Iron Lady in the Jungle
It is arm-wrestling without a table and then, suddenly, we are lying on the ground. The policeman on top of me, me on top of him: we roll over and over, the passport in the middle, neither of us intending to let go. As we spin like this, and I look around to see if there are any witnesses, I notice that he is wearing a service pistol around his belt. But my anger at his attempts to kidnap and then destroy my passport and make my stay here much more complicated is greater than my caution. We growl, we scream and roll on. Now that his face is close to mine, I know for sure. He has been drinking and is determined not to give up.