On June 27, 1995, I experienced the most frightening night of my life. I was on a Friendship Exchange Program in Guatemala, staying with a wonderful group of people that I truly consider family. We had spent the evening bowling with friends--having a wonderful time. It was late when we arrived home. Because of security issues, houses are literally walled in, with gates that are opened to allow the car into the garage. We had just pulled up and the gate was being opened when we were literally surrounded by guys with masks and guns. It was terrifying. They were screaming and yelling (and it was all in Spanish--which I had a hard time understanding under the best of circumstances, anyway)! We were of course, shaking and crying. The robber who came to me surprised me by speaking in English. He was very polite (considering that he was robbing me!) I was in shock. Everything seemed to slow down. I had my then-boyfriends watch and chain on...and the camera that my mom had gotten just the month before for Mother's Day. I immediately thought, "I can't let him steal mom's camera". Looking back, I realize how ridiculous this was. At the moment, though, I could not think clearly. The thief grabbed my wrist and began taking the watch off. To my shock, he said, "excuse me" and I think he even said "thank you" after he had robbed me. In the fog of the moment I turned to see my "sister" Lucky crying in the corner. I left "my" robber and went to her and we were standing up sobbing and praying while the thieves finished their terrible business. Now the neighborhood that we lived in was one with a good reputation. Apparently, the commotion of the robbery alerted a neighbor who began yelling for his brother?/Uncle? (I still don't know which) who was taking a shower during the episode. He came running out on his balcony--still naked and wet! Fortunately, it was dark and I was huddled with Lucky and I missed the "show" :). He began firing his gun at the fleeing car. We never heard anything about the band of thieves, again.
On a spiritual note, my mother had felt prompted to pray extra hard for me that night. When I called her, an hour or so later and still in shock, she shared with me how strongly she felt that I needed extra protection that night.
The prayers of a mother may have ensured that I got the "polite" crook--the one who let me be when I turned away from him and his gun and into the arms of my friend.
My story didn't stay in Guatemala. My friend Keith who was on this same exchange with me told me I was the talk of Abernant--"Did you hear about that white girl got robbed in Guatemala?" Ha!
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