Amsterdam Capetown Overland

By noon we entered the outskirts of Yaounde, the capital of Cameroon, and were stopped by the police five times to check our papers. Driving in the city was crazy; thousands of taxis ruled the road as if they were the only vehicles, plunging in and out of traffic aggressively. Each taxi, trying to get the most passengers, would stop on random parts of the road to pick up and drop off clients.

While making a turn a police officer jumped in front of the Land Rover and blew his whistle. "Didn't you see the red light?" he growled. "Pull over to the side of the road."

I got out of the car and walked to meet the grumpy official. "What did we do?"

"You were going to go through that red light."

"But we didn't go through it." The policeman had stopped us before we followed the line of cars proceeding through the light.

"That's not the point, you were going to go through it." He took out his notepad and began to write. "That's two offences."

"Two? What's the other one?"

"For not stopping for a police officer."

What? "But we did stop for you. We are stopped right now!" I couldn't believe his logic.

"Yes, but you weren't going to stop for me." He continued to copy the information from Patrick's driving licence.

"Let me get this straight. We're getting one ticket for going through a red light, which we didn't do, and another for not stopping for a police officer, which we did do?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"You should give me a ticket for kicking you in the stomach. It's something I would like to do, but probably won't," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?"

"How much is the ticket?"

"Here is a receipt for the offences. I will keep your friend's driving licence until you come to the police station tomorrow. Welcome to Yaounde," and he walked back to his post on the street.

Holding the receipt incredulously, I jumped back in the car. "That licence expired more than a year ago," said Patrick to me while pulling back into traffic, "let's just get the hell out of Yaounde."