Monday Night-Tuesday Morning 1.30am

About five weeks ago our house was burgled. They didn’t get inside; they reached through the windows and grabbed what ever they could. Their prize for the night was M’s bag with cash, cards and some keys.

We changed the lock for the front door and thought that was that. But on Saturday evening we were burgled again, only this time they had keys, so they got inside (all the doors were secure). They took a lot of stuff from me, and only from me. Perhaps they got in through my balcony so mine was the first room they came to. Perhaps they went to straight to my room. Either way they took an External Hard drive with a year worth of work, photos, artwork, writing and the rest. I am still coming to terms with that. They also took small electronic stuff – my card reader, MP3 player and some leads and spare batteries. Plus some jewellery and a few other things. Suffice to say, I was not happy.

Three, sometimes four, people live here and both robberies happened at the exact time that all of us were out. Which suggests they have been watching us, enough to know our routines. Last night I didn’t feel comfortable walking up the road after dark. I live on a very dark, very quiet street, and it occurred to me that someone watching would know I have a laptop. They now know I don’t leave it in the house – it doesn’t take much to guess what’s in the laptop-sized backpack that I am never seen without.

So tonight, I decided not to walk up the road, but to stay home. I was relaxing on the terrace, listening to music, when... I don’t know, something made me look round. I saw something-someone next to the garage door, two metres behind me. It was all very quick... I didn’t know what was happening, I vaguely thought it was someone looking for my house-mate, but I knew it wasn’t right. I jumped out of my hammock and stepped toward them, which activated the security light on the corner of the terrace.

The next few moments are vivid in my mind. My step forward illuminated two men, wearing home-made ski masks and dark clothing, coming towards me with knives. The knife of the one in front looked like a prison weapon – the handle had frayed cloth wrapped around it.

I read somewhere that to be a victim, you must behave like a victim. I am simplifying of course, but you get the idea. This article suggested that when under threat, like this, you should be loud and aggressive. You must show no fear, as if you were dealing with a big, unknown dog.

When I opened my mouth to start shouting, I thought for a half-second that I might sob or vomit instead, but then I heard shouting and knew it was me. They both jumped. I got louder, then something strange happened: it must have been the combination of adrenalin and fear, but I became genuinely furious. The fury took hold of me, in fact I was more than furious – I was enraged. So now I’m really shouting at them, cursing them and threatening them. I advanced on the one in front, yelling into his face and they both backed away. Then they were running away and I was standing on the very edge of the terrace shouting curses and outrage into the night. I think, by then, I might have actually been shaking my fists.

I ran into the house and went straight for M’s machete. How did I know where it was? Thinking back, I remember seeing it last month when I was putting some clean blankets away in the wardrobe – The Blue Blanket actually – which is becoming a recurring ‘special guest’ in the outside-jane show), but I didn’t think I really took note of it, I just saw it.

None-the-less, I knew exactly where it was earlier tonight... but what did I think I was going to do with it? I stormed outside and did some more shouting. I think I could easily pass my Vogon Flight Officer exams now.

Then the fear hit me like a punch in the chest and I realised I needed to be inside the house right now. I grabbed my laptop and ran inside, locking myself in – hands suddenly useless and fumbling with the lock. Did I lock the machete outside?! You stupid bi... No! It’s here by my foot. Is that a noise? A shadow? Jesus, they had fucking ski masks? What now? Phone! I have a phone!

Can you believe, after nearly two months, yesterday I finally capitulated and bought a new phone. Yesterday. I already have two phones, but they won’t work with Guatemalan sim cards. I have been looking for somewhere that ‘unlocks’ phones. Then yesterday I gave up and bought a new one. Yesterday.

I phoned my house-mate. No answer. He’s the manager of a restaurant and it was Happy Hour. With shaking hands, I struggled to send the following text:

“2 men in ski masks at the house. I yelled and they ran. But am sacred. Please call police.”

I rang again. I remembered I have M’s number too. I sent him the same text. He called me straight back. From there it got better – he started ringing everybody.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m downstairs” I was pacing the floors, machete in hand.
“Go upstairs, you can close the door and stand on it” My room is an attic and I have ‘a door in the floor’. He was right, it’s the safest place, but thinking that scared me all over again. I went upstairs and stayed on the phone with M and his girlfriend until the Calvary arrived: Three Policeman, one policewoman, both house-mates, the restaurant night guards, his friends, the kitchen matriarch, and a customer from the restaurant who was brought along because he’s bilingual (fantastic – he translated for me, so I could talk to the police,) and maybe more! There were lots of people, a whole house full of people. People everywhere; people with lights; people searching the bushes; shadows in the bushes and everyone asking me the same questions. Too many people.

Finally everyone left, and two security guys came to watch the house for tonight. House-mate #2 and I finally sat down (I hadn’t sat down since I jumped out of the hammock earlier) and stared at each other in surprise.
“This is just crazy,” he said. And it is.

Fatigue.

Now, it’s 1.30am I’m exhausted, but still wide-awake. So once again, in a crisis, I am opting to write about it. Do I live my own life vicariously through this blog? Do I distance myself, and detach, by externalising personal events into a ‘story’? Do I suppress my emotion by focusing instead, on finding the correct vocabulary? The most appropriate tone? Suitable jokes?

So what next? I love this place, I really do. I spoke with my Dad on skype earlier this week; I did the usual thing of turning the computer around so he could see where I was.
“It looks like an Impressionist painting,” he said.
He’s exactly right; it has that same idyllic colour scheme, warm light and peacefulness. Sometimes in the morning, I finish my yoga practice just as the mist is lifting off the mountains – soft light and long shadows falling across verdant hills – and I think it’s so beautiful here it takes my breath away. Except two men in ski masks threatened me with knives this evening.

So I think I’m going to have to leave. How very, very sad. What a truly terrible ending to a really rubbish week. But I can’t live somewhere where I can’t walk home alone, or stay home and relax for an evening. They came at 9.15pm. Usually I get home just before 9pm and the earliest my house-mates are home is about 10pm. So I am sure they knew I would be there, and be alone. I think they’re after the laptop – so sooner or later they will try to rob me again. And you only have 'the element of surprise' once.

I realise “these things happen” and you shouldn’t look for sense or order where, perhaps there is none... but I can’t help feeling that I’m being tested. It seems to be one damn thing after another in this Eden. First the spiders! Perhaps you wouldn’t believe it from reading these blogs, but I am terrified of spiders! I’m as jumpy as hell in this house. So I try to make light of it, to see the ridiculous side of the situation and of myself. But there comes a point when you run out of jokes. Then I get my first scorpion sting! That was only two weeks ago! For nearly two weeks we have no running water... and then the house floods. Two burglaries, then two blokes in ski masks. The Universe is coming at me from all angles and I’m not sure whether I’m bobbing or drowning.

So what now?

Friday Morning

The came again on Wednesday night. This time I didn’t see anything, I was inside the house. But the Night Watchman saw the security light go on, when he went to look he saw someone running down towards the river. Upon investigation, he also found a space in the bushes where someone had been sitting, presumably watching the house. The police came back and looked around, but he was long gone. It’s so easy to disappear in this environment, unless they’re caught red-handed, they won’t be caught.

Since Monday I’m not really sleeping and I’m very jumpy. I still feel kind of ‘surprised’ by the whole thing. It feels very personal – either they’re after the laptop or me. I have wondered whether I have offended someone without realising? But I can’t think when. People say ‘the lads’ around here must know who it is... so I also wonder whether ‘the lads’ are laughing at these guys for getting scared off by an unarmed, lone woman. This is Latin America, the home of Machismo, if they feel I’ve ‘made fools’ of them...

If they’re stupid enough to stick to the same pattern – Saturday, Monday, Wednesday – maybe they’ll come again tonight? We have lots of people staying the house now – some of whom are hoping they do come back.

I will leave very soon – just getting a plan. Fatigue.

Addendum

I forgot to mention the cats! I am not sure how many we have because they are all identical. So, needless to say, they are all equally adorable. I am encouraging them to hang-out up here and be fierce with anything smaller than they are.

Last night a very grown-up spider emerged from the rafters – easily as big as my hand and particularly ugly – but he was crouched just beyond my designated loft space, so I made the decision he could stay! Ha!

I managed to convince myself that he was in his space and I am in mine and he has no reason to invade my loft. Of course this is a ridiculous argument as it presupposes the spider recognises the distinction between my loft and his rafters. It also assumes that he gives a damn. I decided not to look at him. That helped. In my favour, yesterday I did sweep my loft with a verve and ferocity that only those of you who knew me as a small child will be able to imagine. However at bedtime I was forced to fully embrace the fact that, should he choose to do so, he could in my bed in less than 30 seconds. He was almost the size of a small cat!

So it’s not surprising that, when one of the small cats jumped onto my bed just as I was dozing off, I should jump, momentarily leaving my skin, and catapult (or kick? I am not sure) the small cat off the bed and across the room. He/she retreated to the bookcase and sat and glared at me with equal parts bewilderment and hatred.

I said sorry, but you know what cats are like – it could be weeks until I’m forgiven.

And no MG4D, I am not travelling with a mosquito net, but it’s something I think I may need to acquire. Because mosquito nets are impenetrable (I believe they are made of the same fabric as Batman’s cape) to any and all monsters. That’s what I choose to believe anyway, and I don’t want any of you to tell me otherwise.

Please.

Let slip the dogs of war

The house behind my place has dogs. Lots of dogs. Lots of small, yappy, squeally, really, really annoying dogs. Last week, they got a new dog. It’s yappy, it’s whiney and it doesn’t stop barking. Ever.

Actually, that’s not completely accurate. It usually has some quiet periods between 3am and 5am, but apart from that, it doesn’t stop, ever. It’s starts fairly promptly at 5am, from that point it only pauses for breath. The other dogs join in for the chorus, about every 20 minutes or so.

I have not yet seen the new dog. The other dogs come out and hurl themselves at the gate when anyone walks past; like crazed, rabid, miniature monsters, they crowd at the gate post, thrusting their tiny jaws through the gaps and snarling fiercely. They biggest of them could probably do some damage to my knee... but I reckon all of them are small enough to drop kick.

But the new dog is kept around the back of the house, in the yard... which backs onto my back window. I went up to the roof earlier to see if I could see the little bastard; but I couldn’t. I think he might have sensed my venomous presence though – as he became even more frenzied than usual.

My question is: do you think I could kill it?!

I’m thinking raw meat, generously dusted in rat poison and thrown over the back wall. You’re shocked, I can tell. But seriously, for the last week, it has not stopped barking! I wake up every morning to it’s yelping, and fall into a tempestuous sleep to sound of it’s snivelling yaps.

Ok, so there’s the Karma thing. I very rarely kill spiders these days – preferring to flick them out the door if I can. In fact, I almost blush to confess it, but I even rescued a woodlouse from drowning in my bathroom sink last week. So I’m really not a naturally murderous person. But I think, although I’m not entirely sure, that I could kill this dog.

There’s retribution to consider: If the people who own it, (the boorish slobs who can’t even be bothered to train their own household pets to behave in a socially acceptable way – they don’t live on a farm! This is an urban area, it’s all residential around here, there must be many people suffering from lack of sleep this week) if these people are unhappy about the death of their horrible dog, then they might also be angry with it’s killer. One assumes these are not people I want to be on the wrong side of. Also, I am one of those old-fashioned Brits, who apologises if someone bumps into me, (presumably I am apologising for using the pavement – I don’t really understand it myself, but it’s an ingrained habit), so I don’t deal with confrontations very well.

Of course I could try and appeal to their good nature and ask them to deal with the dog now – to stop it from barking all the damn time. But lets be honest – if they cared they would be dealing with it already! Here’s the thing: not once in the last week have I heard anyone say ‘shush’. Not once. There’s also the language problem to consider. Of course I could sit down with my dictionary and work out how to say, “Excuse me, but your dog is driving me crazy! Please can you stop it from barking; I have to work and need my sleep; but more importantly I am about to embark on the full Yogic Path (stay tuned for that blog post!) for which I will need a calm and balanced demeanour and it’s hard to have that when I wake up every morning feeling persecuted and indignant. Please, help me!” Yes indeed, I could say all that. And they would reply?

Who knows what they would reply! Because they would reply in rapid, incomprehensible Spanish, the same way everyone replies. And I would stand there, feeling bewildered and ever so slightly foolish. Then I would sigh, and nod my head politely, and walk away... and the barking would continue... unchecked and unabated. And then, if I kill the dog, they’ll know it was me!

As I wrote the last paragraph, someone in a nearby flat has started playing some very loud, very angry Wagnerian Opera. That’s definitely a symptom of a murderous intent! Maybe they will kill the dog? Maybe even tonight! But if they don’t... can I?

Malapascua

Tiny island - maybe 2k by 1k. Not many people, thousands of cockerels. The 'dawn' chorus is deafening and starts at about 3am. It goes on all day [breaking only for the extreme midday heat] until about midnight.

I lie in bed dreaming of having some heavy artillery. Perhaps an automatic rifle or a machine gun. I could finish off a few hundred of them from my bedroom window - cock a doodle doooooooarrrraaaawk! Hahahahahahaahahhahahaaha... feathers everywhere! [sigh] It would be bliss! [grin]

The rest I would pick off with a sniper rifle from the top of a very tall palm tree which [in my daydreams] I can climb easily. Cock-a-doodle-phfffit. Smack, all over and I sleep!

But these are fighting cockerels, proud bird-warriors who glare at me with imperious and knowing eyes as I pass by. They're probably packing a pair of pistols under those feathers. I wouldn't win.

I give in, get up and go for breakfast.