Robbed in Santa Marta
The night had been a long one as the journey from Bogota had taken fifteen hours and the wild swerving of the bus around sharp corners on treacherous Andean mountain roads had made sleep almost impossible. I had survived, arrived safely and went directly to Telecom in the centre of town where my old acquaintance Gabriel worked.
When I reached Telecom Gabriel could not be seen. Perhaps he was still asleep in bed, after all, it was only 6-30 a. m. I asked around but nobody knew his whereabouts. The best answer I got from Colombians hanging around the vicinity was that he was due to work on the steps of the building by 9 a. m.
I had breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs and tomato at a familiar cafeteria near Telecom then returned to the post office building. There he was, standing at the top of the steps with his familiar bag of coins. Gabriel had arrived to begin work.
Gabriel had arrived from Los Angeles in 1985 to visit his relations but wanting to extend his stay he found work loading planes in the Guajira. One night while loading a light aircraft he and his colleagues were suddenly surrounded by Colombian security forces. Gabriel was taken to a prison and left there for about a week until he and his captured colleagues were freed after the mafia had paid for their release. The only problem for Gabriel was that his passport had been handed over to the U.S embassy and they had refused to release it. Gabriel was left stranded in Santa Marta without proper documents or much money. Using his initiative he set up his own business exchanging peso notes for coins on the steps of the Telecom building enabling people to use the pay phones there. For every one hundred peso note changed he kept 20 pesos as commission. This allowed him to make sufficient money to buy food, get accommodation and survive in Santa Marta.
After a brief conversation Gabriel asked me where I was planning to stay. I replied that I would try to find a cheap hotel.
“A friend of mine has taken a vacation so you can stay there,” he said. “I can take you there right now and you can decide if you want to stay there.”
We walked to the building only about forty yards from Telecom. It was quite old, discoloured white and stairs led up from a main entrance that was kept permanently closed. We went inside the apartment situated on the third floor and I was impressed with the space available. There was a large lounge, two bedrooms, a kitchen and toilet.
“I’ll take it,” I told Gabriel. “I need it for about a week.”
I put my bag into a cupboard and bolted the door.
“How about spending some time on the beach?” I asked Gabriel.
“Yeah, why not”, replied Gabriel. “I can take a little time off and we can relax and talk. Irene can come too.”
Irene was quite short and thin with black hair and coffee coloured skin with lighter blotches on her cheeks. She came from Medellin and considered herself a loyal Catholic attending Mass regularly. She helped look after Gabriel although their relations were sometimes turbulent. Irene was very excitable and the more excitable she got the quicker and louder she spoke until she was almost shouting.
After locking the bedroom door and the main door to the apartment we stepped outside. A woman was standing on the landing looking nervous and jumpy. She had obviously been listening in on our conversation. She apprehensively acknowledged Gabriel as we passed then went upstairs to the next level.
We took a taxi to the main beach area known as El Rodadero at one end of Santa Marta. This was popular for both Colombian and foreign tourists, famous Latino romantic singer Louis Miguel could sometimes be seen there and former Colombian football superstar Carlos Valderama had a restaurant named ‘El Pibe.’ The beach was fairly crowded, the sun was hot and I was happy to sit on the beach and relax. Irene left after ten minutes to do a few chores in Santa Marta. I continued to enjoy my time on the beach.
About one hour later as I lounged on the sand talking to Gabriel about old times, Irene emerged from the distance walking quickly towards us. She increased her pace as she got closer and had a serious expression on her face.
In a visible panic she spoke very fast in Spanish to Gabriel. I knew that there was a problem and realized very quickly that it concerned the apartment.
“The apartment has been robbed,” said Gabriel. “Somebody has broken in and gotten to your bag.”
In a panic we got a taxi and returned to the apartment as quickly as possible. We rushed upstairs to find the front door to the apartment ajar with the lock completely broken. As we went inside we found the bedroom door open with the lock also broken. I went to the cupboard to find it wide open then I noticed my bag on the bed with the contents scattered all over the place. My cash which totalled about ₤300 in pesos was gone, my passport was also missing. Fortunately my return bus ticket remained.
My heart sank. I had only been in Santa Marta for barely two hours and had been robbed. I couldn’t believe it. What was I going to do? Luckily I did have about 500 pesos in my pocket and I had also taken my camera to the beach with me but the missing passport was the biggest problem as it contained my work visa. I needed it to get out of the country at the end of my work contract.
I suspected that the woman on the stairs knew something about the robbery as she had appeared nervous and jumpy when I saw her there before I had departed for the beach. Gabriel and his girlfriend questioned all the inhabitants of the building but they had seen or heard nothing. It was hard to believe that in an apartment building full to capacity mid morning on the first day of Semana Santa nobody had seen anything. I saw the woman who had been standing on the stairs several times during the following days but she sheepishly avoided me whenever I came into view. Her guilty looks betrayed her but I could prove nothing.
Gabriel called the police but they said they were too busy to come and advised me to go to their office after Semana Santa to make out a report. I did what they suggested and I was given a copy of a written report in Spanish to take to the immigration office in Bogota.
Gabriel offered to help by allowing me to stay in the apartment free of charge. I had enough money to survive for about a week. I had been unlucky as I had been struck at a point where the thieves got almost everything I had right at the beginning of my holiday.
I felt depressed, unhappy and angry during the coming days. It was impossible to relax or to be cheerful as I could afford to buy only the basics to survive, not the way I had planned to spend my holiday.
As the days passed and I got closer to my point of departure I made the most of the sunshine and spent most of my time on the beach during the day and wandered along the seafront at night. The cafes played live music with vallienatos blaring loudly from almost every drinking house. The palm trees swayed in the warm wind that blew off the sea and people crowded the sea front. It was very pleasant but I couldn’t buy anything other than basic food and drink. I felt a bit like a one of those dirty street urchins who inhabited the area begging for food and coins from tourists
On the evening before my departure I was standing on the steps of Telecom when I noticed a large truck being loaded with goods from the apartment block. Sofas, chairs, beds and other items were piled high on the vehicle. I looked closer and saw the woman who I had previously seen on the steps of the building when my apartment was robbed. She was placing items in the truck. This continued for about thirty minutes then a man climbed into the driver’s seat while the woman opened the door on the passenger side. The woman noticed me and looked hard for a second. She then climbed inside the vehicle which started up then slowly departed. I felt like pursuing the truck and pulling the two people from the vehicle but I could only stand helplessly and watch. My suspects disappeared into the night never to be seen again. Perhaps they had decided to begin a new life. I would never know the truth.
