Brittany McGee

1 year, 9 months, 23 days since I first arrived in country.

That’s how long it took for me to be robbed in Peru. Statistically speaking, it was bound to happen. Though, I still didn’t expect it.

When I first began traveling around the country, I was cautious—probably overly so. I would stick money in my socks, wear my running belt under my shirt and stuff it with more money, my debit cards and my passport. I never traveled with too many important things, and I usually divided up where I put them.

But, with time, I grew too comfortable—almost even lazy.

When I left for my most recent vacation to Tarapoto, which lies at the edge of the rainforest, a 14-hour bus ride away, I was still cautious. I packed my empty purse in my backpack and divvied up where I put my important belongings. My camera and Peace Corps assigned cell phone in an over-the-shoulder bag, along with my wallet. My US cell phone (so I’d have internet access while traveling) in one pouch of my 40-liter backpack, and my passport in another zippered pouch.

Coming back from Tarapoto, I didn’t use as much caution. For whatever reason, my backpack was stuffed, as was my over-the-shoulder bag. Not thinking anything of it, I used my purse to carry my wallet, both cell phones, camera, and passport. I was going home, nothing would happen to me.

I should have known better.

I know a handful of volunteers who have been robbed in Chiclayo, my regional capital. These crimes have varied from being robbed while in a taxi to the thief just swiping whatever it was from the hands of the victim. A few others have experienced exactly what happened to me—my purse being ripped from the strap that was on my shoulder going across my chest.

Thinking about it, it all happened so fast.

I had arrived in Chiclayo that morning from an overnight bus. I left the bus station with another volunteer and we safely got into two different taxis. I took my taxi to the station where I would then board a minivan headed to my site. I got to the station safely, paid the taxi driver, exited the car and was directed by one of the men working there to a van parked 50 feet or so down the street. I walked on the sidewalk, alongside this man, where another worker told us the van actually had filled up. I then walked back to the main area where another van was parked, also full.

To paint the picture better, the station really isn’t much. It’s basically the sidewalk of the street. There is an office, but people generally only enter the office to ship things to Olmos or to use the restroom. The office was closed when I had arrived just before 7AM. There is a large door that opens like a garage door, and a smaller door that opens normally is built into that larger door. The smaller door was open and only employees were inside. Though, that’s not entirely relevant to the story, since no one, including me, ever waits for an empty van inside this office.

There is a wooden bench outside on the sidewalk, against the wall of the building. When I arrived, a young man and woman were both occupying it. People keep the products they’re selling next to this bench, and there were women with buckets of bottled sodas and waters walking around. A man selling newspapers was also nearby.

So, after finding both vans full. I stood near the bench, close to the door to the office. I decided to organize how my bags were on my body since I had just rushed from the taxi to the first full van. I repositioned my backpack, slid my purse to the front right side of my body as it had ended up behind me on my left side.

A van full of people arrived from Olmos and I watched them slowly get off. I noticed the bench behind me had emptied and contemplated sitting, but decided not to as I wanted to figure out which van would load passengers next.

Then, suddenly, I felt hard tugging. I looked to my right and a man had his hand on my purse and he was pulling. I grabbed for both my strap and the purse, but he had the advantage. After a brief struggle, he managed to break the purse from my strap and my grasp and he ran. And I ran (not my best judgement call). As he ran from the sidewalk to the street, he fell going down the curb. I almost had him. He bounced up, ran around a parked car, and got on the back of a motorcycle, driven by a man in a helmet. I had caught up to him again, but as he climbed the motorcycle, I backed off. Both men turned and looked at me as they sped off.

It all felt so surreal.

Everything I usually guarded so carefully was gone. I had no identification, no means of communication and no access to money. I walked back to the sidewalk defeated and empty. I still was wearing my backpack and my over-the-shoulder bag. The strap from my purse was still draped across my shoulder. I had dropped a white grocery sack, filled with Chex Mix and chocolate bars, in the process, and a woman handed it to me as I walked towards the office. Several men who worked for the station asked me what was in the bag, all I could respond was, “Todo mi vida” (my entire life). One employee, who had been 50 feet away at the first van, asked me if the robber was the guy he saw fall. I nodded. I asked several people to call the police and waited.

People who had paused to watch me chase after this man resumed what they were doing. The men I had asked to call the police went back to making sure passengers boarded the right vans. No one really acknowledged what had just happened. Five minutes later, another male employee asked me if I was going to get into the van that had just started loading passengers in front of me. I asked him to call the police for me because I had nothing. He was the first person to actually do anything of help. He looked at me skeptically and told me that because it was so early, the police would not come. I had to go to the station to report the crime. He then flagged a mototaxi and instructed the driver to take me for free since I didn’t have any money. After a quick ride, I was there.

I spent the next hour and a half at the police station, reciting in a calm voice over and over my account of what happened, giving detailed descriptions of my items lost.  I never once cried, and my Spanish somehow didn’t falter. I sat in the wooden chair thinking about how much the thieves could sell everything for and declared a value of items stolen. The officers were nice, keeping my idle mind occupied by chatting with me about my time in Peru, what I do here, and life in the States. At the end, I had the police report.

The rest of the day somewhat runs all together. I walked to the hostel that Peace Corps has an agreement with, called my regional coordinator, e-mailed the staff in Lima. People responded promptly to my needs for a new cell phone, bank card, and passport. My program manager even called to check in on me. I messaged my parents so that they could cancel my US bank card and cell phone.

As I’m putting my life back together, taking care of business, marking things off of my checklist, I can’t help but feel an odd sense of sorrow for the thieves. While I do not condone their actions, I have found myself thinking often about what their lives are like. What drives them to stealing? Do they perceive it as their only financial security? What values system do they hold? Will they remember the face I made as I chased after them?

For them, my belongings might be the only way they can make ends meet. For me, losing my belongings really has just been an annoyance— though, I do wish I had uploaded my photos to “The Cloud” first.

Being robbed reminds me of the importance of what I’m doing; why I’m in a foreign country working with youth, talking to them about self-esteem, leadership skills and their futures. It reminds me of how lucky I am to have the support network that I have behind me—family, friends, other volunteers and Peace Corps staff. It reminds me of how blessed I have been to have positive role models in my life. And it reminds me of how fortunate I have been to have had paying jobs so that I could save money and solidify my own financial security.

Not everyone has those. And, I’d be willing to bet my robbers didn’t.

I likely can’t change their course in life, but I certainly can do my best to influence other young minds that I come in contact with.

Editor’s Note: I feel it’s extremely important to reiterate on this post that these opinions held are my own and do not reflect those of the US Government, Peace Corps or the Peruvian Government. In the aftermath of being robbed, I have only praise for how Peace Corps staff, the Peruvian Police, and members of my community have responded to the situation. While I still have to work through feelings of being violated, I’m confident with the support of family, friends, my community, etc. I’ll come out of this experience stronger, wiser and ultimately better.