My 1st Time Bribing Cops in Colombia
I just returned to Bogota after six weeks in the States. This incident happened November 22, my last day before flying out of Colombia. I’ll have other overdue posts about America, mi tierra, after having lived in South America for almost two years. Stay tuned.
November 22, around 10am, I ran into The Mick at the bike repair shop in Chapinero on the west side of Avenida Caracas. The west side of Chapinero is a poorer, ghetto section that features 7 de agosto and a drugs-and-prostitution district. The shop’s located on an OK block where there isn’t anything to worry about during the day.
The guys usually have our bikes ready within an hour so we usually wait. After The Mick dropped his bike off, I saw him striking a match with a joint fatter than his nose hanging from his lips all the way down past his chin. We walked down the block.
At the next corner, The Mick told me two cops on a motorcycle saw me hitting the joint. We saw them double back so we ducked around the corner. I stashed the joint on a brick window ledge about as high as my head (about 6’ or 190cm high).The cops turned after us, parked, and ordered us against the wall for a frisking. The pat-down was a haphazard endeavor; they weren’t looking for weapons so much as going through the motions.
One cop, who I’ll call Fuerza Mestiza, walked back to the corner looking for the joint. The other cop, Chubby Cheeks, started questioning us. Neither one could’ve been more than 21 years old. And judging from how he carried himself, I believe Chubby Cheeks’ mom still cooks his meals, does his laundry, and makes his bed. He had baby fat on his neck and round, pink cheeks.
When Fuerza Mestiza couldn’t find the pata, Chubby Cheeks asked us to give him the joint, implying he’d let us go if we gave it up. I walked back down the block to the window and pointed it out to Fuerza Mestiza, who dropped it on the ground and stomped it with his boots, smearing marijuana grains over the pavement. I remember thinking that stuff would definitely get cleaned up by some junkie that evening, as long as it didn’t rain.
Then Fuerza Mestiza, who was playing Bad Cop to Chubby Cheeks’ Good Cop, told us they were going to take us to indigente jail overnight. They had previously implied they’d let us go if we gave up the weed , but now they were taking us in.
Sidenote: Indigente is the catch-all term for Bogota’s crackheads (bazuceros), drunks, stumblebums, junkies, panhandlers, etc. There are tons of them and it seems there’s a lockup just for them. (For more on indigentes, see my post titled Bogota Zombie Bums)
The Mick has bribed Colombian police dozens of times in his life. I knew this ordeal wouldn’t amount to jail, but I’d never bribed a cop yet. I was nervous. Fuerza Mestiza played a good Bad Cop by acting like he had called something in on his walkie-talkie and was waiting for a response. He kept looking down the street in the distance as if looking for the car that would haul us off (but there obviously wasn’t any such vehicle on the way).
Again, I was supposed to fly out in the morning and hadn’t packed my bags. There was no way I could spend the evening in indigente jail and make my flight. I was nervous. “Don’t you worry a bullocks about these two,” The Mick told me, and then to Chubby Cheeks in his strong English accent, “Yo sé como está.” I know how it is.
“Ah, ¿Sabe como está?” Chubby Cheeks repeated with an ear-to-ear grin, dreaming about the big expensive lunch and extra dessert he’d just hustled by closing this sale. He smiled so bright his fat rosy cheeks got dimples in them. He told us to walk around the corner while Fuerza Mestiza started up the motorcycle. The Mick feigned his briefcase up so nobody would see him slip Chubby Cheeks a 20,000 peso note ($10 USD). Chubby Cheeks jumped on the back of the motorcycle and left us with a closing statement: “En las casas está bien. Pero en las calles, no.” You can get high in your houses, but not in the streets. And then they hauled ass out of there.
The Mick lit another joint – no bullshit – he lit a second joint on the same block.
REFLECTIONS: I technically didn’t pay Chubby Cheeks so I technically didn’t bribe a cop. However, I’ve seen the process now and I can do it on my own if needed. I’ll say something like “Yo sé como está” or “¿Es posible cancelar en este momento la infracción?” Or just go with the flow and play along until it’s time to pay.
It’s actually a good system. Such a petty infraction shouldn’t take up court or correctional resources if the perpetrators paid a penalty immediately. And anybody getting stoned on the street who can’t afford to pay off these cops should spend the night in indigente jail anyway, for the public interest of Bogota.
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Had to happen sometime I guess…
Funny thing. Before I left the US, a Peruvian friend of mine there told me his father was a high-ranking Peruvian military officer, and he said if you need anything, just get with my father and he can help you out (he was in the Chief of Staff). Then he thought about it and said, but if you really, really need something, you better call my grandmother because she’s very good at bribing people… And he was dead serious about it.