Police Here and There

Police in the States: I don't mess with them.

Police here: I may mess with them a bit. {In a respectful way, of course.}

Why? Because there is a lot of room for negotiation here. I adapt well to this part of Eastern culture.

The other day, I could not find a parking spot. I had to run into a shop to buy two items. So, I decided to park right in front of the police hut on a major intersection in town. Of course, the police guy came out and said I couldn't park there. I smiled and said:

"Ya know what? I just have to run into that grocery store right there and grab two things. Can you be so kind and watch my car for me while I'm in there? Come and get me if you need me to move my car. And, while I'm in there can I get something for you?"

He smiled big and away I went to get my shopping done.

And these friendly military police are always happy to pose with a cute little boy who finds them fascinating.

Car accidents are another 'flexible' area. A friend wrote about our most memorable car accident here. I recently hit another non-moving vehicle. {moving vehicles are too hard to hit!}

Poor Prius

Right after I hit the guy {just so you know, I was driving under the influence of 'I have not had my morning coffee yet', it was just too early} he jumped out and exclaimed:

Praise God, You Arrived Safely

I gave him the same response and said I was so sorry. He replied that it was no big deal because nothing really happened to his car. {it was my car that got junked up}

I asked him if he wanted me to call the police.

He looked at me like I was on drugs and said:

What will they do?

I don't know. I could have asked them to bring me some coffee...and I think they would have!

Tight Security

Part of living in the Middle East involves getting used to security check points everywhere.
The highway. The grocery store. The hotels. The beach club. The airport. The school.
Today, I was a little surprised by some heightened security.
I was driving toward the airport and came up to one of the normal check points. The road was barricaded and traffic was forced to file through to the other side (wrong way) of the road. I wondered what was going on. Should I be concerned? Are they looking for someone, something? Did someone try to zoom through the check point? My mind had fun.
I slowly wound around all the barricades. As I rounded the corner the heightened security measures became very obvious to me.
The two guards were involved in an intense backgammon game. They had set their board up on the sidewalk on one side of the check point hut, then forced all the cars through to that one side so they didn't have to go back and forth and disrupt their game. Smart guys.

Crime: A Working Definition

On any given day, I usually feel safer and more secure than I did on any given day living in the States. In the States I was always waiting to get robbed at an ATM, mugged in a dark parking lot, or walk into my dark house to find an intruder. I don't usually have a dooms day personality. That was just how I felt in the States. And we lived in a pretty 'safe' town!

I move to the Middle East (mental image: wars, terrorists, bombs) and I feel safer. Go figure.

Here are some reasons why:

We have some friends who live on a very busy road in town. The lock on their front door has been broken since Christmas. They have not been very motivated to fix it. Why? Because break-in crimes are quite rare. But they are considering hiring an armed guard to sit in their backyard. Their mango tree is fuller than ever this year and EVERY YEAR someone comes into their yard in the middle of the night and picks the whole tree bare, right when they have become perfectly ripe. There are enough mangoes on that tree (given the market price) to buy two flat screen tv's. When money really does grow on trees it is worth protecting!


Another example:

I do a lot of the banking for my husbands business. I am usually walking into the bank with thousands of dinars in cash. We live in a very cash based society! The guy next to me in line usually has a ziploc or suitcase full of cash. The guy in front of me is usually taking out thousands of dinars in cash, putting it into his bag and walking right out onto the street - with cash in view. No one seems alarmed by this...so I don't either. BUT, back at home, we ALWAYS lock up the kids soccer ball on the porch. That thing would 'walk away' faster than you could say 'LOOK I HAVE THOUSANDS OF DINAR IN CASH RIGHT HERE!!'



And a final example.

Getting pulled over is a pretty common occurrence around here. Especially on the highway. There are a lot of check points, speed traps, etc. etc. When we brought our car from the States, we were able to drive around on the Michigan plates for 9 months.
Here was the problem: in Michigan, we were only required to have a license plate on the back of the car. In Jordan, you have to have plates on the front and the back. We got pulled over ALL THE TIME.
Solution: My smart hubby took the back plate off, took it to the print shop, made a color copy, laminated it, and stuck it on the front of the car. HA! Never got pulled over again (well, at least for that problem).
Once again proving that criminal activity is defined a bit differently in different cultures.

I Married a What?

Some people get married only to discover their spouse...

snores.

eats weird food.

smells funny.

doesn't put their dirty cloths in the basket.

That didn't happen to me. I didn't have any real big surprises after I got married. I guess I married a really nice, normal guy.

Then, one day that all changed.

It is tragic really.

I had just loaded my sweet baby girl up in my new (brought from America) four wheel drive (make that three), all terrain stroller. I was so excited to go for a walk with her and our new stroller. The sidewalks in this country are not for sissy strollers.


We had made it quite a few blocks away when I received a phone call from my nice, normal husband.

"Honey, I just got pulled over. The officer took my license and is taking me to the police station."

Oh, and he had our son with him.

It was a long walk home as thoughts rushed through my head about this new twist to our day. Of course, the first thing I thought of was what I would pack in our eight allowed suitcases for our deportation. How much hummus and filafel could I actually fit in a suitcase?

I arrived home and waited and waited.

Finally, I hear from my hubby. This is how the story goes:

He was going down a one-way street backwards in our neighborhood. The same one we go backwards down (along with everyone else in the neighborhood) every day to get to the local filafel stand. A policeman sees him and waves. Hubby waves back and smiles. Nice guy. The policeman does a quick turn around and turns his lights on and follows behind hubby (also backwards down the one-way street). Hubby pulls over.


Now we never really know what to do when we get pulled over (which is a pretty normal occurrence). Do we speak in Arabic and fear saying the entirely wrong thing that incriminates us? OR Do we speak English and get totally misunderstood and therefore 'say' something that incriminates us?

Hubby chose the later that day. Typical questions were asked.

Who are you?

Where are you from?

Why are you here?

Where is your paperwork?

No mention of going the wrong way down a street.

The officer takes hubby's license and drives away. Hubby assumes he must follow. So he does. Remember, little son is still sitting in the car. His eyes as big as half dinars by now.

Hubby has enough wits about him to call the lawyer we work with. Hubby assumes the officer is headed to the police station across town, and thankfully the lawyer is close by and plans to meet them there.

Hubby arrives at the police station and is 'brought' in (along with wide-eyed son) to the station. Still no mention of what violation has occurred. They are seated next to the jail cell. Wide-eyed son says really loud.

"Dad, are we going to have to go IN there? You REALLY should not have driven the wrong way down that street!"

Hubby is thankful not many people understand little boy English.

Police officer starts to write a very large report. Lawyer arrives and reads report. Lawyer argues and explains and laughs and smooths things over. Lawyer escorts hubby and son out of police station and says:

"He was going to deport you for defaming the King."

Hubby stands amazed and wonders what in the world he said that communicated that.

Hubby drives home with wide-eyed son and a grand story.



It is true: I married a criminal.