There are
two blogs coming up. One is on our holiday to Dubai and our work trip to
Zambia.
The other
is about the time we got kidnapped.
Given Bad
News is so much more interesting than Good News, I’m going to start with the
kidnapping. More on the lovely holidays and good work done in Zambia another
time.
The Scene
7am our
train from Lusaka rolls in to the dawning sun over Cha-n’gombe in Central Dar. It’s a run-down part of town
famed for being dangerous, and Liisa and I are eager as beavers to get out of
there as quick as we can. We’re somewhat relieved we arrived when it’s bright
rather than 2am or 3am.
We get the
first taxi we can (we insist on getting a licensed one). We negotiate a price
of 20,000 Shillings (£8) with the driver. He agrees. We get in and he says “Yes,
40,000 shillings”. Already a little
pissed off that our train took 50 hours longer than the timetable said,
we weren’t having any of that. The taxi driver gave in.
Then
leaving the Railway station, he swaps with another driver. Odd. But not too
odd, it’s pretty normal at the railway station. This driver is a man it seems,
how shall I say, of limited mental capacity.
We
re-iterate the price. He agrees. Then as he’s driving, he changes his mind and
considers Mikocheni B (our home) to be a LONG LONG way away, far more than
20,000 shillings. We’re adamant we stick to the (agreed) price, but he’s
getting quite upset. With his driving more erratic than a Tanzanian golfer, and
we notice how much he stinks of booze and ask him to pull over.
We agree to
pay him 10,000 for half the trip and want to get out of the taxi. He doesn’t
let us out for the longest time, and we find the doors bloody well don’t open
from the inside! *little bit of a panic* Being a little worried, we call (in
our limited Kiswahili, but just enough to get by) for people to help us get out
of the car. The taxi driver gives in, gets out and jams a screwdriver in the
door and wields it open.
HUZZAH,
DISASTER AVERTERTED! (….or so we think) We pat ourselves on the back for being
so clever getting out of the very drunk taxi.
The reward for our wisdom of avoiding the Drunken Taxi
At the
petrol station, we have a look around to see if we can see any Properly
Licensed Taxis. After our incident immediately prior, we’re keen to just get
home.
A lovely
gentleman swans over like, well, a sleazy swan. A sleazy swan with a gold tooth
and fake Rolex. What’s not to trust about a sleaze with a gold tooth and fake
rolex? Nothing apparently when you haven’t slept in 5 days and are just glad
that he’s not pissed.
“Want a
taxi?” he says, pointing at a nice, normal registered & licensed taxi. In fact, he even gives us a choice of a second taxi also.
“Yes
please!” Liisa and I cry in perfect unison
I get the
ball rolling on negotiations “10,000 shillings to Mikocheni B?”
“Yes.”
(NOTE: This is the where the first alarm bell should have gone off. We should
have known the taxi driver would look for at least 15k and never accept my
opening offer)
We get in.
Turns out he’s not the driver, but he’s getting in the front passenger seat
anyway. Odd, but we didn’t question it too much. Again, 5 days on a TAZARA
train takes your edge off of some things.
The two men
talk for a bit, mention something about needing to get a spare tyre for the
car, and pull in to a petrol station.
Right.
Now a third
man bundles in the car.
The car
starts towards Mikocheni B, we have a bit of a chat about living here, and
speak a little Kiswahili. But then the driver does U-turn and goes down a side
road in completely the wrong direction
“Er,
Mikocheni B is that way” I say pointing in completely the other direction,
starting to get quite a bit worried
“Oh don’t
worry we’re just getting a spare tyre”
Liisa and I
are silent for the next minute or two, it’s abundantly clear something’s not
right, and there’s nothing we can do at this point.
So the men
pull into a quiet road, and our ringleader (the man with a gold tooth),
casually as you like turns around and says “We are not taxi drivers, we are
Somali pirates and we are going to take all your money”.
I VERY
NEARLY PISS MYSELF, despite the fact that the Somali Pirate bit is clearly
bullsh!t.
 |
| What I wish I had said |
“Oh” I say.
“We don’t
want anything else, just your cash. Give me your wallet”
As quick as
I can I hand it over. They are not happy. Another result of taking a 5 day
train which was scheduled for 2, is that you spend most of your money. And as
it happens I hadn’t put much in it to begin with. The net result is he’s got
20,000 shillings (£8) and 5,000 kwacha (50p). The kwacha is so pathetic, he even
hands it back!
They’re
shaking my wallet around, saying “There must be more!”.
They
instruct us to show if we have a money-belt. We do have one, but it’s got our
passports only in it. They lose interest in that.
“Now we don’t
want to have trouble, but you must tell us if there is more cash, because if
you don’t tell us, and we find it - then there will be trouble. Lady, where is
your wallet”
“I don’t
have one, it was stolen recently”. They don’t like the answer, but it’s very
true and is one of the few wins we have that morning!
Meanwhile,
resisting the urge to crap myself is taking away from my logical thought. I can’t
remember if we do have cash anywhere else. If we do, I want to give them it. I
don’t want them to think we hid anything.
My confused
state sends them to thinking there is definitely cash. It takes a while, and
rooting through our bags for them to settle that there isn’t. They stop
checking our bags when they start to go through Liisa’s underwear. What utter
gentlemen. (in hindsight, this worked out pretty well, my credit card was
hidden deeper in the bag.
Oddly they
state they have no interest in our laptops (difficult to sell on here, I guess,
there just isn’t as much demand). They ask to look at our phones. Liisa doesn’t
have one as it also got stolen before, and mine’s a piece of crap. They lose
interest.
Now they’ve
identified my Debit Card. There’s not a beat missed when they ask me the pin, “3494”
One of the
men goes to the bank, and the ringleader (with the gold tooth) starts telling
us what a proper criminal he is
“I steal
big things, what I am taking from you is small, I rob banks and ships.”
Absolute
bollox.
“I’m a
mafia man. Do not ask me what happens next. I am in charge. I know what I am
doing. Do not ask me”
Now, here’s
where my brain starts going crazy. Are they telling us they’re only taking cash
so we keep calm, and then build on to bigger things? Are we going to be those
people who are kidnapped for ransom and end up having their heads cut off and
videos sent to their family. Yeah, without any clarity of when we’re getting
out, my mind is running wild.
What is happening is strange though - the thought of a worst case scenario is actually too difficult to
absorb, and the two of us are (outwardly at least) remarkably calm.
Back comes
the man with my bank card. He’s pissed off because they only got 700,000
shillings (£278). HSBC maximum daily withdrawals - thank you.
There’s
commotion as some other men come over to the car and there are half a dozen of
them talking about the amount of money and they‘re not happy. My guess here is
that they’ve possibly had people placed around the area in case we made a
run-for-it? I’ll never know, but the fact the whole thing happened in broad
daylight is one of the more disturbing parts.
They seem
to now have as much as they think they’re going to get. They look to drop us
off, but they can’t find anywhere where there aren’t people.
After what felt like an age, and nothing being said (I’m really not clear if we will be
let out), thankfully the car stops and they say we can get out. Absolute
relief, and a very sweaty Tom and Liisa breathe in fresh air, freedom!
The
ringleader then gives us 20,000 shillings so we can get a taxi back. As I (knee
jerk) say thank-you, the irony of the whole thing is not lost on me -
especially when he suggests to help find us a taxi!!
We tell him
we will call our friend who will collect us. That we will walk away from his
car and not look back (we don’t - but not before Liisa manages to catch the
number plate, which is something).
Not
entirely sure where we are, we look for a safe haven - and do we find it - an
Ultimate Security central office. We find out where we are, call a driver who
we know, and take refuge, finally feeling safe.
The Aftermath
This is a
lesson for us. Don’t trust anyone you don’t know in a city like Dar. From now
on, I can assure you , we will only ever use taxis where we know the driver
well.
But Liisa
and I are remarkably upbeat after everything. Bizarre, and I can’t place my
finger on it. Maybe it’s because we’re learning all the tricks for staying
safe, which in turn makes us feel safer this evening than we did before. Maybe
it just hasn’t all sunk in yet.
Meanwhile,
when I went to the police, at first they were utterly uninterested in me, just
another stupid muzungu losing his money. But as I got into it, I was building a bigger and
bigger audience, they couldn’t get enough of it. They even think they’re going
to try solve it given the descriptions we gave, the licence plate, the specific
bank machine used!
I’d love it
if they caught the criminals. They were not 1% as slick as they purported to
be, and in their sloppiness I wouldn’t even be surprised if they didn’t use
false registration plate.
We’ll see,
we’ll see.
