Sorry about our delay in posting, but Katy, Jenny and I are finally at a location with good internet and our planning on posting several blogs over the course of the next week. I appologize that the blog is also not more intellectually substative. Nevertheless, the blog discusses an event which has deeply affected and shaped our summer experience.
The Robbery:
At 5:30pm on our second full day in Nicaragua, my two collogues (Jenny Plaster and Katy Mayall) and I hailed a cab in Nicaragua’s bustlingstate capital, Managua. Though the manager of our hostel and our good friend Carlos (a Nicaraguan) both told us the taxi ride would cost around 150 cordoba ($7 US), we instantaneously hopped inside the firstcab we encountered, without even bargaining, after the driver offered us the deal of a lifetime: he would take us for fifty cordoba.
Five minutes into a Jenny Plaster narrative, the cabbie pulled over to the side of the road to inquire into the traveling destination of two men: “Thirty cordoba” the driver asserted, moments before the two men agreed and climbed into the back seat of the cab next to Katy and I. We did not blink an eye at this curious Nicaraguan custom, since we had shared a cab earlier in the morning with another group of strangers. Oddly enough the driver that morning tried to overcharge us by tagging on to our fare “a protection fee”. We resisted his ridiculous offer until he finally agreed to take us for a far more reasonable price: taxi cabs in Nicaragua do not use meters.
Anyway, not even one minute later in the midst of Jenny’s continuining tale, the inside of the cab exploded with violence. One of the men began attacking Jenny, punching her in the face and then strangling her with her seatbelt. The other man pulled out a gun, firing it out the window next to Jenny’s head. He then began screaming directions at Katy and I. Since my Spanish is abysmal at best, I had absolutely no clue what our hijackers were saying. Yet, before I knew it, I had emptied my pockets and sealed my eyes shut as requested. The hijacking lasted about twenty five minutes as our robbers emptied our bags and wallets of all our possessions: Katy's brand new digital camera, Jenny's video camera, over $400 US dollars, Jenny’s prescription drugs, and various debit and credit cards. They inquired into the nature of each of our charge cards in order to find out if they were debit or credit. If we answered debit, they wrote down our pin numbers: Katy gave them all of her correct information; Jenny provided them with a false pin number for her debit card, and I denied that either of my cards was a debit card: a complete fabrication.
The robbers, strangely enough, then preceded to give us back ourbags, wallets, passports, credit cards and 120 cordoba ($6) for cabfare. We have various theories why, but I believe its because we madethem laugh (Jenny told them they would like her prescription painkillers) and we managed to inform them why we were in the country: to work with the poor. Throughout the altercation, the cabbie was zipping through both busy thoroughfares and far less traveled back roads.
Finally, the car stopped. We quickly scanned our surroundings, (no lights, cars, people, or houses) we were on a back road surrounded by fields. No! They ordered us out of the car, beginning with Jenny. My heart collapsed with fear and dread: where were they taking Jenny? We pleaded for our safety, for them to just take our things and go, to not seperate us. They kept yelling at us to get out of the car, threatening our lives if we did not obey them. One by one we exited, until we were all out of the car.
The moment our feet touched pavement, we ran for our lives towards a singular light in the distance, which served as our lighthouse. Fifteen feet from the source of the light (a security office), we began scaling an iron rod gate the final obstacle between us and whatwe perceived as a haven of safety and security. Half way up the fence, however, the security guard came charging out of the room with a shotgun. We fell to the ground and my two friends began pleading with him to help us. We needed to know where we were, so we could call our friend Carlos to pick us up: (miraculously the robbers did not find our cell phone, which was in the one pocket (my front right) which they neglected to check. Though they specifically asked us before letting us go whether we had a cell phone, we elected to lie, which was paying huge dividends now. Despite our hysteric pleas for the security guard’s assistance, he refused to tell us where we were. Carlos was in his car ready to pick us up, yet the stupid security guard refused to talk with him or to give us directions. With Jenny huddling against the wall crying, I surveyed our surroundings and located a sign about fifty feet away, indicating we were in a cemetery. We called Carlos; he was on his way.
Five minutes later, we spotted a motorcycle approaching in the distance from the other side of the fence. We asked the security guard who it was; he did not respond. What in the world was happening? As the motorcycle drew closer, the security guard's silence became deafening. We decided to run, hiding ourselves in the darkness of the night on the back side of the gate. Moments later, we spotted a second set of headlights and heard the roar of an automobile engine flying up the street on our side of the fence. As it pulled within fifty feet, we saw Carlos. It was over.
The robbery was the most terrifying experience of my life, it taught me how vulnerable/helpless one becomes in the presence of a gun and reminded me that Jenny, Katy and I represented highly visible symbols of wealth in a very poor country. Though Nicaragua is the safest country in Latin America, my friend Tim (who has lived in Columbia, Nicaragua, and Mexico) summed it up best when he told me he was recently robbed in Montreal - Canada. A city not really known for its high crime rate. Though Jenny, Katy and I discussed the possibility of coming home early or simply not returning to Managua, in the end we decided to complete the work we came here to do, but to use more commonsense in the process. Though I desperatly longed to return to the safety and comfort of home, my two twenty-two year old collogues simply refused to consider leaving. What message would our departure send to the young female victims of sexual abuse we just finished working with in Managua?
I want to conclude this blog with a poem that was written on Mother Theresa’s bedroom wall, which challenges me in my moments of doubt to continue to pursue social justice.
The Poem:
People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.Love them anyway.
If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives. Do good anyway.
If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies.Succeed anyway.
The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.Do good anyway.
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.Be honest and frank anyway.
The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down bythe smallest men and women with the smallest minds.Think big anyway.
People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.Fight for a few underdogs anyway.
What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.Build anyway.
People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.Help people anyway.
Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.Give the world the best you have anyway.
Scott Wagner
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