La Policia

In order to share this hugely important revelation I have had regarding the police, I would first like to share two recent events in my life. The first takes place in Madrid and the second in Morocco.

A couple of weeks ago, at the onset of our trip, we spent several nights in the beautiful city of Madrid. On our second night, my friend Sarah and I were walking down the street toward our hotel, when suddenly a small riot formed and made itself known.

Sidebar: I’m not sure what is making the news in the US, but there is somewhat of a “revolucion” going on here in Spain. Even in Cadiz, protestors have been sleeping in the plazas, demanding a political change for their country. This particular event happened right before some elections, so the city was a little on edge.

Suddenly, people started fleeing the streets as if the riot was headed straight towards them. The two of us started panicking a little bit but were quickly comforted as we saw the police running our way. “Thank God, the police are here,” quite literally went through my head. For a split second, I felt relief and a small sense that everything was going to be okay. I almost didn’t believe my eyes when I saw a policeman take out some kind of beating stick (sorry for my lack of knowledge in police weaponry) and beat a woman, whose only crime was slow feet, across the back and leave her there. It was then that I realized that the people were actually running from the police.

Shocked, Sarah grabbed my wrist and we ran into the closest building, which, thank God, just so happened to be our hotel.

The second story takes place in Tangier. It is a little less “thrilling,” but contains all the same amount of “shock” element. I’ve already filled everyone in on Zeezy and how he quickly became a very important person in my life. When we first decided to allow him to be our guide, I was still a little unsure about it and I let it show. He tried to appease my fears by saying, “Want to ask the police? Here, come here. This policeman right here will tell you that I am an official guide,” which is exactly was the policeman did.

Although it makes no difference to me, I have good reason to doubt Zeezy is or has ever been an official guide. At the end of our tour, he dropped us off right before we reached the gates where we had encountered said policeman. At first, he didn’t say why he wasn’t taking us through the gates, but after we paid him (with a very generous tip thanks to Tyler) and took our pictures with him, I think he finally decided to trust us. After asking him to clarify the directions to our ferry several times, he told me, “The reason I can’t take you past the gates is because the policeman is going to want some of the profits.” I'll let you fill in the obvious blanks.

We (the three amigos) had also been forewarned not to take anything from anyone because apparently people will hand you drugs, call the police on you, the police then arrest you for illegal drugs, get money for it, and give a portion of it to the people who placed the drugs in your hand in the first place. I’m sorry. What?

I could easily take these stories and spin them in a way as to find some political scandal that carries throughout all government systems or complain how our tax dollars are feeding crime and inefficiency even in the US. I’m not going to do that. There is a reason that I felt a sense of security and safety when the police first appeared in Madrid. The subconscious connotations I have made with police officers are that they will protect us innocent bystanders and “catch the bad guys.” In Marruecos, I thought that a policeman’s word was good and trustworthy. In the US, I have to believe that it actually is.

Granted, I realize that nobody is perfect, and there are police officers in the US who are power drunk (ahem, traffic cops), and I’m sure that there is even the occasional scandal within the system. Nevertheless, I know for a fact that if I ask a policeman for help, he won’t lie to my face so that he can make a little extra money—or worse, beat me across the back and throw me to the ground.

What I’m trying to say is, I am grateful for the officers of the US who protect us everyday and give us a feeling of security, even if it is only subconscious.

My goodness, what is happening to me? I’m so patriotic I don’t even know what to do with myself.

In other news, I had the best frozen yogurt of my entire life today right after I went to el “Super Centro” to buy peanut butter and jelly (Did I ever mention I’ve been craving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the past like two weeks?). Peanut butter doesn’t exist here so I had to substitute it with Nutella. I ate three sandwiches with it. Sue me.

Yesterday was our weekly “futbol” game. I sprained my ankle and spent all last night icing it. Mi hermano says that if I practice once a week for a year that I will be very good. Little does he know that in four weeks, I’m going back to America where “football” is only for dudes.