Peace Corps is very particular about what we write on our blogs. Since we are representatives of the United States government our freedom of speech is limited. Basically we can’t say anything extremely negative about the country we are placed in. So I am going to choose my words carefully so that I don’t get in trouble. I am simply going to recount the details of what happened today and if my loyal readers interpret facts as indicating government corruption, etc. that is not my fault or intention. There are some parallels to America, so this entry is just to let you learn more about my experience living here.
Today, my friend Peter and I went to town to buy some groceries. When we left the store and turned onto the main road, a police officer stopped us and told us to pull over, so we did. The road was pretty empty, but that is common on a Sunday evening, especially when it is raining. Little did we know, the Vice President was in Mbeya and we had turned on his route. Of course there were no signs, no cones, no excessive number of police officers, or anything to indicate that an important political leader was nearby. We made an honest mistake. But the police officer claimed that we were interrupting a government route and possibly planning to overthrow the government, so police made us go to the police station after the Vice President had passed. I still don’t fully understand what we did wrong. I can’t even imagine a similar situation occurring in America. It is painstakingly obvious when the President or Vice President is in town.
When we arrived at the police station there was a daladala (small bus) driver who had also made the mistake of turning on the main road while the Vice President was nearby. He was in handcuffs and the police said that he was trying to assassinate the Vice President and overthrow the government. Although they found no weapons on the man, and he maintained that he just made an honest mistake, the police officers threw him on the ground (in handcuffs) and took turns beating him. Some used their clubs, while other police officers preferred to kick him in the face and abdomen with their boots. There were about ten officers and they each took their turn. This happened in the middle of the police station right at the front desk where Peter and I were waiting. Watching this man be brutally beaten by police for making a wrong turn was difficult and hearing his screams was too much for me to bear. Even though it was raining, I ran outside, stood by a tree, and cried. I know that this happens to Black men in America far more often than I would like to admit, but my mind can understand it better because of the prevalence of racism, prejudice, and stereotyping in America. But in Tanzania, everyone is black. And I just couldn’t watch a man who looks exactly like the police officers being beaten for what I perceived as a minor offense. Excessive police brutality is something that I cannot easily stomach.
Meanwhile, Peter is talking to the police officers about his crime. They said they wanted to beat him like the dala dala driver, but luckily Peter has a lot of friends at the police station and an uncle who works closely with the President of Tanzania, so he was spared physical punishment. After a lot of police harassment and intimidation, there was a lot talking and negotiation. After an hour, they let us pay a fine and leave. I should also note that the fine was much more than most Tanzanians could afford to pay and I am not sure what happened to the dala dala driver. As we walked back to Peter’s car I could still hear him screaming in agony. Warm tears streamed down my face as we drove away.
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