Ace in a Deck
Joker is my name, song and dance is my game. I twirl and chirp to bureaucrats' delight, and they grant me passes, demonstrating their might.
Usually being the most communicative (ok, talkative) of the three, I end up doing the talking, or, as we call it "our song and dance". Be it for the department of National parks or the traffic police, I give an improvised standup performance on demand. Almost all of the various wildlife ministries of the African countries we've visited have had surprisingly delightful officials who responded very well to my "We are three, but we hate to overwhelm, so we've sent the smallest one of us" (insert big smile here) tactic. But on our way out of Mozambique, traffic cops, greedy and spoiled by bribes from South African tourists, required a new and improved performance.
Vova had successfully avoided ninety nine percent of road blockades. According to him, "if there are no weapons in sight, there is no reason to stop." But a few policemen did actually bother standing in the middle of the road blinding us with spotlights, so we didn't risk running them over and had to stop. The cops didnn't even bother disguising their attempts to pick on something to fine us for. They stopped the car as if for an inspection, but didn't even bother looking for drugs or weapons. Seeing I didn't have my seatbelt on, one policeman skipped with joy (no joke) and pointed to me with unhidden delight in his eyes: "Aha! I fine you!" After driving all day and most of the night, I was in the mood for entertainment, so instead of performing a drama, I chose physical comedy. This was especially appropriate and amusing: we made the officer understand that we spoke neither Portuguese nor English, only Russian. Leaving Shurik and Vova in the car, I blabbed about everything that came to mind, trying not to burst out laughing watching the policeman's confused face. I took him on a tour of the car, showing him our wheels and telling him how we had a flat in Zambia, accompanying the rhetoric with comic sounds, but the man had patience. Whenever he got a chance to slide in a word or two, which was difficult, he kept explaining my wrongdoing and demanding 4000 rand (about $400) to let me go. I made sure he understood I understood nothing. Finally I managed to break his stern exterior with a flamboyant pantomime act demonstrating the absence of firearms among our camping equipment in the trunk which looked like a war zone. The words "no bum-bum" have brought all men, both inside the car and out, to tears, but only the cop was literally jumping with frustration. It was hopeless. He had to let us go.
Usually being the most communicative (ok, talkative) of the three, I end up doing the talking, or, as we call it "our song and dance". Be it for the department of National parks or the traffic police, I give an improvised standup performance on demand. Almost all of the various wildlife ministries of the African countries we've visited have had surprisingly delightful officials who responded very well to my "We are three, but we hate to overwhelm, so we've sent the smallest one of us" (insert big smile here) tactic. But on our way out of Mozambique, traffic cops, greedy and spoiled by bribes from South African tourists, required a new and improved performance.
Vova had successfully avoided ninety nine percent of road blockades. According to him, "if there are no weapons in sight, there is no reason to stop." But a few policemen did actually bother standing in the middle of the road blinding us with spotlights, so we didn't risk running them over and had to stop. The cops didnn't even bother disguising their attempts to pick on something to fine us for. They stopped the car as if for an inspection, but didn't even bother looking for drugs or weapons. Seeing I didn't have my seatbelt on, one policeman skipped with joy (no joke) and pointed to me with unhidden delight in his eyes: "Aha! I fine you!" After driving all day and most of the night, I was in the mood for entertainment, so instead of performing a drama, I chose physical comedy. This was especially appropriate and amusing: we made the officer understand that we spoke neither Portuguese nor English, only Russian. Leaving Shurik and Vova in the car, I blabbed about everything that came to mind, trying not to burst out laughing watching the policeman's confused face. I took him on a tour of the car, showing him our wheels and telling him how we had a flat in Zambia, accompanying the rhetoric with comic sounds, but the man had patience. Whenever he got a chance to slide in a word or two, which was difficult, he kept explaining my wrongdoing and demanding 4000 rand (about $400) to let me go. I made sure he understood I understood nothing. Finally I managed to break his stern exterior with a flamboyant pantomime act demonstrating the absence of firearms among our camping equipment in the trunk which looked like a war zone. The words "no bum-bum" have brought all men, both inside the car and out, to tears, but only the cop was literally jumping with frustration. It was hopeless. He had to let us go.