"The Kindness of a Stranger"
Robbed Blind - Bloemfontein, South Africa
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Robbed Blind - Bloemfontein, South Africa
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Where’s my bag? Where’s my bag? Has anyone seen my bag?”
All scenarios race through your head. Did I leave it in the bathroom? Did someone grab it by mistake? Was it stolen? Is the thief staring at me right now? Nothing is clear, just a sense of dire urgency.
My silent, disbelieving deer in the headlights search was quickly followed by a 5-alarm manhunt as the rush of nervous adrenaline peaked in my brain!
Racing out of the bus terminal and into 2am’s inky blackness, my eyes flew wildly over every person, surface and bus. “It must be here”. Black bag…black bag…black bag!! Screaming for someone to help, my pleas were received by yawns and apathetic stares. Yelling for security, I probed further into the darkness but couldn’t see any rapid movements of a fleeing culprit.
Sprinting back into the terminal, I asked everyone around if they had seen my bag. More so, did they see the thief? Again, silence. Sitting 6-feet across from the same people for the past 5 hours of our bus delay, surely they saw something! Blank stares. Whirling between the 3 terminal exits in a crazed effort to find support, a woman finally approached and tapped lightly on my tense shoulder. In broken English she declared, “A man take your bag. He run outside”. She said it so casually, so haphazardly. I could have wrung her neck. “You didn’t stop him”, I croaked. Yell? Alert me, the obvious owner!!
All scenarios race through your head. Did I leave it in the bathroom? Did someone grab it by mistake? Was it stolen? Is the thief staring at me right now? Nothing is clear, just a sense of dire urgency.
My silent, disbelieving deer in the headlights search was quickly followed by a 5-alarm manhunt as the rush of nervous adrenaline peaked in my brain!
Racing out of the bus terminal and into 2am’s inky blackness, my eyes flew wildly over every person, surface and bus. “It must be here”. Black bag…black bag…black bag!! Screaming for someone to help, my pleas were received by yawns and apathetic stares. Yelling for security, I probed further into the darkness but couldn’t see any rapid movements of a fleeing culprit.
Sprinting back into the terminal, I asked everyone around if they had seen my bag. More so, did they see the thief? Again, silence. Sitting 6-feet across from the same people for the past 5 hours of our bus delay, surely they saw something! Blank stares. Whirling between the 3 terminal exits in a crazed effort to find support, a woman finally approached and tapped lightly on my tense shoulder. In broken English she declared, “A man take your bag. He run outside”. She said it so casually, so haphazardly. I could have wrung her neck. “You didn’t stop him”, I croaked. Yell? Alert me, the obvious owner!!
|
Even more angry, frustrated and bewildered by her unwillingness to stop a crime, I raced outside once again to the front of a half-dozen buses ready to depart. “STOP”, I screeched! Throwing my hands above my head and standing in front of the terminal exit, I pleaded for someone to help (security guards, no where to be found).
A young man approached claiming his bag was also stolen. Strengthening each others resolve, we agreed to split up and check the buses for each other’s belongings. Climbing aboard a handful of coaches, I begged everyone to look under their seats for my black bag and his white. Of course, speaking a common language may have aided in this effort, but when a white girl is screaming and pointing to people’s bags and the lack her own, isn’t it obvious? To no surprise, assistance was unattainable. As if people had grown so de-synthesized to crime, they would hardly notice a murder happening right before their eyes. |
A concerned couple saw my peril and remarked, “No one, on foot, has left the main terminal exit”. This statement somehow confirmed my idea to search all the buses. Maybe the thief would try a mobile getaway, but the more aisles I crossed, the more empty stares I received, the more sour the taste in my mouth grew.
The bitter taste of reality was sinking in. It had been 5 emotionally charged minutes, plenty of time for the robber to escape from a different exit point and be enjoying his first purchases thanks to my Mary Poppins bag of expensive technology, cash and credit cards.
Defeated and dazed, I walked back into the terminal. Nothing could be worse. And then I saw my big bag sitting alone and unattended. I lost the plot. My bus company and all its useless attendants promised to watch my big bag while I searched for the other. Grabbing the old, dusty bag, I threw it against their desk and screamed, “Call the Police…NOW!” More duh looks. I felt like I was in a bad dream. I would wake up from all of this unassisted peril with valuables in hand. But no. There I was, completely vulnerable for the first time since beginning traveling 9 years earlier.
Tears mixed with anger, pride with vulnerability, and when I hit mental rock bottom, the same couple from before appeared by my side. “How can we help dear?” There eyes shown so much sympathy, a look I was no longer familiar with.
Offering their cell phone, I shakily punched in my families home phone number. “I’m sorry this phone does not allow international calls”. Of course it doesn’t, I thought. Kindly returning their phone, a new resolve washed in. Their one act of kindness re-fueled my backpackers engine! “Give me a phone,” I demanded. The barely pubescent boy behind the bus desk looked around uneasily and whispered, “Madam, it is not allowed.” Leaning over the desk, just inches from his face, I declared, “Give me a phone…NOW!” Resigning himself to the slightly psychotic blonde and her wrath, he quickly ushered me behind the desk.
Slamming my international phone number into the dial pad, Mom’s cheery voice answered on the third ring. The confidence and defiance just demonstrated to the young man all came crashing down. Wailing into the receiver, Mom’s ever calm and decisive voice responded, “Just tell me you are safe”. “Yes Mom, I am safe”. “Okay, what can I do?” In retrospect, I can’t even imagine my mom’s fear. Hearing her daughter, whose been traveling alone in Africa for 3 months, balling about a thief, no money, and a dark train station must have sent her nerves into an absolute frenzy! Not that she exhibited any of this apprehension to me (the basket case), but I knew it was there. Sorry Mom, I promise to never approach a robbery like that ever again.
I gave her my credit card details and security passwords to cancel all lines of credit. We discussed my plans to contact the Bloemfontein police with the help of this friendly couple. Then she said the most reassuring phrase, one I’ve heard many times before but never with such weight and truth, “It will be alright honey”. 28 years old and the sound of Mom’s voice gives more comfort then anything else combined. Setting the receiver into its cradle, I took a deep breath, quieted my thoughts and tried to focus on the task at hand.
“Madam, Madam, Madam, your bus is here! Board now!” So much for quieting my mind! Spinning around I belted back, “Board Now? I have no money, no passport, no bag! It’s because of your 5-hour departure delay that I was stranded in this seedy bus station anyways!"
The compassionate couple once again swooped in to assist. “Sweetie, they will be no help. Let’s go to the police station.” But first, Leon, as I Iater came to regard him, coaxed a train voucher out of the bus attendant to be used in a few days time. Helps to speak the common language, Afrikaans.
Collecting my big backpackers bag, I wobbled on shaky knees towards their car. Leon and Vanissa introduced themselves as the Grove Family and said they would do everything in their power to right this wrong, or at least make it more manageable. They also mentioned street kids as the almost definite culprit and drove me past a few of their known hideouts. Blood racing, I wildly scanned the dark streets ready to sprint after anyone with a black Loweprow bag and guilty grin.
The Bloemfontein police station was a step up from the bus station but still a far cry from reassuring. Three attendants sat behind a long, fluorescent cube and only reluctantly did one stand to greet us. Leon reported the incident in Afrikaans but the lady simply yawned, removed a claim form, and asked for a written testimony. Writing the incident with an impossibly shaky hand, she then asked for a written list of valuables and their estimated worth. This part really stung.
The bitter taste of reality was sinking in. It had been 5 emotionally charged minutes, plenty of time for the robber to escape from a different exit point and be enjoying his first purchases thanks to my Mary Poppins bag of expensive technology, cash and credit cards.
Defeated and dazed, I walked back into the terminal. Nothing could be worse. And then I saw my big bag sitting alone and unattended. I lost the plot. My bus company and all its useless attendants promised to watch my big bag while I searched for the other. Grabbing the old, dusty bag, I threw it against their desk and screamed, “Call the Police…NOW!” More duh looks. I felt like I was in a bad dream. I would wake up from all of this unassisted peril with valuables in hand. But no. There I was, completely vulnerable for the first time since beginning traveling 9 years earlier.
Tears mixed with anger, pride with vulnerability, and when I hit mental rock bottom, the same couple from before appeared by my side. “How can we help dear?” There eyes shown so much sympathy, a look I was no longer familiar with.
Offering their cell phone, I shakily punched in my families home phone number. “I’m sorry this phone does not allow international calls”. Of course it doesn’t, I thought. Kindly returning their phone, a new resolve washed in. Their one act of kindness re-fueled my backpackers engine! “Give me a phone,” I demanded. The barely pubescent boy behind the bus desk looked around uneasily and whispered, “Madam, it is not allowed.” Leaning over the desk, just inches from his face, I declared, “Give me a phone…NOW!” Resigning himself to the slightly psychotic blonde and her wrath, he quickly ushered me behind the desk.
Slamming my international phone number into the dial pad, Mom’s cheery voice answered on the third ring. The confidence and defiance just demonstrated to the young man all came crashing down. Wailing into the receiver, Mom’s ever calm and decisive voice responded, “Just tell me you are safe”. “Yes Mom, I am safe”. “Okay, what can I do?” In retrospect, I can’t even imagine my mom’s fear. Hearing her daughter, whose been traveling alone in Africa for 3 months, balling about a thief, no money, and a dark train station must have sent her nerves into an absolute frenzy! Not that she exhibited any of this apprehension to me (the basket case), but I knew it was there. Sorry Mom, I promise to never approach a robbery like that ever again.
I gave her my credit card details and security passwords to cancel all lines of credit. We discussed my plans to contact the Bloemfontein police with the help of this friendly couple. Then she said the most reassuring phrase, one I’ve heard many times before but never with such weight and truth, “It will be alright honey”. 28 years old and the sound of Mom’s voice gives more comfort then anything else combined. Setting the receiver into its cradle, I took a deep breath, quieted my thoughts and tried to focus on the task at hand.
“Madam, Madam, Madam, your bus is here! Board now!” So much for quieting my mind! Spinning around I belted back, “Board Now? I have no money, no passport, no bag! It’s because of your 5-hour departure delay that I was stranded in this seedy bus station anyways!"
The compassionate couple once again swooped in to assist. “Sweetie, they will be no help. Let’s go to the police station.” But first, Leon, as I Iater came to regard him, coaxed a train voucher out of the bus attendant to be used in a few days time. Helps to speak the common language, Afrikaans.
Collecting my big backpackers bag, I wobbled on shaky knees towards their car. Leon and Vanissa introduced themselves as the Grove Family and said they would do everything in their power to right this wrong, or at least make it more manageable. They also mentioned street kids as the almost definite culprit and drove me past a few of their known hideouts. Blood racing, I wildly scanned the dark streets ready to sprint after anyone with a black Loweprow bag and guilty grin.
The Bloemfontein police station was a step up from the bus station but still a far cry from reassuring. Three attendants sat behind a long, fluorescent cube and only reluctantly did one stand to greet us. Leon reported the incident in Afrikaans but the lady simply yawned, removed a claim form, and asked for a written testimony. Writing the incident with an impossibly shaky hand, she then asked for a written list of valuables and their estimated worth. This part really stung.
|
You see, I usually keep a, “Plan B”, in my big backpackers bag. An extra ID, bit of cash, and debit card but I made a rookie traveler error. I put my, “Plan B”, in my small, personal backpack so to avoid it being stolen from under the bus on the overnight ride (another common form of robbery in Africa). Mac Computer, DSLR Camera, Credit Cards, Drivers License, Cash and most painful of all, my travelers resume – my passport. South Africa providing the 50th stamp. Those little shits made a fortune off me, I thought. They got everything except my knickers and a few dirty T-shirts.
|
|
Finishing the claim, the lady sent us to another room - the detectives office. The detective raised an eyebrow as we walked in but before opening my mouth, he already made his assessment. He sympathized with my story at first but then began to patronize me. “You’re traveling alone, you poor thing!” Illuding to my, “unfit”, girlish state and thus reasoning for theft. There’s nothing I hate more then a man patronizing for my feminine qualities! Gritting my teeth, I defiantly stated, “Well sir, I wasn’t the only one robbed. A man, twice my height and weight was also robbed in the same moment." "It was a calculated robbery”, I offered. The thieves staked us out for hours, waiting for that little window of opportunity. “Well mam, we have many crimes in this city and can’t be everywhere.” A statement I couldn’t dispute but then he followed it up with, “Many robberies happen at the bus station. It’s normal”. I about hit the roof! So you’re telling me these robberies are commonplace yet you refuse to post one freaking police officer there! Leon and Vanissa could see the anger bubbling and put their hands on mine. Their composure and kindness once again diffused the Reggie bomb. No point in arguing, I thought, it was a mute point.
The detective said he would gather a search team and hit the streets to find my backpack. Returning to the main lobby, we waited…and waited…and waited. The detective and his “team” finally returned about an hour later…empty handed (not that I expected anything else). He promised to keep a look out and arrange another search party in the morning. Yeah right buddy, by that time my bag and all it’s contents would have been sold on the black market.
Vanissa put a warm, motherly arm around my shoulders and said, “Come on dear, you’re staying with us tonight”.
Walking up the step to Leon and Vanissa’s house, their 17-year old daughter, Ciska, greeted us at the door. It was 3:30am by this time. They offered me tea, coffee, and snacks but all I could palate was internet! I needed to retrieve embassy numbers and organize an aftermath to do list. When my eyes finally closed on that horrendous night, the sun was up and birds chirping. One hour’s rest and up again!
The next 3 days were full of hospitality I can never repay. The Grove family were leaving on vacation that very day but said I could stay as long as I needed. Offering keys to not only their house, but their car. Then, after a brilliant breakfast and uplifting conversation, Leon drove me to their family friends, the Cronje’s, to continue my robbery recovery effort with much stronger internet and phone connections. And just like that, Leon passed me off to another wonderful support net and departed on their family vacation.
I spent the next two nights in the Grove house with days spent at the Cronje house. Rudi, the boisterous and welcoming head of house, opened their family businesses to me - a successful printing press and real estate agency. Every computer, phone, printer and fax machine were at my disposal. Her son, Diedeliff, who was attending college in the US, was home on holiday and provided another helping hand. More so, he became a great friend. Helping where he could on the robbery front, he drove me between banks and forexes, but also gave me reprieve from the grind with nice lunches and dinners.
I felt so welcomed and so loved. I no longer felt the pain of the robbery and by day 3, it was with a sad heart that I had to leave the Cronje family. But not before a surprise BBQ. Their entire church group arranged a beautiful spread in the back garden while I, unknowingly, grinded away with final arrangements in the computer room. I was moved to tears when I walked out and saw the gathering. A proper South African Braai. Everyone wanted to know about me, my travels, and my life in general. They all apologized for a robbery they had no part in and reassured better things were in store.
The detective said he would gather a search team and hit the streets to find my backpack. Returning to the main lobby, we waited…and waited…and waited. The detective and his “team” finally returned about an hour later…empty handed (not that I expected anything else). He promised to keep a look out and arrange another search party in the morning. Yeah right buddy, by that time my bag and all it’s contents would have been sold on the black market.
Vanissa put a warm, motherly arm around my shoulders and said, “Come on dear, you’re staying with us tonight”.
Walking up the step to Leon and Vanissa’s house, their 17-year old daughter, Ciska, greeted us at the door. It was 3:30am by this time. They offered me tea, coffee, and snacks but all I could palate was internet! I needed to retrieve embassy numbers and organize an aftermath to do list. When my eyes finally closed on that horrendous night, the sun was up and birds chirping. One hour’s rest and up again!
The next 3 days were full of hospitality I can never repay. The Grove family were leaving on vacation that very day but said I could stay as long as I needed. Offering keys to not only their house, but their car. Then, after a brilliant breakfast and uplifting conversation, Leon drove me to their family friends, the Cronje’s, to continue my robbery recovery effort with much stronger internet and phone connections. And just like that, Leon passed me off to another wonderful support net and departed on their family vacation.
I spent the next two nights in the Grove house with days spent at the Cronje house. Rudi, the boisterous and welcoming head of house, opened their family businesses to me - a successful printing press and real estate agency. Every computer, phone, printer and fax machine were at my disposal. Her son, Diedeliff, who was attending college in the US, was home on holiday and provided another helping hand. More so, he became a great friend. Helping where he could on the robbery front, he drove me between banks and forexes, but also gave me reprieve from the grind with nice lunches and dinners.
I felt so welcomed and so loved. I no longer felt the pain of the robbery and by day 3, it was with a sad heart that I had to leave the Cronje family. But not before a surprise BBQ. Their entire church group arranged a beautiful spread in the back garden while I, unknowingly, grinded away with final arrangements in the computer room. I was moved to tears when I walked out and saw the gathering. A proper South African Braai. Everyone wanted to know about me, my travels, and my life in general. They all apologized for a robbery they had no part in and reassured better things were in store.
|
Diedeliff then dropped me off at the scene of the crime, the dreaded bus station, and I boarded my one-way bus to Cape Town. Still no ID to speak of, but a bit of cash in my pocket thanks to the Cronje family, a plan of attack and most of all, confidence. They reinstalled the belief that I would be alright and that I am capable of anything!
And just like that, the angels in the night who saved me from a horrible dream, disappeared into a memory. The robbery was the most difficult experience of all my travels yet the most fulfilling. The kindness of strangers offering a new outlook, a new faith and trust in the world and it’s brilliant people! |
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
And for those of you wondering how exactly the robbery went down:
I was seated against a wall for the better part of the 5-hour bus delay. My big bag sat just on side of me, while my small personal backpack (my important bag) was clipped around my waist, turned to my front. Reading my book for hours, it wasn’t until the bus company announced the buses arrival that I stood to rearrange my bags. Unclipping my "important bag" from my front, I set it down between my left leg and the wall I was just leaning on. Then I opened my big backpackers bag and reached in to find my sleeping bag (for the overnight bus journey). Rummaging through a few layers of dirty laundry and latest novels, I emerged with the down cacoon. Clipping my big bag shut, I stood upright and reached towards my left leg for my “important bag”. It was gone! 10-Seconds of averted attention, Gone!
And for those of you wondering how exactly the robbery went down:
I was seated against a wall for the better part of the 5-hour bus delay. My big bag sat just on side of me, while my small personal backpack (my important bag) was clipped around my waist, turned to my front. Reading my book for hours, it wasn’t until the bus company announced the buses arrival that I stood to rearrange my bags. Unclipping my "important bag" from my front, I set it down between my left leg and the wall I was just leaning on. Then I opened my big backpackers bag and reached in to find my sleeping bag (for the overnight bus journey). Rummaging through a few layers of dirty laundry and latest novels, I emerged with the down cacoon. Clipping my big bag shut, I stood upright and reached towards my left leg for my “important bag”. It was gone! 10-Seconds of averted attention, Gone!