'Dashing' our way through road blocks

One day on our way to a nearby town we were stopped at a road block by the police - this is a regular yet annoying practice. An oncoming car, not requested to stop decided to go through the narrow opening at the normal speed of traffic on these roads - which is invariably 'fast' or 'very fast' of course with us being stopped he smashed our wing mirror on his way through ...

This being a police road block I expected the police to signal him to stop, and the police in their fast-thinking efficiency said ''sorry'' and we better move to the side of the road because WE were blocking traffic behind us and we would be in big trouble if we didn't hurry up and move ! There was I in the back seat with mouth agape ... They were witnesses to an accident caused by a reckless driver !

Apparently when I asked the other occupants of the car I made them wet themselves with laughter, once again, it's getting to be a habit of mine. We settled the issue by 'dashing' the road block ''attendants'' and we passed on our way.

Luckily for us we have struggled through life and have afforded to have a nice car ...but the comfort of a good car can also backfire (not literally, it is a good car !) but this makes us stand out. Especially where 99.9% of the population has black skin and I am so very obviously white skinned, with no hope of tanning either - shame ! This makes us sitting targets - pun intended !

This time we were on our way back home on a major highway from a major city. We were stopped, again and again, in fact several times...

Each time the soldiers in their fatigues were around to back up the smartly dressed - also armed - police.

Our driver and any other male passengers were usually asked for ID and to step out of the car. In this area there had been certain civilian activities that had been worrying the police. So even my presence did not allow us to pass through the road blocks with a wave, a greeting and a smile. Although I was always allowed to remain seated inside the car with the children and not asked for any ID. Although money was expected. (I must be rich because I am from London, I am saying nothing!!).

It was decided by some that they would try and extract money from us by looking at every single document the driver or the male passengers were carrying. Being unable to fault anything, from the drivers license to the cars import documents the smiling men still held out their open hands with a smile and declaring ''welcome to our country'', wow, what a welcome.

At the last request to stop on that road, (actually who am I kidding, these are demands to stop and if anyone doubts that they will soon understand the ''shoot-to-kill'' policy) I was asked bluntly ''whose children are they?''

I looked blank for a few seconds and then declared

''ours!''

- one was my own child and one was my niece.

In this culture they are classed as my children

anyway, even if I didn't give birth to them.

I think my surprised reply made him smile and he allowed us to go with a ''good day''.

At all of these stops (at least 20 on this journey) they are armed with rifles that look like they were made in the dim and distant past of the 1960's, usually slung over their shoulders or as one in particular did, slung menacingly round his hips, just at eye level of people seated in a car.

I can now truly say I have looked down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale.

He was the only one we ''dashed'' money to. Not surprisingly.