An unlucky black man

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”.

That was said in jest but little did I know on Saturday evening, as we went out to check out the night life of this quiet resort town, that I would be that unlucky black man.

After watching the game between the All Blacks and France with other journalists at Jolly Good Fellows, we hit the town, or rather one street of it, to a well known establishment called The Shed.

We were in luck as we were able to catch the end of a band performing at the establishment but it was just over 30 minutes before their stint was to end and the bar close down.

As I stepped out of the toilet, I watched my colleagues dancing to some reggae tunes, while I opted not to embarrass myself on the dance floor.

I saw a group of policemen enter the bar, but I thought little of it as it was closing time and I thought that they were just making sure that no more drinks were being served. Unbeknown to me, I was about to be that unlucky black man.

One of the officers approached me and told me that I fit the description of a man they were looking for, who offered one of the patrons narcotics, but I denied the allegation as I had never before in my life even entertained the thought of using drugs.

Anyway, I was ushered outside and told I was being detained under some Section 29 and that they would conduct a search of my clothes for these drugs.

I was questioned about my identity and my reason for being in New Zealand, which I provided to the officers and even showed them my South African drivers license.

I agreed and even offered to be searched across the road next to the vehicle, but they said that they will do so at the police station. And like a criminal, 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.

My rights were then read to me and I was searched. After a brief 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 outside the establishment to look for my colleagues.

The officer did apologise for the mistaken identity and said that he had chosen to spare me the embarrassment of searching me in public. But it was too late.

I was already embarrassed and harassed and felt extremely violated as the officers had only taken the word of the accuser and not even considered, at first, that I was telling the truth.

I’m not saying that the officers were not within their rights to approach me, but there is a clear distinction between myself in a black trench coat, striped jersey, blue jeans and white sneakers to the only other black guy I saw who was wearing spectacles.

Nonetheless the incident changed my entire experience of Taupo, New Zealand and how the police in this part of the world operate.

Even with the prevalence of drugs and crime in our country, South Africa, I have never been accused of selling or possessing drugs.

Prior to this unsavoury episode, I was really enjoying Taupo and besides the weather I even dabbled with the idea of trying to convince my wife to one day come and see Taupo for herself.

After this, not a chance.

In fact, I can’t wait until Thursday when the South African media contingent and Springboks leave for Auckland for the match against Samoa and never to return to this place.

Taupo prides itself as the “adventure capital of New Zealand” and I did get more than my fair share of adventure.

Thanks to the heavy and thoughtless hand of the Taupo Police, I am that unlucky black man in Taupo

• NZ apologises for journo’s detention