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James V. Dwalu
The Red Light on Broad Street
Two forces come into play when traffic lights work. One is the unseen physical force, and the other is the mental force.
The unseen physical force is that physical action that is exerted on you; it is that which forces you to stop your vehicle without it being touched. On the other hand, the mental force is the one that acts on your mind – with all its power and strength, it demands that you stop.
Traffic lights are supposed to regulate, warn and guide motorists and pedestrians. A red light says that you should stop to let motorists on the other street get by. It also gives the right of way to pedestrians. The green light indicates the flow of traffic. The yellow light warns that the traffic is coming to stop. Note that traffic lights are placed at intersections and crossings. Now this is where the two forces deal with you, the typical Liberian. They take advantage of your importance. You are instructed and controlled by an object that you could smash in the bat of an eye. You have the ability to move your vehicle by choice, but you are ashamed to be called names such as rude, stupid, arrogant, and nowadays, a rebel who thinks he or she is above the law.
The real challenge comes after you have waited impatiently for the light to change. The green light comes on, giving you the long awaited freedom to move. But the vehicle will not start. My God, the mental force takes charge, almost sending you mad. The unseen physical force jumps in and forces you to get down, sometimes in the heavy rain, to apply action.
The mental force exerts a “rocking chair” power in your hands and becomes a physical force that demands you to push your vehicle out of the way of others like yourself. You are confused and wet. You have just blocked the way of other “impatient” people like yourself. They are in such a hurry to go that none will try to find out what happened to your car.
O, the insults! You have become the center of attraction (in an appositive way). The honking behind you becomes deafening. You, a brave, strong and powerful Liberian cannot answer now because “patience” has been forced down your throat, but this could be short-lived. You return to your real self as soon as you get your vehicle out of the way. Sometimes you even forget to say, “O, thank God!”
Now, let us look at some other examples. Imagine that you are the police in hot pursuit of a vehicle. You get out of your police car to go arrest the fugitive who has just been caught by the red light, but no, the light turns green! The fugitive gets away! You furiously bang on the horn and turn the siren on at the loudest setting to clear the traffic. Or say you are the one escaping from the police: you turn the wrong way because of the “red light” into a train of approaching vehicles. No way to turn or go ahead. No escape. Traffic all over. You keep looking in the rearview mirror. You beat your frustration on the steering wheel. You start to think whether you should leave the vehicle and run, or go grab the one in the front. You are been held by the unseen physical force in collaboration with the mental force.
All the details I have given finally end at the intersection of Broad and Randall streets, where there is once in a while the only operating red traffic light in Liberia. We do all our running around, wasting a lot of time, but by the time we get to this light we remember how late we are getting to work, for lunch, for school, for going home, to meet a loved one, or before the rain starts.
The red light on Broad Street is like a monster with red fiery eyes. It stares deep into our eyes when we are in haste. With all our boldness, we cannot stare into its eyes or straight at it for a long time. We want it to be short or not working. This is where we prove how our impatient attitude crucially brings out our selfishness. We disregard that others have the right to cross and get by. Sometimes we even want to “book” the light.
As pedestrians, we never want to wait for the coast to clear, or for the red light to come on. We tactically run between the vehicles like soldiers trying to dodge bullets. When we are at the front and succeed, we think that we are the smartest. Like I say (prove me wrong), a rogue will never admit that stealing is wrong until someone steals from him, and then he stops stealing.
Remember that the light you just booked gives others the chance to cross, to prevent accidents, and above all to teach Liberians the divine lesson of “patience.”
Let us learn to wait for God’s time, the right time. Let us stop rushing. Liberia has been in a rush for very long time:
A. The premature rush to declare independence in 1847 when we were not self-reliant in any way (still relying on foreign aid).
B. The rush for political changes through armed struggle without assessing what the aftermath would be.
This impatient rushing mentality has taken us no further than Broad and Randall streets, where a light, a robot, is teaching us a divine lesson of patience. No matter how much grumbling and honking we do, the red light dismisses us as fools, and stays on at its own will.
I wonder how many of us are learning this lesson, because as soon as the red light on Broad Street changes to green—ah!—the rush continues!
Copyright © Liberian Association of Writers
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