surf boards attached to the top of your car is sure fire way guarantee being pulled over…multiple times. We know of one traveler who got pulled over 3 times on his way to the airport. This is precisely why all of our surf boards travel inside our car and all our windows are heavily tinted. There is a feeling that the officer is first and foremost watching out for his pocketbook.
There is a police stop roughly 1/4 mile past the airport, about 200 yards past a right turn lane with its own solid white painted (do not change lanes) line. Just after passing the right turn lane, being very careful to drive in a straight line and not make any unnecessary lane changes, a police officer waved me to pull over.
I’ve heard it’s better to pretend you don’t speak Spanish when pulled over by the Managuan police. They get frustrated realizing they are wasting their time with someone who doesn’t understand and who won’t pay, so they shoo you away hoping to replace you with a paying customer. But it went so smoothly and quickly yesterday, and it seemed so dishonest to pretend to only speak English, that I thought I’d have another go with the Spanish. What I did forget, however, was to empty my wallet of excess money. A rule of thumb is to only keep in your wallet what you are willing to loose…say $5-$10.
He asked for my documents and said nothing while he looked them over. He then asked to see my license. Knowing he might want to keep my license, I asked if there was a problem. “Yes, there’s a problem. You changed lanes.” I assured him I did not change lanes, but he insisted I did. “I drove ‘directo’. I told him. He turned to his right, pointed behind my car and said, “You changed lanes right there”. He wrote down my information on a clipboard filled with plain white paper. I suspected it was to make me think he was doing something important but that in reality he wasn’t really doing anything. The one time I saw someone issued a ticket the officer just filled out the ticket. There was no waiting around, talking about the situation, or recording of information elsewhere.
“Look,” I told him. I’ve driven a long way to be here, he (pointing to Fred) has traveled a long time, I would like to get him home and I have a long drive home. I did not change lanes, but I also want to go. Can I just pay you $10?” (Keep in mind most cops accept $3-$5.)
“$10?!” Chuckle, laugh, smirk, roll eyes and look to the sky. “Hah, that’s nothing.”
The officer and I spoke some more and Fred, apparently experiencing a momentary surge of testosterone, blurted out a sentence illustrating strong frustration, and the cop understood, if not the words exactly, then the meaning implied. The officer stopped talking to me and glared at Fred demanding in Spanish that he repeat what he said. I explained that Fred does not speak Spanish, but the officer was sure he spoke enough to understand what was going on (well duh, you pulled us over for no reason and are saying “infraction” over and over).
The cop walked over to Fred’s side of the car and commanded Fred roll down the window. “What did you say? I am a man of authority! You respect my power! I am arresting you and taking you to jail for disrespecting me.”
Excellent.
Now the cop has us exactly where he wants us. Did we originally break any laws? No. But did he find cause to extort money out of us? Yes. We practically asked him to open his hand so we could place it in there gift wrapped and all. “I can’t believe you just did that,” I said to Fred under my breath. I repeated that a few more times as the event proceeded.
The officer brushed Fred aside like an unwanted flea ridden Nica dog and came back to my side of the car. “OK, look,” he said. “I’m going to help you. I will not issue you an infraction and I will give you your license back. Instead I will take your brother to jail.”
To be honest, I didn’t really think he was going to take Fred to jail. But flashes of dealing with bail and seeing Fred behind bars did flash through my mind just the same. What frustrated me more, though, was how much longer it was going to take us to talk ourselves out of this ordeal compared to getting out of a fabricated infraction. Fred didn’t think they would take him in either, but, having just returned from the states and bringing back cash for us to live off of for the next three months, he was loaded with money. Some cash was still in his pocket, having not yet relocated it since we had only been in the car for less than 5 minutes. So that was the bigger concern. Not a ticket, not returning to Managua to retrieve my license, not jail, but locating money on his body and taking it. Because the more money they saw, the more money it would take for us to leave.
Thinking it was all a ploy to extract money out of me didn’t change my stress level or affect how frustrated I was. I’ve never said, “please” so many times in so few sentences in my life. Please, give me a ticket instead. Please, take my license. Please don’t take him to jail. Please, he’s never been here before, he’s tired, he was up all night traveling. I don’t want him to go back to the states and tell people about this. Please, I want him to like this country. Please, please, please.
Another officer walked by and I shouted out the window, “I did nothing wrong, I did not change lanes, please help me.” He continued to walk without looking my way.
“Look,” said the cop. “Your brother is not an educated man. An educated man respects a man of authority.” I wanted to retort, “Not where we come from. An educated man does not respect a thug disguised as a cop” but I knew that would go nowhere. Instead I assured him that my “brother” was actually quite well educated, it’s just that he’s never been pulled over for no reason and been threatened a ticket, and he’s tired. By this time I was pissed off and I knew he was waiting for a larger bribe, so I wasn’t worried about annoying him. If he was going to take Fred to jail, he would have already done it. But I did realize the cop wasn’t letting us go for just $10. He was going to demand as much as he could get and I would have little choice but to give in.
It finally came to the point of halelujah for the cop. The gringos wanted to get on their way. I was shocked to hear the words coming out of my mouth, as not only was this wrong, but I was reinforcing his scheme…”Here, just take all the money in my wallet.” I knew I didn’t have much, so I opened it up, pulled out a mixture of córdobas and dollars, adding up to about $25. I was so relieved that I didn’t have any more, but was equally disappointed I didn’t use the cash to buy an extra bag of Las Flores Coffee at PriceSmart the day before. Such a waste.
With eyebrows raised, a look of sympathy passes over the crooked cops face. He leans in through my window, his alcohol laced breath shocks me into understanding, and he says, “Open it up. I want to see inside. Show me your wallet is empty.”
You’ve got to be kidding me – but no – he was not kidding.
I opened up my wallet and was saddened to see another 10 córdobas nestled between two receipts and worse, a 500 córdoba bill ($22.50) hidden behind a picture. The cop smiled larger. I took a deep breath. I didn’t know they were there.
“I have a 2.5 hour drive ahead of me. If I give you all my money I will have nothing if I run into more problems. If I give you this 500 will you please give me back two 100 bills?”
In the cops only somewhat kind move, he gave me back two bills (each valuing $4.50), and then slowly slithered his left hand into my car, discretely rolled up the money, and pulled it back out of the car, being sure to not show anyone he had just gotten me to offer money under duress. He stole my money while disguising it as help.
The officer backed up, watched the oncoming traffic, and waved for me to pull away when it was clear. I rolled up my window, drove away, and said to Fred, “I was just robbed. By the police.”
Next time, because there will be a next time, My wallet will be empty and I will speak only English.