The one where we got kidnapped

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.