A police "welcome" in Jinja

“So sorry. We didn’t know. There were no signs. You need to put up signs.” – Me to the police.

Luke and I ventured into Jinja on Monday, leaving Kampala early in the morning. After about an hour and a half in the cramped taxi, we reached the outskirts of Jinja. Not having our bearing about us yet, we accidently crossed to the other side of the dam, actually needing to be on the Western side. Stopping the taxi, the driver continued on leaving us to walk back across the bridge. We weren’t worried about the extra walk; Luke wanted to take a few pictures of the birds in the water anyway. Pelicans and other water foul were enjoying the morning sun, and even I gave in to the temptation to take a few photos. But, we were so caught up in our photo-taking that we didn’t notice the gentleman in army fatigues approach. He sure didn’t look happy…

Despite the limited amount of Luganda we knew, and his limited amount of English, it was not hard to realize that we had done something wrong. He eyed Luke’s camera with undisguised interest, and I quickly stowed mine away. It seemed as though he wanted a payment of sorts, and I’m sure he would have gladly taken Luke’s camera off his hands. I told him I would not give him any money but that we would go with him as he was strongly suggesting. Nevermind his brusqueness, the gun at his side was enough to convince us to obey.

Was I afraid? Not really…but I was angry! As we walked, I was praying for God’s help, but also that my anger wouldn’t make our problem worse. I just wasn’t about to be taken advantage of because of my white skin.

I asked where we were going. “UPDF”, he said. The unmarked semblance of huts on the other side of the bridge turned out to be the police barracks. Luke and I were told to sit on the benches in an open hut to our left. I said something about not wanting to be late for our appointment, but then decided it best to be quiet and cooperative.

Over the next ten minutes or so, a few other officers joined us in the hut. The original officer that had found us out on the bridge explained to the others in Luganda why he had brought us there, but Luke and I were still having trouble figuring out what we had done wrong. The air was tense.

The bridge…the birds…the photos… it was becoming clear. We were told that one is not allowed to take photos of the bridge or from the bridge without previous permission. We, of course, were unable to provide the appropriate paperwork showing permission granted. I said, “Fine. I will delete the photos then. Here, come watch. Delete, delete, delete…” To be honest, in that moment the photos were tainted anyway, and I did not consider losing them much of a loss. A few of the officers watched over my shoulder as I deleted each photo I had taken from the bridge. Luke followed suit, although less willingly, he told me later; he really liked the shots he’d taken.

Even with the pictures now gone, we weren’t sure if this was enough to appease them. All the while I kept thinking...Alright, I deleted the photos, but I am not going to pay a fine. “So sorry. We didn’t know. There were no signs. You need to put up signs.” My anger had softened and I now concentrated on showing a truly apologetic spirit. I also stressed the lack of signage because in my mind that made it impossible for them to fine us; how could we know we were breaking the law if we were not informed?

Thankfully, they seemed relieved with the removal of the photos, but the one who spoke the best English next asked for our passports. I produced a copy of mine while Luke pulled out his Driver’s license. They were satisfied once again. Then, with no further fuss, we were allowed to leave. This was so sudden that I almost believed the last ten minutes to be just a bad dream. Not needing to be prodded, Luke and I hurriedly left the compound without looking back. (We were later told that they didn’t really have the right to ask for our passports and were actually looking for another reason for which to extract money from us, that is if we couldn’t produce ID.)

I really think it was a miracle that we came away from that experience with both of our cameras and all of our money still in our possession. And, although our “welcome” to Jinja and the show of Uganda’s corruption was very unsettling, we were able to laugh about this incident just a short while later. I’m thankful that God had our backs, and that he enabled me to have patience and courage (stubbornness?) in this situation.

(I could write a blog almost this long about the adventure with the taxi on the way back to Kampala, but I think one story about the unavoidable drama and unfortunate corruption in Uganda is enough for today. Just know that a muzungu (white person) really has to be on their toes here. I am learning that, when it doubt, look to see what the Africans are doing. If they are refusing to get off the taxi before reaching the taxi park, then I will too. Another great story you will have to ask me about when I get home. This one made all on the taxi laugh…except for the crooked taxi driver and conductor, of course. :) )