Amsterdam Capetown Overland

100m up the road we hit the immigration shack. Our passports were stamped out of the country with three huge stamps that covered a complete page. Wearing a Dutch furniture shop shirt, the officer handed back the passports and said, "You must pay 10,000CFA for the exit."

"No," we got up and walked out. Patrick started the Land Rover and I walked around to get in the passenger side. The immigration officer ran at the car screaming and tried to grab the keys from the ignition. "What are you doing?" I yelled at him.

"You must pay!" he shouted back at me.

"I'll go to the police!" I threatened.

"Yes, let's go to the police," and he began to walk confidently down the road towards the police station.

I explained the situation to the police chief and he said, "Yes, you must pay."

"If you give me a receipt I will pay," I said to him.

"Of course. Come in." I followed him into the dingy concrete block with tin roof that made his office. He copied down our passport numbers and then said, "If I write in this receipt book you must pay 50,000CFA." The chief was demanding ?5.

"What? No! I will not pay." I was furious and shaking with anger.

"Every car that passes here must pay that much money."

Several cars had passed the station, hardly slowing down to wave at the police. "That car, they didn't pay!"

"That truck paid this morning. And so did that one and that other one as well."

"No. Do you think that we are rich?

"Yes, you are rich. You travel around on holiday and have too much money."

"That's crazy. In Canada I am not rich."

"SHOW RESPECT FOR THE CHIEF!!" yelled a voice from the other room.

"You are not Canadian, you are FRENCH!" the chief declared, almost spitting out the words.

"I can hardly speak French. My passport is Canadian. I am Canadian!" The direct translation of my half of the conversation would have sounded more like a child: "Me no speak French. Passport mine Canada. I Canadian!" How could he think that French was my first language?

"So you say. I know that you are French. You pay me 20,000CFA now. No receipt, if I give a receipt the money has to go to the government."

"NO!" I stormed out of the office and shouted to Patrick. "We're staying here tonight! Bring the Land Rover and park it here in front of the door."

Patrick drove the Land Rover and parked it 1m in front of the door to the station. He calmly got out of the driver's seat, opened the back door, removed a container of petrol and some matches and walked purposefully into the office. Holding up the container and then the matches to indicate that he was going to burn down the office he yelled, "What in the hell is going on here?! Give us back our passports!!"

The chief, trying not to show his fear of the crazy Dutchman, walked out of the office and into the courtyard, Patrick following closely behind and screaming, the fuel and matches still in his hand.

Suddenly I heard the clicking of metal-on-metal and turned around to see several officers aggressively loading up their guns. Once the weapons were fully loaded the officers stood in a GI Joe position and pointed the guns at Patrick and I.

"Patrick, calm down, this is getting way out of hand. I'm going to speak to the Gendarmerie." Walking away I expected the sound of a shot to pierce the air, the swan song of Patrick's life. Luckily I heard none, a shot would also mean that my life would have been in serious jeopardy; I am sure that they would not have wanted any witnesses.

The Gendarmerie chief was at church, his goons out front drinking beer. They promised that they would send him to our assistance when his prayers were finished. Back at the Land Rover Patrick, still alive and well, had lit the stove and was lounging in his chair drinking some hot chocolate. I sat down and joined him for a cup while the GI Joe police still guarded us closely.

A large crowd from the village had gathered on the road. What are these white people doing? Why are they here? The audience put pressure on the chief to back down from his demands; his men still had their guns but were aiming them a little less aggressively. I felt confident that they were not going to shoot us in front of the whole community.

The chief disappeared into his office and sent a spokesman to deal with us. "The chief says that you only have to pay 15,000CFA."

"No," I said to the agent, "we paid 10,000CFA to get into this country and will pay that to get out. No more."

The village crowd swelled and the chief's agent eventually settled on 10,000CFA. We were handed back our passports and given an official receipt for the full amount. Feeling that we had won, we jumped back into the Land Rover and tried to get as far away as possible from the corrupt officials.