Move back, shut up, and sit down; It is just another day at mercy of crown

I have a date with a magistrate on Tuesday morning. I am supposed to answer to the charge of “failing to comply with traffic signs — no right turn”.

After a frustrating morning at the Traffic Police headquarters on Monday, I drove back to the scene of the crime and established that indeed there is a “No Right Turn” sign as you drive out of Fifth Ngong Avenue on to Ngong Road.

I missed the sign and as I turned right, one of the numerous policemen at the busy junction enthusiastically waved me down.

I wondered why during the lengthy minutes I had spent at the junction with my indicators on, waiting for a break in the dense Ngong Road traffic, he never bothered to inform me that I was not allowed to turn right at that particular intersection.

Anyway, I was not in the mood to start arguing or pleading for mercy, and off to the police station we went.

That is when the fun started. I was led into a small hall overflowing with traffic offenders, past a wooden barrier to a desk where my details were recorded in the Occurrence Book.

So where do I go from here? I was brusquely ordered to move back, shut up, and sit down until further instructions.

So I retreated and made way for a growing mass of humanity to go through the drill: Move, back, shut up, and sit down.

Those orders were barked out with numbing regularity, but complying with the last order was rather difficult as every available bench was taken.

Mercifully, we were not asked to sit on the floor.

Now, I am not used to being herded around like a dumb sheep waiting for slaughter. I like to know what next, where, and when.

Every so often, I would pluck up the courage and push my way through to the front of the room and ask just those vital questions:

When do I appear before the magistrate or where can I pay the cash bail and be on my way?

The rude and dismissive answers make it clear that I was not supposed to be privy to such important information.

I was in the hands of the “crown” and mine was to shut up and put up until the next order was barked out.

Every once in a while, an officer would read out a list of names and those summoned would move forward to post bail or comply with other directions.

Nearly an hour into my “incarceration”, an officer brusquely announced that the court had closed for the day and that all of us would have to post bail.

That was around 11.30 in the morning. “I wonder whether (Chief Justice) Willy Mutunga knows the traffic court closes so early”, I tweeted.

I wondered how the cops would react if they learnt that I was offering a running commentary and that the Chief Justice might just be following the proceedings on Twitter.

Anyhow, I had no intention of looking for any favours.

Mr Justice Mutunga, in any case, had posted on Sunday afternoon that he would have a very busy month ahead so he might not be very active on Twitter.

Back to the waiting. Numerous times my attempts to ask questions were firmly rebuffed until, finally, an officer came in with a receipt book and I luckily found myself at the head of the queue.

I paid the cash bail and was instructed to appear at the Milimani traffic court on Tuesday morning.

However, it would be nearly another hour before I was on my way, as I then found my car “under arrest” in the parking yard.

The unruly parking, under direction of the policemen, ensures that early arrivals are blocked by those who drive in later.

The drivers could not be found and myriad officers milling around were not very helpful. One suggested that the drivers might be in court.

It took the effort of a freed offender and myself to trace a few drivers, who reversed their cars to provide an exit.

Now on Tuesday morning I have to decide whether to ignore the case and forfeit the bail, or turn up and plead guilty.

I would have spared myself a whole lot of trouble if I had just “talked nicely”. No way.

mgaitho@ke.nationmedia.com