When you get robbed- part 1

Tumie Modise | Monday August 17, 2015 14:11

Burglary is a scenario you don’t think about because until it happens to you, it’s something that only happens to other people. The experience, as most victims will tell you, is one that leaves you traumatised and very violated.

I was lucky to grow up in a house that was never robbed. Locking doors at night was not mandatory. I grew up in a homestead where boys didn’t use catapults like neighborhood kids but pellet guns to shoot at birds. What a feast we would have afterwards? Doves were a real treat. The storeroom door still bears testimony to the many days of target shooting; to this day it is still decorated with a thousand bullet holes.

Years ago my housemate Moss (MHSRIP), called me while I was at school to tell me the house had been robbed. I immediately pictured overturned furniture, smashed windows, gang signs spray painted on the walls, and the massive dump the perpetrator had taken on my bed. Thieves occasionally do that, nobody but themselves know the warped logic but not so reliable sources posit it has something to do with black magic; that the dump somehow makes the thieves invincible, or its even meant to hypnotise victims to a point of stupidity, we may never ever know. If you are told about the robbery before you actually see it, you don’t envision a crime of convenience happening in your home. You envision real robberies where laptops are stolen, mattresses are ripped apart and money and other valuables are left behind.  Simple crime seems preventable. Such robberies on the other hand are unstoppable.

This was not really the very first ‘break-in’ at our shared flat.  Months earlier, one early Saturday morning my housemate woke me up with the news that we had been robbed. Only the thieves had not actually broken any window or even the living room glass door, but had simply walked in as he slept on the couch, where he had passed out while watching TV with the door wide open the previous night. Only on that occasion they only took off with the DVD player, even the remote from his hand while he slept away peacefully. He was a heavy sleeper; he had 3 sets of alarms which woke him up every week day. 

On this particular day though, the break-in happened when both of us were not at home. He was at work and I was attending lectures. The house had an alarm, it was always on while no one was home. There was one window in the house not hooked up to the alarm. The burglar used that one window to gain entrance, but once inside, he unknowingly tripped a motion sensor which then set off the alarm. He probably spent less than two minutes inside the house. With all that quick thieving, it was hardly enough time to work up a decent bed poop.

The security guys were the first on the scene, I only arrived an hour or so later. My first instinct was to go straight to my bedroom the moment I hit the porch. I was not allowed to enter my room when I got home because the police told Moss they were going to return ‘in a bit’ with finger print equipment, whatever that is. So we were told to just sit down on the porch and not touch anything, presumably not to contaminate the crime scene. But how do you even know you have been robbed if you are not allowed to take stock of your belongings?

There were footprints on the window pane, footprints of a lechesa, the common choice of footwear for any self respecting petty thief. The whole neighborhood was paved, so the footprint wasn’t even going to take us anywhere.

An hour later what I imagined to be the police forensic team returned, then proceeded with their little feathers and cello tapes around the house. Only after they were done, we were then allowed inside the house. My thoughts in real time as I walked around my room: Computer - gone.

Sony camera - gone! Where are my pillowcases? They used my pillowcases to carry my stuff out. My favorite shoes- gone, bag with my IDs, hard drives, and other valuables -- all gone. What the FLIP? Where’s my piggy bank? They took my piggy bank, it had pounds inside and two 10 US notes. Back then BWP was a strong currency. I had been saving for my next trip, now my trip was in real jeopardy.