(Bill) That loud sucking sound you hear?

That loud sucking sound you heard?  That’s was my soul being Hoovered from my body as I attempted to get the proper working paperwork for our car, Black Mamba.  I can say, today, that I now have in my hot little hands the requisite forms and stickers to show police (or, “mosquitoes”, my pet name) at the inevitable roadside stops.  But, yes, it cost me my soul. 

I’ve already blogged about the process of purchasing a vehicle and the exquisite pain that this inflicted way back in September.  But things were not quite tied up at that point, as the title transfer was not official.  I was told that because of “Cashgate”, a government corruption scandal (surprise, surprise), that paperwork would now have to be routed through Lilongwe and that this would take a “few extra weeks”. 

All this in an effort to cut down on corruption and to show the world’s donor countries that Malawi could be trusted with proper governmental administration and with future donor support (to the tune of 60% Malawian GDP). 

Well, five months later, after 4 separate trips to the Road Traffic Directorate (RTD), the title had not arrived.  It had not arrived not because a quick computer check revealed this to be true, but only after thumbing through stacks of ledger books.  And more ledger books.   At the end of each fruitless search, the rather bored and slightly annoyed man “helping” me said that perhaps I should come back next month. 

This “maybe next month” approach became a problem as soon as the “Certificate of Fitness” expired at the end of January.  This dubious sticker on my windshield informs the mosquitoes that my car is the definition of “fit”.   In order to have a new C.O.F., I need a car title in my name.  Last September, I thought a five month window of time would be more than enough time to get sorted and I wouldn’t be up against a tight timeframe to have everything kosher for the cops.  Nope! 

So, with the C.O.F. sticker on my windshield now expired and traffic stops a near weekly occurrence, I was stressing out and choosing roads where mosquito stops would be less likely.  Liam, our conscientious, rule-following son, who has suffered through my three previous traffic-ticketing encounters, was beyond stressed and refusing to be driven in Black Mamba.

                                                Black Mamba with new hood ornament.

                                      The all-important C.O.F. sticker.  The cost?  Your soul.

Last Thursday, I went to the RTD and looked one more time through the ledger books.  Nada.  I asked my “helper” if there was any way possible to get the title sooner than later as my C.O.F. was now expired.  This is the same guy who has consistently been telling me that the delays were attributable to the fact that judges have been on strike in demand of pay raises.  But for 45,000 Kwacha (about $100), I could have my title in by Monday.   Miracle of miracles!

After some self-righteous comments from me intended to shame and cajole this man into action (no effect), I decided to pay the bribe so that we wouldn’t get fined for the expired C.O.F. and so that Liam would ride in the car with me again without triggering PTS.  It was a deal with the devil.  I left, stewing, to go the ATM and withdraw the money and I was instructed to wait outside the gates and my “helper” would come out to collect, not unlike some drug deal on the street.  I felt so dirty and angry as I counted out the money for this guy.  He tried to make the mood lighter by complimenting me on how nice my car is.  Really?  Black Mamba?  Get out of my face, dude. 

I’m still struggling with guilt that I have only contributed to this corrupt system.  It makes me so angry I want to start picketing the RTD offices and write letters to the newspapers.  And kicking stuff.  It’s hard for me not to get down on the whole country and make massive, inappropriate generalizations. 

And that’s not even the end of the story!  I will spare you most of the details, but after one more failed trip to the RTD (on Monday I went to collect the promised title and after a 1.5 hour wait, I was told to come Wednesday), I showed up Wednesday and FINALLY collected the title.  This enabled me to begin a 4 hour process standing in 5 separate lines, getting lots of different papers stamped, suffering a ridiculous inspection from an A-1 a**hole (at least no bribes were solicited!) and several more interactions with bored/annoyed bureaucrats suffering in this impenetrable system.  When it was all done, magical C.O.F. sticker in place on the windshield, I felt like a Harry Potter dementor had just got done with me.   My soul and joy vaporized.  I’m the little kid blubbing after a dentist visit, “Mommy, please don’t send me back there ever again!” 

Pray for me.  I feel terrible about myself and terrible about Malawi in this whole process.  And when you pray, say a little prayer of thanks for the DMV at home that processes license renewals in, maybe, half an hour?  Or for the processing of purchasing a vehicle back home that now seems so easy to me that I would be happy to do it for you when we get back to the States.  Better than therapy.  

 A happier moment as a family.  How many pictures can Micah ruin?  My Mom says I did the same as a kid.  Don't believe her for a second!