Vata Ngobeni
TAUPO: A colleague of mine joked that “you’d be lucky to find a black man in Taupo and unlucky to be a black man in this place”.
It was said in jest, but on Saturday evening as we went out to check out the night life of this quiet resort town in New Zealand, I would be that unlucky black man.
After watching the game between the All Blacks and France with fellow journalists at Jolly Good Fellows we hit the town, or rather the one street of it, and a place called The Shed.
We were in luck as we were able to catch the back end of a band performing, but it was just more than 30 minutes before their performance was to end and the bar closed.
As I emerged from the toilet, I saw my colleague hit the dance floor
and, beyond him, I observed a group of policemen entering the bar. I thought little of it as it was closing time. I thought they were just making sure no more drinks were being served, but unbeknown to me, they were looking for me.
One of the officers approached me and said I fitted the description of a man they were looking for, who had apparently offered one of the patrons narcotics.
I denied the allegation outright, but to no avail.
I was ushered outside to be told I was being detained under some Section 29 and that they would conduct a search of my clothes for narcotics.
I was questioned about my identity and my reason for being in New Zealand, which I provided to the officers.
I even showed them my South African driver’s licence.
I offered to be searched across the road next to the vehicle, but they insisted on doing so at the police station.
I was asked to sit at the back of an unmarked police vehicle with one of the officers and driven off to the police station like a criminal.
My rights were read to me and I was searched – fortunately not naked – just my trench coat, pockets, shoes and the inner part of my jeans.
After 10 minutes or so I was found to be clean and duly walked out of the police station with an officer and made the long trek back to look for my colleague.
The officer did apologise for the mistaken identity and said he had chosen to spare me the embarrassment of searching me in public, but it was too late.
I had been embarrassed and harassed. I felt extremely violated. The officers had only taken the word of the accuser and ignored mine – even after I gave them my identity.
I’m not saying the officers were not within their rights to approach me, but there was a clear distinction between me in a black trench coat, striped jersey, blue jeans and white sneakers and the only other black guy I saw, who wore spectacles.
What it did do was change my experience of Taupo – and my perception of the way the police in this part of the world operate.
Even with the prevalence of drugs and crime in my country, South Africa, I have never been accused of selling or possessing drugs.
Before this unsavoury episode I had really been enjoying New Zealand.
I had toyed with the idea of trying to convince my wife to come and see Taupo for herself on one of our holidays abroad.
After this, not a chance.
In fact, I can’t wait until Thursday when the South African media and Springboks leave for Auckland for the match against Samoa, never to return to this place.
Taupo takes pride in being the “adventure capital of New Zealand”. I got more than my fair share of adventure. Being falsely arrested gave me an adrenalin rush no jet boat on the rapids of the Waikato River or bungee jump could match.
It also left me with the really bad aftertaste that, in the land of the All Blacks, I happened to be the unlucky black man.