The most ridiculous thing a traffic officer has charged me with

Almost everyone, whether as a driver or passenger, has at some point been stopped by a traffic officer. Usually it is the standard routine: license, third-party insurance, maybe a quick look around the car, then you are waved on. Often times it is about something genuine like tyres or windscreen water. And once in a while, you are stopped for something so unexpected that even the officer saying it sounds like he should laugh.

I found mine. The most ridiculous thing I have been charged with. 

I was driving on the Mbarara highway, listening to my killer playlist, driving within the speed limit, and probably thinking about what I would eat later, when a traffic policeman waved me to the side of the road.

I stopped.

He walked up slowly, looked around the car the way they do, looked at the tyres, looked inside the car like maybe I was hiding something illegal like a goat. Then he leaned slightly toward the window.

"Good afternoon, madam."

"Good afternoon, officer." I responded

"How are you?"

"I am fine, thank you, Officer."

"Eh, you are moving well."

"Yes, I’m moving well, Officer" I said, already slightly confused but polite.

"May I see your driving permit?"

I handed it over confidently. I had done nothing wrong. Seatbelt on, indicators working and no mysterious goats in the back seat.

He looked at the permit. Looked at me. Looked at the permit again. Adjusted it slightly, looked at me again.

"Madam Peace" he said finally, after reading my name "you are in the wrong."

My heart did a small jump. "What have I done?" I knew my permit was still valid. 

"You are driving while wearing glasses."

"Yes Officer," I said slowly. "I wear glasses for seeing. Why?"

He held up the permit. "In this photo, you are not wearing glasses."

I thought he was joking.

I smiled.

He did not smile.

"You are supposed to appear the way you appear in your permit," he continued very seriously. "Here, no glasses. But now, you have glasses. That is not correct."

I blinked at him through the glasses, very confused.

"Officer, when I took this photo, they told me to remove my glasses. They said the reflection would disturb the picture, and that my true identity is without glasses."

"No," he said firmly. "They should not have told you that. They were wrong. The way you appear in your permit is how you must appear."

"So…" I paused. "Does that apply to everything?"

He looked cautious. "What do you mean?"

"In this photo, my hair tied in two bututwa (plaits). Today I have it twisted. Is that also a problem?"

He glanced at my head, then back at photo where I looked innocent and almost like a cow with horns.

"That is different," he said.

"How?" I asked, genuinely curious now, but also pushing to see how far this would go.

"Hair can change."

"Ah," I nodded. "So hair can change, but eyesight cannot?"

He tried not to smile.

"And what about if I wear a headscarf tomorrow? or cut my hair short? Will you stop me and say, 'Madam Peace, yesterday you had hair’?"

He was definitely fighting a smile now.

I continued, because at this point I was enjoying myself.

"In the photo I am not wearing lipstick. Today I am wearing lipstick. Does that mean I am impersonating myself?"

He looked at me properly then. Then at the photo. Then back at me.

"Actually," he said, finally laughing, and falling into my trap "you look very different." 

"Different good or different criminal?" I asked because I was in my element now.

He laughed harder. "You look good with lipstick," now entirely off script.

“Officer,” I said, pretending to be scandalised, “are you saying the government-issued version of me is ugly?”

"No, no," he said quickly, still laughing. "I am just saying..... today you have improved."

"So improvement like lipstick and hair are allowed?" I asked. "Just not eyesight?" "Tell me Officer, are sunglasses allowed?"

At this point we were both laughing. The seriousness of the “crime” had dissolved into something absurd and human.

He shook his head, smiling. "You people."

"But honestly," I said, slightly more serious now, "if I remove these glasses, I will not see clearly. If I don’t see clearly, I will be a danger to myself and other road users." 

He thought about that.

"That is true," he admitted.

"So really," I concluded, adjusting my glasses confidently, "I am protecting the public. I am practically a hero for putting the public first."

At this point, even he couldn’t keep a straight face.

He handed back my permit. "Okay, madam. Go. But next time…"

"Next time I should do what? Remove the lipstick? Or remove my glasses and drive blindly?"

He laughed again and stepped back from the car, and waved my off. "Just go."

As I drove away, I kept thinking about it. If traffic law required us to remain exactly as we appeared in our license photos, half the country would be in violation. New beards, shaved heads, wedding rings, weight gained, weight lost, different frames, different moods.

Imagine the national chaos.

"Sir, in this photo you had hair, but now you are bald or now it is grey."
"Madam, here you were smiling."
"Excuse me, you have aged since 2020. That is suspicious."

What I kept thinking about afterwards was not even the argument about glasses, but how easily an ordinary roadside stop became a conversation and then laughter. In Uganda, random encounters can suddenly turn into funny conversations you did not see coming. You stop because an officer wants your permit, and before you know it, you are discussing lipstick, braids, eyesight, and whether any of these should also appear officially on your license.