REPORTAR UN ROBO A LOS POLICìA — Sayulita, Nayarit, Mexico
Cuatro de Febrero, dos-mil-y-diez-y-seis:
Sumtimes it feels like the yooniverse (as one perceives it) is collapsing in on itself. These passed two daze have come close … but toadull collapse hasn’t happened. Not yet.
Tonight, in about two hours, I am to give a statemeant at the local police station regarding a robbery which occurred yesterday.
No, it did not take place here, @ Casa Bollinger @ “the Twins” complex. We wuzz robbed @ another place, Casa de la Colina – our last night there. It is possible I forgot to lock a door while we were uh-weigh.
Strange. Right now, feet up on the patio wall, sipping raicilla smoking a stogie, late afternoon sun casting benevolent tints and hues on the ocean vista, it (whuddeverrittizz) duzzn’t git much better than this.
I digress, & wa(i)ver ~ O yea – we went downtown for dinner la noche pasada y cuando regressamos, todo del nuestro effectivo (cual estuvo en casa) no estuvo allì. Todos de nostrotos sentimos muy triste. Un vecino diganos que debemos diga los policìa. (we went out for dinner last night and when we returned to our place, all the cash which was left there – was gone. We were sad (of course). Very. A neighbor (actually the owner, who lives in the ground floor) told us we should report this to the police.)
And so my son-in-law and I did. We were of the sentiment that this would be a futile exercise … but what the heck. Perhaps, as the neighbor (& “dueño” of the place we were staying at) said, some good might come out of this – e.g. more police patrols (which might mean more than “none”) in their neighborhood, more public awareness of crime) so son-in-law and I visited the station mid-morning today.
Fortunadamente, we were able to communicate sufficiently in Spanish to (so we think) get our story across. You’ll be glad I’m sparing most the details – but after a while it seemed like this was the most serious crime reported in Sayulita for quite some time.
Ben and I, in a fit of paranoia coupled with our profound sense of ludicrosity, at times Xpected to be led down the hall in handcuffs to the room with the swinging bright-naked-light-bulb.
Didn’t happen, of course. Not yet.
After an hour (or slightly less) of talking with Omar – the Commandante & the three other police present, Omar said that he would come to the “scene of the crime” – “ahorita” (yeah, right) & I/we would meet him there.
Ben and I drove to Casa de la Colina and we decided that (1) it might be a while for “ahorita” to be defined, & (2) our car was full of all our family’s luggage (& food) which should be taken to Casa Bollinger right away, especially as our family was not only waiting, they might be worrying about us.
(Feb 5 entry)
“Ahorita” was fortunately less than an hour. I was going to leave @ an hour if they hadn’t shown up. Omar & Crewe apologized for the tardiness – as they spent several minutes searching for the place.
The 4 officers which I met earlier were joined by another – perhaps a scribe or police reporter. He was the only one un-armed. One officer stood guard at the heavy-duty POLICIA s.u.v. with his machine-gun at the ready. Dangerous neighborhood, those dead-end streets uphill from Calle Coral.
Two maids were in Casa de la Colina, cleaning-up between renters. Upon reflection, I should have warned them of the possible (now actual) intrusion.
The officers and presumed reporter & I toured the apartment. (We had rented the 2 upper floors, as the owner-dueños occupied the ground floor.)
I was asked exactly where the 2 back-packs & manila-folder were located from which the missing cash was removed.
The (presumed) reporter even looked for foot-prints or new scuff-marks on the wall around the patio. I showed them the door which I think I may had forgotten to lock, which was just off the patio.
And as to what was stolen (missing) … “Solamente effectivo” I emphasized. Even Ben’s nice new expensive lap-top remained.
(2/6) At the conclusion of our scene-of-the-crime tour, Omar (apparently amicably) asked the maids questions. Meanwhile outside, the two officers not standing at the vehicle w/machine-gun walked by adjacent houses, interviewing anyone unlucky enough to be outside.
Omar asked me if I could return to the station that night at seven for what I presume was to be the “official report.” Note: he asked, not in any way exhorted, & after some consideration, I agreed.
Omar said that this report would be taken by a more-senior official. “¿ Se habla inglés?” I asked, as, so far, all Sayulita P.D. personnel habla’d practically nada-de-ingles and Omar responded in the affirmative. (Yeah … right, I thought).
(Skip (right now) to the start of this essay – written before I experienced the Wednesday evening meeting.)
I walked the short distance (~ 10 minutes) to Casa Bollinger, part of the Los Gemelos complex, as Los Policìa continued the reconnoitering of the neighborhood.
I easily succumbed into heavy-duty relax mode for a few hours.
The rest of the family ambled the short distance from our new Casa to watch the Release of Baby Sea Turtles on the beach. I drove back to the estacìon del Policìa, arriving a few minutes early. As you might expect, I was skeptical as to what “7 p.m.” meant. I was prepared to be on time, of course. Maybe Omar meant tomorrow. Anyhow, I would wait a while after the presumed meeting time.
I parked close to their office and checked the station. It was dark, and locked. Although this was a busy but not well-lit part of town, I felt fairly safe. I sat back in the car.
Fifteen minutes later I scribbled a note to be left under the windshield wiper of the S.P.D. Toyota parked nearby. Just as I was getting out of the car to leave the note, one of the officers walked by. He seemed relieved to have found me. He indicated that we were to meet at La Estacìon de Los Bomberos (fire-fighters) in the adjacent building. In response to my question, he also counseled that I should re-park there.
Omar also looked relieved that I had shown up. I’m not sure why. He conducted me in, & I met Enrique. Enrique was, if not the head cop for the area, senior to Omar. A pretty señorita sat at a typewriter behind a desk. Along-side her sat a no-nonsense fellow whose function was not entirely clear. Apparently his job was to dictate to the typist what Enrique told him after distilling my responses.
Though this room, the front office for Los Bomberos, was dimly-lit and sparsely-apportioned, it was quite similar to the P.D. And had enough chairs. However, the police office had a nice big map of Sayulita on the wall, which we (again, as Ben/I showed the police the location of “the scene” earlier) referred-to later.
The … uh, interview was a repetition of what Ben & I related that morning. Enrique’s command of English was (almost as expected) slightly worse than my Spanish. I view all my conversational experiences in the Spanish-speaking world as language-learning lessons, & scribbled new words into my notebook.
“Mochila” = backpack. “Solamente effectivo” = what was stolen. “Robo” = robbery. “Asir” or “coger” = to take?
I wrote down some information for them, some of which the relevance seemed, well, irrelevant. My son’s name, who wasn’t here in Mexico with us. And … was I Catholic? No …
They made 3 copies of my passport. Two of the police had to bring their map of the town over so I could (again) pin-point the locations of the house we were at (“the scene of …”) and also the house we moved to.
The transcript of the proceedings was printed. It has been years since I’ve heard the sound of a “daisy-wheel” printer. I hope I hid my surprise when I saw carbon-paper between the originals and the copies. I was asked to sign the two pages of originals and copies, 4 signatures total. Then my fingerprint was placed next to each signature. Whatever all this was, they tried to make it look and feel “official.” I hope it wasn’t a confession.
Omar and I shook hands as I left. “Mucho gusto en conocerle” he said, sincerely – as far as I could tell.
“Igualmente,” I replied.