The Heist

There is water coming out of that thing finally!
No matter what, I was going to have a good day.

“You’re not going to blog about this, are you?” I’ve been asked this question several times over the past few days, so naturally I’m going to blog about this. I think they were worried because I generally blog about things that are funny, and people don’t think that what happened could be funny, but they’re wrong. I’ve laughed about it much more than I’ve cried about it, since I haven’t actually cried about it.  I have woken up at 3am in a cold fury about it, though, full disclosure. Then again, it is not abnormal for me to be awake at 3am thinking about things that keep me from going back to sleep.

So what happened was this (and I’ll start at the middle and go outwards because that is how life works): I’d just been to the store to buy enough junk food and sodas for a six year old’s birthday party, assuming that six year old is allowed to drink sugar-free caffeinated beverages (I am). On my way back to the office (where I’d left my computer and other stuff while I was at the store), I had heard some text messages come in from my dad. I’d been texting before about a project break-through I’d been waiting for. It had been a great day so far, and I was in a very good mood in spite of the fact that I’d just been driving in N’Djamena and nothing makes me more sweary and crabby than dodging motorcyclists with death wishes.  Before running back into the office, I decided to reply to my dad’s message. As I was in the middle of writing about another excellent aspect of my now seemingly-possible projet, a man jumped in the passenger’s side of my car.  As we have lots of beggars in our area, I was expecting a heart-felt plea for money or food or phone credit, but then I saw his face, and realized it wasn’t that. Some instinct grabbed away my phone from his clutching grasp and then my wallet. He grabbed at the wallet too and we engaged in a battle of tug-of-war with me yelling for the guard at the top of my lungs.  Also, there was some incoherent yelling happening as well, as it is hard to decide which language to scream invective in when one is being attacked. As I was already clutching the phone with one hand, and he had a firmer angle on the ground with his feet, he managed to get the wallet free and ran for the street. Naturally, I ran after him. By this time, the guard managed to come out and join the chase, until the thief jumped on a waiting motorcycle and pulled out a gun. I kept running, the guard yelled, “He has a gun, stop!” So they got away, no thanks to the soldiers casually walking down the other side of the street who could have shot them.

A rough drawing of what the robbery looked like,
as there is no photographic evidence.

I guess it’s good that they weren’t shot, though. I mean, it would have been sad if they were shot for less than 60,000CFA (less than 100USD), a cool wallet I got in Colombia because it was cheap (and Debbie was taking a million years trying on those shorts and buying things was my only entertainment), my IAS ID badge, and my Chadian driver’s license, which had the dangerously wrong blood type on it anyway (I’m O- not O+). He tried to get my groceries, but got scared of me and dropped them. If he had gotten them, I would be totally cool with shooting him. He probably also would have been up for immediate death, facing the crushing disappointment of finding he’d risked life and limb to steal a bag full of candy and chips (I’ve been told that not everyone finds that an acceptable form of sustenance).

An example of the contents of my grocery cart, as a general rule.

So the thief got away, which bothered me because I don’t like losing, but I consoled myself by the fact that I still have my phone, which is way more important to me that a driver’s license. Now I have a great excuse not to have to drive. But if I want to drive, I have the police commissioner’s phone number if I get pulled over.  I kind of  hope I do. “Oh yeah, Mr. Bored Police Guy Who Wants to Make a Quick Buck from the NGO Car? You want to try to get money from me? Here, talk to your boss instead.”

This is me chasing after the thief. A very accurate portrait I happened to find online.
(It's so hard to stay off the grid in this digital age.)

How did I meet the police boss? Well, as the thief was bopping away down the road and I was regretting not throwing a rock at him while I had the opportunity to check if his crappy old gun was actually working, I was immediately surrounded by a crowd of concerned people who had been conveniently absent moments before. I really don’t know where they all came from. I found my head awkwardly smashed into the firm embrace against the ample bosom of my very concerned office housekeeper who had also grabbed up my groceries and put them back in the bag without judging my nutritional choices (to my face anyway). She is great.  There were also about 8-10 men, most of whom I’ve never seen in my life. People seemed to be waiting for me to cry (which is consistent with responses of most other people after that), but I was feeling pretty good. I’d won the main contest (phone) and almost won the second contest and it was striking me at the moment what a hilarious debacle this had been for the erstwhile thief. I mean, I was in the car with the keys in the ignition. He had a gun. He could have pulled it out on me earlier and demanded the car. No one, including myself, knows if I would have just acquiesced. It turns out, I’m not super-good at surrendering.

One of the things in my grocery sack that the thief didn't get.
Yes, I did spend 1100CFA on a bag of melted crocodile gummies.

Still edible.

Oh right, I was going to tell how I met the police. One of the men I’d never seen before turned out to be the brother of our neighbor, a half Sudanese, half-Chadian who understands my Arabic. He also spent some time in India and we spoke some Hindi together too, though he was in Tamil Nadu. He insisted, in Indian-accented English, that we go to the police station (side-bobbing his head too, I’ve really missed that), as he himself is a police and he can make sure that we can report this just in case the thieves murder someone and casually place my driver’s license on the dead body. If I’ve reported them stolen, I will not be dragged off to jail as a suspect. Otherwise, there’s no guarantee. I have a murderous look in my eye, it seems. 

So we jumped in the car and went to the police station where most people were already gone (It was Friday, which is always a half-day in Chad, a really good innovation unless you are concerned with getting a lot of things done in a week—I rarely am, so I’m a fan). The police ushered me into the office muttering something that I wasn’t paying attention to. I walked in and sat down before he started yelling, “Les chaussures! Les chaussures!” I’d neglected to take off my shoes at the door and I’d walked across his ugly fake carpet in sandy shoes. He managed to forgive me and dutifully noted my loss on a scrap piece of paper where, no doubt, he’d previously dutifully noted someone else’s. But at least I’m safe from being accused of murder…for now…

 And an encouraging note for my mom: Hervé's reaction to this event was to immediately sit down at his computer and write an Email entitled: "Urgent. Agression des bandis sur Amanda devant le bureau," which proceeded to describe how I was agressée at 13:05 until the gardien intervened (I suppose he intervened a tiny bit at the very end). He copied everyone who checks their emails in IAS Chad (so about 5 people), but the news spread fast and I had about 20 phone calls that weekend (some at 6am on Saturday--I feel the love, but don't love me that much) to tell me how sorry they were and "Courage" and "are you really ok?" Kandos even called from the Congo where he is on vacation with his family to check in and start on an elaborate plan to keep me safe in the future. Hervé escorted me home in his car. The guards now come outside and stand by the door of the car every time I get in and out now. The IAS team will take care of their white girl foreigner who doesn't pay attention to motorcycles that might be following her car from the store because she always secretly plots how to accidentally on purpose knock motorcyclists off their bikes with her car anyway so she can't humanize motorcycle drivers, and consequently she doesn't notice the ones that are exhibiting concerning behavior. Anyway, Mom, the IAS people have got my back. 

We also had to file an official "declaration" of the loss
 of my driver's license so that I can get a new one.
We went back to the 1960's to file it on a type writer.
Herve was amused by how much I loved that.

This has nothing to do with the blog, but I saw this tea
in the shop the other day, and I thought I should probably buy this.
I really need to learn how to decline the sugar.
But I didn't. And I still can't decline the sugar.

I also didn't buy this one, but I still love this packaging.
A masterpiece of marketing genius.
This is why it is important for the Chinese to expand their hold on Africa.

 And this blog post is over. I wasn't sure if that was clear. But that's I've now told the story of what happened against the better judgement of many of my friends--and I'm still alive. And I'm still not crying. I am a bit more suspicious of people, but I've also taken great pains to flirt delicately with men I see every day on my running route(s) so that they will protect me if they see someone messing with me. And Annie is going to get me some pepper spray so watch out, criminals.