Culture Shock: Safety and Violence

Imagine.

You and your significant other have just arrived to a new city. A small city. Practically a town. Safe. Inviting.

So you were told.

The city is surrounded by countryside, farmland, the Sierra Nevada mountain range marking the beautiful view to the North, greenery and small towns to the South going towards other departments. Sure, the border of Venezuela is not so far away, along with an endless stream of refugees, the young and the old, the tired and the desperate. They fill out the city streets and contribute to the population growth, but the unrest of Venezuela is not the issue here, and much less its people. None of this came with the brochure anyway.

You walk down the river, the small city’s main attraction. Around you the shouts and squeals of children and their families fill the air. On the corner just several meters away is the police station. You feel light as the breeze that pushes you towards the river’s waters, your hand cradled by that of your significant other.

An illusion. Shattered when your partner suddenly freezes. You feel the grip tighten on your hand then release as they turn. There’s something there, something you can’t see as you look back at them. You can’t see past the flash of shock on their face. You scream.

There’s a knife at their back. A lanky local looks at you both, your partner a tall foreigner that would stand out anywhere in this town (you hadn’t been told that was a problem though). The look on the assailant’s gaunt face grinds into your brain. He looks hungry–

He demands you both give him your cellphone, whatever you have. At first, you scream for help. You want to refuse. You want to fight back. Where are the police?

But nobody looks at you. You scream for the police, and you know you saw them in their green costumes and badges, but none of them appear now. The families, the children, everything around you keeps moving while the three of you are frozen in time and space.

You hand over your phone. Your partner does as well. There’s no use giving in. The risks are too high, and now it’s clear that nobody is interested in helping you. The thief stalks back to his motorcycle and disappears, never to be known or confronted, at least not here.

This is a reality all too common in Valledupar, Cesar, Colombia. This exact story was told to me by my coworker. She isn’t even a foreigner, but a Colombian that was born and raised in Bogota, the capital of Colombia. She now feels safest avoiding the streets, avoiding being exposed, double checking taxi license plates – and nobody would blame her.

She had never been warned about Valledupar’s high crime rates – especially this particular scenario where petty criminals will assault you on the street. She – and even I personally – would have never expected to be robbed in broad daylight. With witnesses and the police nearby.

When she went with her boyfriend to file the report, the attitude was glibly indifferent. She tried to tell them about the attacker, get them on the case as soon as possible – she was given the wrong address to a different station to file her report. She learned very quickly that the law here was corrupted, present but flimsy and crooked.

I’ve seen it myself. Of course, I wasn’t robbed in a situation where you would never expect to be assaulted in a million lifetimes or universes. I’ve been assaulted twice in my 3 years living in Valledupar. Both times, I remember feeling angry and humiliated, more than anything else. More than fear even. Both times were nocturnal: the first I was with an ex, and it was like a Series of Unfortunate Events. I just happened to have left my key inside. The elderly woman I lived with was taking lightyears to come down the stairs, it was midnight on a Friday, and the house I was living at the time had no fence (I’ve learned how practical those are in pretty much all neighborhoods here). Being so close to safety, I wanted to fight back, but there were two, my ex was between me and them, and they acted like they were armed (I had my doubts), and later I found out a third guy was somewhere near by. So he gave up his phone. I gave up my purse which luckily didn’t have much, just my id, a little money, a debit card (I quickly canceled), and the purse itself which was a gift (and I hated parting with it). But I had been instructed to throw it over, the old lady nearly had a heart attack coming down to open the door, and that was all we could do. The attackers fled once they had what they wanted.

The second time was equally infuriating for me. I was alone, taking a route I had walked so many times when going home from the gym. I always walked even though my gym was several blocks away in a nearby neighborhood. I happened to be going down a dimly lit, narrow street (stereotypical, you can see it coming) and motorcycle came up along side asking for directions. He was asking for a nearby park which I thought was strange – must not be from here – I thought but kept walking. When I thought he had turned to go, he quickly turned his moto around and grabbed my purse strap from behind.

I learned a very important lesson in both experiences: don’t go out with a purse (at the very least, not a noticeable one) and be careful not to be in a dark or lonely place for too long at night. Common sense, but I’d done this so many times, my guard was dropped. I wasn’t alone the first time, but that didn’t matter – it was still late, I still had my purse, there wasn’t much we could do, only the old lady witnessed it.

Getting robbed in this city is like a rite of passage. They even have an annoying expression in Colombia: no des papaya (don’t give…papaya? like don’t give it away?). Basically it’s a victim blaming phrase saying you shouldn’t make it easy for people to steal from you. Always keep your guard up. Don’t leave things unattended. Don’t walk around at night with a purse. Basic things if you’re Vallenato or Colombian – but especially if you’re from this part of Colombia. As I’ve stated and restated, Colombia is such a diverse country.

Security is not as big of an issue everywhere. In fact, many parts of Colombia are far less corrupt than the Northern part where I live – it depends on the local power because even though this is a central country, and while laws are stable, how much they are enforced is NOT. Plus, as I mentioned with the influx of refugees (who are often scapegoated and blamed for these safety problems), there is a lot of disorganization. No institutions really settle how these fluxes should be handled. The police are definitely visible, but I’ve never felt helped or protected by them.

My second time being robbed, I took off knowing that I was close to a park. I shouted to a man what happened – he didn’t react. Typical. But once I got to the park I found some police patrolling. I knew they would be, or at least a vigilante (neighborhood watch security guard). I told them what happened, spirits high, attempting to describe as best I could. Reports were made on walkie talkies, an officer was sent out to look, but ultimately no followup was given. I gave my number to an officer for the report, and all I got in response were flirtatious text messages where he was attempting to engage me in English.

Utter. Bullshit.

But you need to be prepared if you’re planning to work in Latin America. Talk to people that work where you are planning to go ahead of time. Do some research – but avoid the touristy aspects. This is the part schools seem to love to play up. After all, in more isolated places, they are just trying to get a teacher to be interested and sign on. They need it, but they don’t think about their future employees needs and concerns about safety.

Police brutality and negligence is an issue I’d like to explore further in future posts, as it’s also related to the Paro Nacional (national protests/strike) which was particularly strong in November and December. I’ll go into that in a future post, but suffice it to say, as an American, it’s not as shocking to see police corruption and opportunism.

What’s shocking is the lack of information, the lack of preparation. You learn to keep your wits about you. I’m not afraid to walk alone at night, but I know better than to do so with my cellphone on me or a purse, particularly on a dark or quiet street. In pretty much any location my spidey sense starts to tingle in those places and I get out immediately, even if it means doing some light jogging. I guess I can thank 3 years in Colombia for my street smarts, along with living alone in LA for almost a year. Comes with the territory.

So I implore any reader not to be afraid to go to another country – and certainly not alone – it’s always worth it. But know what you’re up against. Do your research. Follow your instincts and be prepared to think ahead, even if you’ve been guaranteed safety, and especially if it sounds too good to be true.