These nine words are lyrics from one of my new favorite songs, and they accurately explain my feelings about a very unexpected experience I had one night in Tanzania.
Three nights before we left out ministry in Tanzania, a camera was stolen from my teammate Alyssa. She was behind the church playing with some of the kids from the neighborhood, like we often did. There were about five of them and she set her camera on a ledge for just a few moments, and when she went to get it, it was gone. We told Pastor Adam and everyone around started looking for it- the kids, the pastors, the racers. No luck.
A few hours later Pastor Adam suggested Alyssa go to the police station, because he thought they had the camera and the person who took it. Alyssa and I went to the police station with Suma, one of the young women who spoke some English and had been helping take care of us. Missy and Casey followed behind because they wanted to go to the market, which was just past the station.
The police station was about a ten a minute walk from the church. We walked down the street and entered the small building. It was quite a foul building- small, with old cracking green walls and a cement floor. There were two wooden benches against two of the walls, and a counter in the middle of the tiny room. Two men sat behind the counter- one looked about 22 years old, with a police uniform on, and another more middle-aged man wearing a plain outfit and a plain sweater, with no indication that he was part of the police force.
We told the younger man that a camera was stolen, and he began asking a bunch of questions. He asked Alyssa her name, her address, her phone number, her email, her date of birth, her religion… all the while we were trying to convey the correct information though his thick accent and non fluent English. (The form was in English, and seemed like it could have easily been filled out by Alyssa herself in a quarter of the time. But what do I know?) One of the other men said something and five young girls appeared behind the counter. They had been summoned from the hallway that stretched to a part of the building that we couldn’t see. The oldest was about fourteen, and the youngest looked about six. They looked frightened. At first I thought they were faking it. I thought to myself- I don’t know if they took the camera or not, but it seems like they are just trying to look pathetic and fake crying because they think we will take pity on them and drop it. There’s no way that’s happening. I’m tired of getting taking advantage of just for being white. There’s no harm in asking them a few specific questions and really seeing if they took it. If they didn’t take it, fine. Life goes on.
The younger policeman began to ask details about what happened. She told him, and he continued to fill out the paper.
Then things started to get bad.
The other man took a thin stick out from under the counter and pointed it at the girls. He said something to them in Swahili and they all shrieked.
At this point I was softening towards the girls and getting angry at the man. He was being a jerk. The younger man was STILL writing. Alyssa and I just stood there.
The older man poked the girls with the stick and they cowered. He was having fun tormenting them. He poked and waved the stick, speaking harsh sounding words and moving his arm and his body like he was going to hit them, but not really doing it.
At this point I became very angry. I slapped my hand down on the worn counter in front of him and shouted at him to stop. I don’t remember exactly what I said, and I know that he didn’t understand me. The words weren’t the important part- the tone and body language I used I knew were enough to get my point across. He stared at me, a little surprised, and then put the stick back underneath the table.
Alyssa and I continued to stand there, feeling more and more awkward and upset. The policeman told her to sign the paper, so she signed it. He asked her to sign another part, and I touched her arm to stop her. We took the document out of his hands to read it and see what she was signing.
The document turned out to be a page long report (written in poor English) that described Alyssa’s story in first person, as if she had written it herself. The story was somewhat accurate, but parts of it were clearly made up. The part that sticks out in my head as completely false was something like this: “When I asked the girls what happened to my camera, they were uncooperative.” That statement was completely false. I wasn’t even there, but Alyssa had told me herself that all the children had helped look for it.
I think this is the point where both of us felt defeated. I know that as the event progressed, Alyssa felt more and more like the camera was not worth this ridiculously unpromising wild goose chase that we were on. I told her that signing it was her call. It wasn’t an accurate statement but… who knows.
The other man started messing with the girls again. He waved the stick, causing them to shout and cry, and then he hit one of the girls on the head with it.
At this point, Alyssa and I were pissed. We were pissed. This whole situation was utterly ridiculous. Nothing was being accomplished except five young girls getting scared by police officers. We tried to tell them to let the girls go, but they wouldn’t. We tried to tell Suma to tell them to let the girls go, but she wouldn’t either. She was adamant that the girls were not being punished and that it was extremely important to find out who took the camera and get it back.
Dorcas, the 14 year old daughter of Pastor Adam, and Immanuel, one of the men who guarded the house and helped out with other things, appeared at the station. They were sitting, waiting, watching. Missy and Casey had come back from the market and were sitting on another bench. Another random man came into the station and walked behind the counter. He greeted the girls mockingly, taking advantage of the fact that they were, at this point, terrified of any man that got near them. The man was in plain clothes and continued to speak with the girls. He laughed at their fear. The other men did too. The anger was growing within me- I had to sit on the bench and let Alyssa talk to Suma and the original two men. I think she was still trying to tell them to let the girls go. Chaos was growing in the room. Everyone was on edge, there was anger, there was fear…
At this point the fourteenth person (counting us, the girls, and the officers) walked into the small room. He appeared from a hallway behind the counter, opposite from where the girls were standing. He was a huge man- probably over six feet tall and somewhere between 250 and 300 pounds. As he walked in, he looked around, assessing the situation. I don’t know what was going through his mind, but he walked over to the girls, lifted his hands, and smacked the middle one straight across the face.
SMACK.
Just like that.
The girls started bawling, and I lost it. I stood up, crossed the tiny room and started yelling in his face. Casey grabbed my arms to hold me back. I don’t know what I was planning to do… I’d like to think that I would have just rushed behind the counter and grabbed the girls, but I don’t know if that would have happened. As I struggled under Casey’s grasp, I yelled at him. I asked him what he thought he was doing, and why did he do that. I told him that he was supposed to protect people. That was his job, to protect people, not to scare them. He just looked at me. He thought it was funny.
Funny.
I include this part of the story to not make myself sound any certain way, but to just tell the truth as it happened, as best as I can remember it.
What would you have done if you had seen a police officer hit a child after tormenting them for thirty minutes?
After that happened, I had nothing else in my mind but to get all of the girls out of there. I couldn’t let them be in the same room with that man, even if they had stolen the camera. Somehow Casey got in between me and the police officer, and I scooted past her over to the children and grabbed the two little ones and pulled them with my around to the other side of the counter. The side we had been on for the past forty minutes or so.
After that there was a lot of talking and shouting as people tried to state their opinions and their desires for the situation. The girls were sobbing. The girl that had been hit was hyper-ventilating in the corner. Swahili and English words were flying but no meanings were getting across. People passing by began to stop and watch inside the doorway. I remember hearing Alyssa say to the police, “Yes, I forgive them. I don’t care about the camera. Please just let them go.” I just stood there with one arm around each of the two smallest girls. Whenever I felt like one of the men might listen, I repeated “Please just let the girls go.” I might not have said please. I don’t remember.
Finally it was communicated that the girls could go. I grabbed the two little ones and pushed our way past the crowd of people out the door. I didn’t even look behind me to see if Missy, Casey, or Alyssa were following (I found out later that they didn’t). We walked for ten minutes back to the church- one of the little ones under each of my arm, one behind, and one with Dorcas. One of the other girls disappeared. They were all crying. Darkness was falling and people were staring at this strange white lady walking down the street with a bawling Africa child under each arm. About two thirds of the way home, I started crying too.
I couldn’t understand why the police weren’t safe…why the girls were persecuted by those who are supposed to protect them… why there are people who think that a camera is more important than the life of a child… why there are governments that are so corrupt that this could happen… why there is an absence of people who are doing something about it…
When we got back to the church I sent the girl that was hit home with Maggie, who lives right next to the church and is a smart, loving girl that I trust. All the others disappeared.
I found out later that Casey, Missy, and Alyssa stayed and prayed for the police officer. I couldn’t have done that at the time, but I am so happy that they did. Everyone involved is a child of God… the girls, us, the policemen… We are all the same in his sight. Sometimes that’s hard to understand, but it’s important to learn and remember. God showed me that that night, and I know that despite the situation, his glory reigned.
The whole situation reminded me of a song that I have included below. The chorus goes like this… “I wonder why, the good man dies, the bad man thrives, and Jesus cries, because he loves them both.”
It’s hard for me to stomach that he loves them both, but I know that he does.
We could all use to remember that.
Check out this awesome song by Josh Garrels, the source of my title for this blog.
