I’m walking down the street. My laptop hidden in a Nike string backpack underneath my coat. US$120 in my pocket because I had just been to the bank and hadn’t split up my money yet.
As I turned the corner out of the alleyway from my house, I see two men coming out of an alley with shotguns. I continue walking. They’re in front of me. They’re walking slowly. They’re talking quietly to each other. As I’m walking towards them, slightly faster, they take the trench coat off their arms and put them on. I’m getting closer now. I’m starting to feel scared. At this point, I was petrified. These men were going to rob someone. I’m thinking, “Who better than the white red head walking down the street with a laptop and 120 bucks in his pocket.”
Well. I kept walking. As I pass them, they add ski masks to their disguise. This is the point where I wanted to call 911. Now I really appreciate the Police. Oh how I love America.
If this had happened in America, the police would arrive by the time I reached the end of the street. Here, I know the nearest police station is 30 minutes away. So I did what they say to do if your being followed in a car. Instead of continuing to Marguerite’s, down a darker portion of the street and a hundred yards from the nearest person, I walked farther down the street to where I saw several people standing outside a store and bought minutes for my phone. Cause you know you’re not supposed to lead them home. Or walk down dark streets with people sporting ski masks trench coats and shotguns following you.
They kept on walking. Right past the tienda. Down the street. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. At least they weren’t going to rob me. Yet. At this point I left the tienda and ran up the street to Marguerite’s house. I went inside, shut the door, and flipped out. I was about to cry. At this point, more than any in my life, I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home. I was scared. I had felt true fear for my safety. My first real fear for my safety.
Of course, all of my fear had been for naught. I went and talked to Yoli, Marguerite’s host mo. As I explained to her what I had seen she only nodded and eventually began filling in my words before I said them. Turns out these men are good. These are good bank robbers with ski masks and trench coats. I was still confused. And scared.
Turns out, the men of Santo Tomas have a neighborhood watch association. They ban together to protect the town. Meaning they actually arm themselves, and protect the town. Six to eight men per night, in groups of 3 or 4, arm themselves with military grade shotguns and patrol the streets. When they see a car they stop it and make them explain who they are and why they’re here. And they patrol until 3 in the morning.
This system is fascinating to me. There is no local police presence in Santo Tomas, so before they started this vigilante neighborhood watch, my host parents say petty crime was rampant. Violent crime and organized crime were present but not very frequent. After they began this system, the crime all but disappeared. This crude system seems to be very effective. Scary to foreigners and but very effective. I certainly wouldn’t rob anyone with this system in place.
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