The other day we were walking into town with our friends Theo and Nelleke. At the T junction where the Accra road meets the main Ho high street – known as “Civic” – a huge, ancient articulated truck had somehow managed to overturn, spilling its load of hardboard and blocking traffic in all directions. Quite a spectacle!
Another lorry had arrived and a gang of young workers, sweating profusely in the midday sun, were transferring the spoilt loa
d to the new vehicle. They were keen to pose and asked me to take photos – showing off and joking. After a few snaps I walked around to the other side of the overturned lorry as the others walked on, needless to say fascinated by the huge lifeless wheels, poking in the air.
I was just focusing when two policemen shouted – stop – come here – are you a journalist – do you have permission to take photographs – you should have asked us – sit down – you are under arrest – we are taking you to the police station. I am bemused, a little overwhelmed by the quick fire orders – all a bit surreal but sit down and keep a smile on my face – plead innocence. I explain that the workers had asked me to take photos – it is not against the law to take photos etc –my inner voice telling me to stay calm, but it cuts no ice.
The smaller of the two coppers, bloodshot eyes, mean looking in camouflage fatigues – really not very pleasant at all – keeps drilling me. He seems determined to take me to the station, muttering that he should confiscate my camera. It is all getting a little weird now and it begins to dawn on me that maybe they are serious and at the very least this is going to involve some cash. By now the others have tweaked what’s going on and Kiran arrives and begins to plead my case. How can you arrest my husband – I will be alone – she begins to build a bridge with the younger, junior officer.
Then Nelleke notices his name badge – he is called Evanz – an unusual name, which he claims to be Dutch. Ah ha, we are Dutch too, handshakes and greetings – a new conversation begins. His first name in Grunski – that really does seem to be beyond the realms of probability – Evanz Grunski. No matter – the ice is broken now. While Alex, the older, mean cop grimaces and makes angry grunt like noises, Grunski loosens up – soon we are all the best of friends – or at least Kiran, Theo and Nelleke are all getting on famously with Grunski.
We have won. Now it is a matter of time – I will go free – no dash. We exchange ewe greetings. I am to be let off this time. I am even invited by Grunski to take pictures – I decline. Finally after more endless handshakes, Grunski tells me about a visit to Scotland. A similar experience – being asked by locals what he is up to. I remind him though that he wears a uniform. We smile – one final handshake and a high five. I escape and catch up with the others, hoping that we do not come across Alex again somewhere down the road and wondering if I am dreaming. Grunski Evanz indeed!
Another lorry had arrived and a gang of young workers, sweating profusely in the midday sun, were transferring the spoilt loa
d to the new vehicle. They were keen to pose and asked me to take photos – showing off and joking. After a few snaps I walked around to the other side of the overturned lorry as the others walked on, needless to say fascinated by the huge lifeless wheels, poking in the air.I was just focusing when two policemen shouted – stop – come here – are you a journalist – do you have permission to take photographs – you should have asked us – sit down – you are under arrest – we are taking you to the police station. I am bemused, a little overwhelmed by the quick fire orders – all a bit surreal but sit down and keep a smile on my face – plead innocence. I explain that the workers had asked me to take photos – it is not against the law to take photos etc –my inner voice telling me to stay calm, but it cuts no ice.
The smaller of the two coppers, bloodshot eyes, mean looking in camouflage fatigues – really not very pleasant at all – keeps drilling me. He seems determined to take me to the station, muttering that he should confiscate my camera. It is all getting a little weird now and it begins to dawn on me that maybe they are serious and at the very least this is going to involve some cash. By now the others have tweaked what’s going on and Kiran arrives and begins to plead my case. How can you arrest my husband – I will be alone – she begins to build a bridge with the younger, junior officer.
Then Nelleke notices his name badge – he is called Evanz – an unusual name, which he claims to be Dutch. Ah ha, we are Dutch too, handshakes and greetings – a new conversation begins. His first name in Grunski – that really does seem to be beyond the realms of probability – Evanz Grunski. No matter – the ice is broken now. While Alex, the older, mean cop grimaces and makes angry grunt like noises, Grunski loosens up – soon we are all the best of friends – or at least Kiran, Theo and Nelleke are all getting on famously with Grunski.
We have won. Now it is a matter of time – I will go free – no dash. We exchange ewe greetings. I am to be let off this time. I am even invited by Grunski to take pictures – I decline. Finally after more endless handshakes, Grunski tells me about a visit to Scotland. A similar experience – being asked by locals what he is up to. I remind him though that he wears a uniform. We smile – one final handshake and a high five. I escape and catch up with the others, hoping that we do not come across Alex again somewhere down the road and wondering if I am dreaming. Grunski Evanz indeed!
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