My heartbeat has returned to normal. As I type, it is 7:50 pm. I suppose enough time has passed.
Class was enjoyable today – it was enjoyable because I paid heed to nary a word that emerged from the teacher’s mouth, especially those that were intended to discourage me from talking, playing tic-tac-toe and engaging in all such other activities in his class.
Unfortunately, the lecturer ended class early – perhaps as it was the last class.
On my way home, I chatted amicably with the taxi driver who apparently knew my family, and I was dropped out, as per usual, at the bottom of the street that led to my house. The distance from the drop off point to my house can be comfortably covered in a 3 minute walk – 2 minutes, if you are brisk.
After tumbling out of the taxi, lap top bag, purse, and supplementary bag (to store exam books, glasses case etc) in hand, I was halted by a next door neighbour, Lena, who stood at the corner, looking towards the other end of the street (in the direction of my house).
She called my name, and told me to wait.
“… I don’t want you to walk up that street, now.”
Thinking that she was joking, I smiled and asked her why, waiting for the witty reply I assumed she had in store.
“Two gun men broke in by Bert, looking for Ron.”
It must have been then that I realised that I had just stepped into a tense situation. If, by some cerebral fault, I did not realise this at that point, I surely would have when I followed the gaze of Lena and the 2 or 3 other people who stood at the corner.
I was equipped with my glasses, but because it was a bit far away, and also because the street light directly over Bert’s house was non-functional, it was difficult to identify the person who had, as I looked up, burst out of his house.
Ordinarily, I would not have thought much of it, especially if those people were not at the corner to prevent me from stumbling into an outdoor gun range. My mind would most likely have been running on several other things, and I would not have thought twice about the agitated movements of the guy I now saw ahead of me.
I certainly would not have noticed the gun in his hand. From the distance that I maintained, it was difficult to make out – hell even now, I am still not certain what I saw was a gun.
Fortunately, those people were there, at the corner. And I made out all right – I’m here aren’t I? Writing this.
Eventually the gun men ran through a track at the side of Bert’s house, and the people at the corner, including myself, believed it safe enough to walk up the street towards their respective houses.
Of course, by then, I had enough time to call my parents to come pick me up (from the other end of the street), learn more of what was happening, and picture what it was like to die from a gunshot wound.
What I gathered from Lena, as we waited for a chance to run up the road, was that two men wielding guns were chasing Ron, with every intention of ending his life. Ron, in an attempt to escape death, ran into the house of Bert, a mechanic. The gun men gave chase, and shots were fired inside of Bert’s house. Lena had heard the gunshots.
As we walked briskly up the street (2 minutes, not 3), I saw my parents pulling out of the driveway. I felt slightly annoyed – I could have been dead by then.
As we passed Bert’s house, I saw Bert and his wife just inside the gate of their house. Bert looked his sombre usual self. His wife was crying. She was explaining that the gunmen ran into her bedroom, where her children were, firing shots. My neighbour stopped to listen. I paused, but then pictured the gunmen returning.
I continued up the street, trying to gauge how much distance I would have to put between myself and Bert’s house before I felt safe, after deciding that bullets were not equipped with the intelligence to distinguish between Ron (their target) and myself (collateral damage).
I met my parents as they rolled out of the driveway – apparently they were leaving the house anyway. I gave them part of the story, and when the neighbour met us further up the street, she gave them the remainder. Apparently the neighbour had forgotten to purchase something, so she decided to take a ride back down the road with my parents. I, on the other hand, continued home.
As I walked into my porch/balcony, I looked towards the road from whence I came, and saw Ron calmly strolling up the street. He walked into his house (not exactly his house – but the house in which he and his family stays) and disappeared.
I was fairly far away, but my eyes strained for a hint of blood, or injury. Alas, I saw none.
I really do hope they kill him. Unfortunately, they have to disrupt the lives of law abiding citizens to do so. And that was the same thing Lena had said.
In case you were wondering, let me put your head to rest – Ron is not the innocent party here. Ron is a known bandit, thief, and drug dealer. He allegedly broke into our house over 8 years ago – that crime has never been solved (so what else is new?).
Since he was released from gaol perhaps 2 years now, he has been up to his old tricks. In fact, he broke into our neighbour’s house about 2 weeks ago. I know this because practically everyone in the neighbourhood saw him, his nephew, the son of one my other neighbours, and an as-of-yet unidentified fellah breaking into the house and coming out with large garbage bags full of items not belonging to them. When I say “practically everyone” I am referring to:
1. My aunt
2. My uncle
3. My cousin
4. My cousin’s girlfriend
5. A guy who lives 2 houses away
6. Lena and Lena's mother (I only found out that one tonight)
They called the police. Sure, they did. The police came, took fingerprints, and haven’t been seen since.
Have any of the above-mentioned people come forward to identify the burglars? I do not believe so. Why would they when No. 5 in that list was threatened to be shot by one of the burglars when it was found that he was the one who called the police.
The police can offer no protection. What the fuck can they do? I cannot even begin to count the number of times, in the past 2 years that people wielding weapons have graced our street in search of Ron. Half of the time, those gun-wielding individuals are policemen. The remainder of the time, these armed individuals are fellow bandits who have been wronged in some way by Ron.
My aunt (above mentioned) has called our house several times in the middle of the night and in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, in tears, and explaining that the police just knocked down the door, looking for Ron, or that there were men with guns just outside their house, looking for Ron.
And each time, Ron has managed to elude them.
So we go, we make a report, the police try to find any of the burglars. Whether they find all and they are released on bail, they find some and the rest remain at large, or they find none at all, there will be a time when the police will not be there to protect the whistleblower from the burglars. This is especially the case where the houses of all 3 of the identified burglars, the house burglarised, and the houses of the witness are all within a 9 house radius of each other. And all on the same street.
Personally, if I had seen, I would have taken the risk and reported everything. I would not have returned home in a while, but I would have made a report, and given the names and described the faces of everyone I had seen. Unfortunately, I can understand the grave apprehension of all who said nothing. Hell – every morning on my way to work, I walk past Ron liming at the side of the road. And why wouldn’t he, when he lives a mere 2 houses away?
If anyone on this street is killed to save these burglars some time in gaol, do you think anyone will care? No one does. What day is this? The 18th of October? That would be 291 days passed in the years – so that would mean we’re at about 280 with respect to the number of murders in the country thus far for the year (I can’t be off by more than 20 or so). Someone else got kidnapped today. And 4 days ago, the 4th bomb in 3 months exploded at one of the most popular liming spots in the country.
So really, no one cares. This is just another day in the life of Trinidad & Tobago. Sad, but true.
Even sadder? After more than 2 months of adamantly refusing to add an entry, this is what has inspired me to write.