"A thief is a thief, whether he steals a diamond or a cucumber."
- Indian Proverb
Time: June 13, 2016
Place: Addis Ababa, capitol of Ethiopia
I stepped out of the Addis Ababa airport at the unpleasant hour of 2:00 a.m.
I had been so busy in the final weeks of the Ikes restaurant remodel project, working 80 hours per week, that I hadn't made any arrangements for accommodations whatsoever. Neither did I know much of anything about Ethiopia at all. All I knew was that I had a ticket into Africa. While flying, I realized what a rough arrival time I had signed off on.
I was fully prepared to grab my back pack and just start hiking towards the city and sleep on the streets where I could. I was pleasantly surprised however to find that a hand full of taxis were waiting in the shadows for those of us who had such temporal misfortune.
We drove around unsuccessfully looking for a guest house. Gates, barbed wire, darkness, every place was closed for the night. Giving up on my taxi cab driver’s knowledge of the city, I trusted my own nose. “Wait” I said ,and ran into an alley. Something told me this was the one.
I banged on the metal gate. It opened. I negotiated a price and finally found home for 13 dollars a night.
While the accommodations were all closed, the bar scene Saturday night was thumping. Like war drums the music pounded into the night. I dropped my pack as quick as I could and headed into the darkness to take part. Prostitutes, Bar chicks and girls who modeled themselves after Britney Spears videos were in every door way. And as I passed they all pulled and tugged on me,- me-, the only white person to be seen, that bobbed around and floated like a marshmallow in a sea of chocolate.
I found a quiet bar. It seemed civil. Fußball was playing. I found my refuge. Just then, a young man came up to me with my passport in his hands. Not just A passport. MY passport. In a nano second I knew what happened. In the crush of people, and being grabbed by everyone, two young guys had squeezed me, trying to sell me some confection in the inky black. It was then that they had deftly slipped two fingers in and grabbed my passport out of my front pocket.
I can't tell you how torn one feels when a person sees ones passport in the hands of a stranger.
Its like someone walking up to you and handing you your penis, the keys to your house, your wallet or that grade school photo of you with a bowl hair cut you thought no one would ever see.
I KNEW he had stolen it. I KNEW what the game was. Still, I was filled with such gratitude at getting my passport back that I couldn't be angry. “My God man!, You have to be some of the best pick pockets ever.” I announced to him and the bar staff. I pulled out my wallet and gave him the equivalent of .50 cents American and sent him on his way.
I had made a fatal mistake. I had left my guard down. I had traveled 50 countries to this point and 15 of them had been in Africa…still, I knew better.
I have pockets sewn into my boxer shorts. It is there I keep my passport, credit card and some cash. The rest of my cash I keep in a money belt with a zipper. On any given day in the third world you could grope me like Bill Cosby and you would never get anything off of me…….but…….
In my haste to get out into the night life and start sucking the marrow out of Addis as soon as I arrived I merely put my passport into my front pocket.
Those “thieves” were some of the best back handed friends I ever had. For 50 cents they taught me to never let my guard down. And as i sat there watching soccer, drinking beer and thinking of all that transpired, I actually thought of going back and giving them more money. They weren't evil. They were clever, desperate and highly skilled. They, my teachers, had given me a free lesson that I would never forget.
After partying with the locals I wound my way back to my guest house at 4:30 a.m. Sans water bottle, I summoned what spittle I could, swallowed my first malaria tablet and drifted off to sleep to the sounds of the minarets wailing, calling the faithful to morning prayer.
My God is it good to be back in Africa…
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Behind the Scenes:
I had always boasted that “I have never been taken”. In traveling 50 countries I have seen more crime and theft than I could relate in several blogs. But never me. I dove out the window of a jeep in Kenya chasing 6 guys down through crowds and buses after they grabbed Hans Schneeman’s bag. Ive seen hands dive in through mini bus windows in Tanzania and grab money right from peoples hands and pockets, Ive seen people scammed in Ho Chi Minh City and countless other destinations. Ive given money to Israelis who were pick pocketed and a host of other experiences,….but never me………no,….not me….…after 51 countries….I was finally taken….all for letting my guard down for a moment……I got off for 50 cents. But nonetheless, my winning streak had finally ended.
I had been taken at 51…countries….
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| The security guard who opened up to me when I banged on the gate |
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| The Second security guard |
