The Hungry Mugger

The following is the fictional backstory to the real experience I had in Sierra Leone.

He awoke to the sound of thin tin pans being scattered across the crumbling cement slab outside his door. He could hear a man and woman shouting as a crowd of their neighbors gathered to watch. He sat up wiped the sweat off his neck and tried to shake off the heaviness of his slumber.

The fighting continued.

“Eh Bo! Get oat me ouse!” a female voice screeched.

“Ooman if you kick me oat , I de go.”  The male voice promised.

Sobbing she managed to say, “Go!”

Grabbing his dirty shirt the man strides off angry and bare chested.

“Good luck feeding those bastard Children.”  The man mumbled loudly enough so that the spectators heard his targeted insult.

Now fully awake he was acutely aware of his hunger. It had been a day since his last meal consisting of dried Cassava flakes, bright orange palm oil and Maggie seasoning, the food of security guards and domestic help.  Without the noise from the fight disturbing him he would have continued to sleep through his hunger. Unemployment rate of eighty percent meant that decent work was hard to find, especially for his generation that grew up during the civil war. He had been too young to fight in the war but due to the disruption that wars cause his education was sporadic and incomplete. The war left him behind like so many others who were left with no family, tribal connections and no hope of a better future. These were not the kinds of things a hungry man contemplated. The only thing on his mind was how he could temporarily satisfy his hungry belly.

           

Slipping on his jeans, T-shirt and flip-flops he stepped out of the dark dilapidated room he rented and into the yard; everything seemed back in order. There was no evidence of the ruckus that just occurred. Dogs resumed their sun bathing on the drying slab while chickens moved about pecking at shiny pieces of garbage.

           

Driven by hunger he decided to head to Lumley beach, maybe he would meet some fishermen as they brought in their last catch. He hoped he could convince them to spare him some of their unsellable leftovers.  He looked down at his gold colored watch, even though it stopped working some time ago. He kept it because it looked nice and made his younger brothers jealous.  Forced to estimate the time he glanced up at the horizon he guessed that there was about two hours of daylight left.  Again his stomach ached for something to fill it. If only he could turn the sand into rice. 

He scanned the shore for fishermen. There were none. He kept walking. It was too late; he had slept though the last catch of the day, missing yet another opportunity to eat. The only people who were still working the sand were hawkers draped in trinkets, amputees who squatted in the half built hotels along the shore and prostitutes waiting for their evening meal. They, like him, were desperate to live in spite of how hopeless life appeared. A small part of him was thankful that he wasn’t a woman. As a man he had it easier by comparison. Physically strong he could take, by force, what he needed.  Giving up on a meal, he turned and began the slow painful walk back down the beach.  

THE REAL EVENT.

It had been a ruff day nothing out of the ordinary had occurred yet everything seemed harder.  Perhaps it was combination of heat and isolation that was making me desperate to get outside of the walls of our compound. I decided to pack up my tuna sandwich and water and head down to the beach for a spontaneous picnic dinner.  I was hoping a change of location would be enough to help me change my mood.  My roommate agreed to join me and we left for Lumley hoping to catch the sunset and cool ocean breeze.

Lumley Beach is the closest beach to Freetown located on the Northern tip of the Freetown peninsula.  It’s a beautiful location with soft sand and breezes that match, providing some relief from the sweltering year round heat. Now that the war is over its become prime real-estate.  The northern shore has some older established business that survived the war like Family Kingdom, a “resort” hotel and restaurant.  As you drove south along beach road there is one half built building after another. Some are future guesthouses owned by famous local footballers and others; I suspect are being built by corrupt government officials investing the loot they have siphoned off foreign aid.

I wasn’t in the mood to deal with the ever-present prostitutes, hawkers and beggars, so in an attempt to avoid them we headed to the undeveloped southern end of the beach. Parking between the road and the sand we got out and walked toward our undesignated picnic spot. Still holding the car keys I decided to give them to my roommate. As I tried to put them in her purse for safekeeping she took them out of my hand and placed them in her pocket. I shrugged, thinking I guess her pockets are safer than mine and kept walking.

It was good to be out of the compound. The fresh salty air, and a chance to dip my toes in the ocean were just what I needed. Soon I realized that it was getting dark and so we decided to make our way back to the car before the sunset completely.  It was only six o’clock in the evening but when you live near the equator it means that the sun sets fast and early. We picked up the remains of our dinner and made our way to the car.

That was when I noticed a young man walking in our direction. He wasn’t a hawker, so I assumed he was just enjoying the sunset like we were.  As I watched he stopped and removed his flip-flops, but I thought noting of it. I turned and looked toward my roomie she was swinging her camera that was lassoed to her wrist on her way back to the vehicle.  I hurried to catch up. Suddenly I saw a figure moving out of the left corner of my eye. The figure lunged toward my roommates dangling camera.  It was that young man with the flip-flops I had noticed moments before. As he lunged I yelled, “Krisnee!”  Surprised by my yelp she yanked her arm and turned toward me.  Causing the man to miss the camera by a few inches.

Determined flip-flop man circled back again this time trying to grab Krisnee’s purse. She pulled her purse close to her chest in response and, began to back peddle and yell, “NO! NO!”  Without thinking I ran over to the man and began to wrestle with him. I’ve head people say that in emergency situations you never know how you’re going to react, and they are right.  It felt as if we were playing Capture the Flag at a youth camp. While tangled up with the thief, I yelled for my roommate to run, as if this would have helped.   Where was she going to go? And if she did manage to run away then I would have been left alone with our attacker.  But I wasn’t thinking I was reacting. As our wrestling match continued I tried reaching for the attackers face like I had learned in a self-defense class.  Unfortunately he was much stronger and taller and had longer arms than my 5’ 5” 160 pound frame could manage even with the help of adrenaline.

Again he came at us and managed to get ahold of my roommate’s purse. While my roomie held on for dear life I lunged and grabbed on to the purse stings too. The very strong man then proceeded to drag both my roommate and I though the sand on our stomachs. I was thinking, “let go you idiot!” I’m not sure if my thoughts were directed toward him or myself. Finally, the straps on the purse gave way.  And the man ended up with the purse and we ended up with the straps.

           

Lying in the sand we watched him run away with his new purse. I felt relieved and sick at the same time.  I saw the beach patrol headed our way they shouted to us from the road asking if we were ok. We shouted back, “Yes!” One of the patrolmen jumped out of the army green Range Rover and started chasing the thief.  We watched as he pursued the thief across the beachfront road and over a wall and into the mangrove swamp on the other side. We stood up trying to catch our breath.  After a few minutes the beach patrolman came back empty handed. It was no use.  He was too fast.  The thief and the purse were gone.

We were numb from the event.  The beach patrol proceeded to take down some of the details of our picnic ordeal. Including our contact information in case they caught the guy later. They then cautioned us and left.  We walked quickly back to our vehicle. At once I remembered the car keys I had tried to place in my roommates purse earlier. I asked her, “Do you still have the keys?” Unsure, she reached into her pocket and pulled them out.  We both smiled with relief.  In that moment we realized that God had been with us. While we lost the purse and money, we were safe and unharmed. We still had the keys to our vehicle, house and the thief’s original target, the camera.For the next few nights I think Krissnee and I both had nightmares about the mugging. 

This experience has affected me in ways I couldn’t have predicted. For instance, a few years ago while I was waiting for a friend on a busy street corner in my hometown of Portland, Oregon. Someone sunk up behind me and placed their chin on my shoulder. I jumped! It was my friend. She giggled, and as calmly as possible said, “Please! Don’t, EVER, do that again.”  She smiled sheepishly and said, “Sorry.” Now over five years later I still flinch when I sense someone is coming up behind me too quickly. As a precaution when I walk through a crowded public area, I often think about zipping up my purse and holding it tightly under my arm just in case. All things considered these are minor residual impressions.

Many people in Sierra Leone have experienced far worse than being mugged by an unarmed man.  Like those who survived ten years of civil war, they saw and experienced countless acts of brutality, which undoubtedly left deeper wounds than our mugging. We were lucky.  We weren’t injured or raped.  Yes we experienced a degree of trauma.  Yes it affected us in ways that are not pleasant. Yet, I can’t help but think about the young man who mugged us and what his life was like.  His situation must have been infinitely more complicated if he felt that he needed to steal.  I’ve never been that desperate. I’ve never had to steal or sell my body so that I could eat.  By comparison my life has been easy.