Ding Dong

There’s one thing you have to know about roads and traffic in the Congo: if you have an accident, don’t stop. Go to a police station and report it there. If you ignore this advice you’ll be lynched by the driver of the car(s) you hit, the passengers, and the bystanders.

It was following this earnest advice given by our security advisers that caused a very senior member of an embassy’s staff to drive off as instructed. It wasn’t a serious accident, and anyway he thought that it was the other car’s fault. Anyway, the dent in his CD car was minimal. What he didn’t know was that the man with whom he had collided was from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

The next morning the embassy received a call from the Ministry demanding to know the name of the driver of the car. Since it had been an embassy car – not registered to an individual – there was no way of knowing who it was. The embassy politely turned down the invitation to share the information. This was like a red rag to a bull. The phone calls became more threatening and frequent: if you don’t tell me, there will be consequences. Then, in a move which tested the limits of good behaviour between a host country and a foreign mission, the Ministry sent an official note of protest. This was serious indeed, but the embassy stuck to its guns, using some convention or other as protection. Eventually the affair blew over – but not until numerous shipments and diplomatic bags had been delayed for months in retaliation.

So when our car was dinged by a minibus, I was inclined to let it go. So too was the offending driver, who took off at speed, obviously hoping to get away unscathed. But our driver would have none of it, and chased him for miles, weaving in and out of the heavy traffic until eventually he caught up and cornered him.

The mini-bus driver was hauled out and given a big dressing down, but since the damage was tiny we decided to forgive him. Once a grovelling apology was given, in full view of the approving passengers, we went on our way.

Last week the same thing happened: a mini-bus side-swiped the offside rear end of our car, causing quite substantial damage. Our driver, who was alone in the car, gave chase once more and managed to get the bus driver to stop. He showed him the damage and demanded that he, the bus driver, should pay to have it repaired. Realising that he had no escape, the reluctant driver agreed, so together they went to the panel beater/body shop to get the car mended.

Meanwhile I was wondering why the driver’s trip had taken so long, and phoned the him. He told me about the accident but assured me that everything was under control.

Under control? That’s an understatement. Two hours later the car arrives back at the office. Mended. Just like that. Dents removed, resprayed, polished. If you don’t know where to look you would never know it had been damaged.

What a wonderful contrast to those weeks of filling in insurance forms, getting quotes, taking the car to the shop etc etc. So, Congo, take a bow: you’ve got it right this time!