And so, we continue with “A Home Invasion and the Resulting Fallout (2 of 2). Taking stock of the situation, the reality of what had happened set in. Traumatic stuff. Frustration, anger, exasperation, helplessness, insecurity, and general feeling of being violated descended on me.
Thapson
I felt horrible, like I was sharing a dirty secret with my dad and sister. This despite our not being harmed in any way by the robbers. I can’t even imagine the trauma of those who’ve fared worse than us. Reminding myself “I have been robbed” was humiliating. Giving our statement to the Police, creating a list of stolen items and valuating them was further traumatic. Monetary loss aside, much of the stuff I lost had tremendous sentimental value that can’t be priced. Each personal item had its own memory, which was stolen.
A Sense of Helplessness
I knew it was a lost cause. The Police were never going to catch the criminals. Deep down inside, I wanted to devote my life to tracking them down. The helplessness of being unable to bring justice to them and recover our property was immeasurable. In the movies, the vigilante hunts down the bad guys meting out justice and getting his revenge in the process. But this was real life and there wasn’t to be any such thing happening.
I spent the next few days frustrated, angry, ashamed, and never shared it with anybody at work. The feelings I experienced surprised me. I lost interest in much of what I enjoyed or appreciated. The only consolation was that my wife missed the trauma, and my dad and sister were unharmed.
Then another feeling overtook me. One of fear and vulnerability.
A Sense of Fear
Hardly recovered from violation and humiliation, fear and vulnerability descended upon me. It was scary how easy it was for our lives to be violated. I replayed the scenario repeatedly in my mind. All the permutations and combinations brought the same conclusion: “It was our turn to be robbed, and there was nothing we could have done to stop it.”
I could blame the vacant property next door, where we’d heard voices in the dark a few days earlier, the open-door policy with the people living at the back, discontinuing our strict policy of turning on the alarm, and keeping our doors locked after dark.
We had already been targeted and they would’ve gotten us sometime or the other. This created a fear psychosis in my mind as I felt a complete sense of insecurity.
Another Incident
The psychosis that descended on my mind was something I had ever experienced in my life. I feared everyone, was jumpy, and dreaded the darkness. We became prisoners in our home as we locked ourselves in every night, heaving a sigh of relief every incident-free night. But this was to change.
About 14 days after the robbery, another frightening incident occurred. One night around 1 or 2 am, there was an incredibly loud bang at my bedroom window. Startled awake, I caught a shadow framed in the window, triggered the alarm, and flicked my flashlight at it. It appeared that the car window had been smashed. But that wasn’t the case, as I saw the broken window glass scattered on the floor.
We called the police and went through the same rigmarole, but I knew it was all an exercise in futility.
Tough Decision
I loved Botswana, its people, the lifestyle, and my work. But it wasn’t the same after the robbery. When I first came to Botswana in 1980, I fell in love with it. It was the epitome of peacefulness. No burglar bars, security systems, and negligible crime. Eventually, my dad’s predictions came true. For a wide range of debatable reasons, it all changed. By the time we were robbed, everyone had burglar bars, security systems, high walls with electric fencing.
Crime, was something “others” experienced. That quiet, warm night in October, we became part of that statistic – although, very fortunately, we weren’t harmed.
In 1997, I didn’t extend my contract, and left Botswana, the country I loved so much, “for the second time.” Botswana remains in my heart. One day I’ll revisit it as it’s where my mom died, my sister still lives, and I have many pleasant memories of.
Mochudi, Botswana 1981 (Personal Collection)
Part 1 of 2
A Home Invasion and The Resulting Fallout (1 of 2)
Last Three Posts under “Other”
A Home Invasion and The Resulting Fallout (1 of 2)
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