That Tuesday morning we had a community meeting with the
chief of the criminal investigation dept (CID) in Mbabane. Then we had a
community meeting in Pine Valley that evening. We organized ourselves into
clusters and exchanged numbers for rapid response units of sorts. The pattern
shows that these thieves avoid confrontation. So just having a loud angry mob
show up is enough to foil their efforts. After meeting, one of the ladies was
strongly recommending I return to the caravan. But I strongly rejected her
suggestion, pointing out that these guys have a pattern of returning. “Besides,
they haven’t broken into the 1-bedroom or my caravan yet. They’ll be back. I’m
not staying there until these guys are caught.”
Wednesday morning I got a message from one of the women that
the 1-bedroom had been broken into Tues night along with the garage of the property
owner farther down the drive from us. Oh no (sinking feeling, fret, fret, fret,
chewing fingernails). I spent my free moments that day wondering if the caravan
had been broken into. If it had, I was afraid of the damage to the door or
other parts. If not, I was wondering if I should move it and where to. Or else
it would be nice to post a sign on the door stating, or pictogramming, that
there was nothing of value in there so as to avert a break-in.
At 6PM that day I got a phone call. “Your caravan door is
open.” Great. I was planning to go to a talk that evening by a fellow hiking
friend, one I had been waiting for for months. Oh well. I tried reaching the
cops several times but the emergency line was busy. Imagine dialing 911 and
getting a busy signal. So I called the chief of the CID. I managed to get a
hold of the cops before he arrived, but he still arrived first even though he
was returning from the other side of the country.
They couldn’t take fingerprints in the dark so when the cops
came they took down the report. Up to that point all I could tell was the guy
had used a bush knife/machete to pop the door open. He opened several cans of
food and ate fish and beans mixed together in one of my containers. He also
enjoyed some milk and several pieces of cheese. He pulled most of my clothes
out so they were on the bed and the floor. He left the bush knife on the ground
behind the caravan. I didn’t touch anything, so that night I had no idea if
anything besides food was taken.
The next morning I returned and the fingerprinting guy came
with the CID chief. He dusted black powder all over and lifted several prints.
Once he was done the clean-up began. After cleaning as much black dust off as I
could I inventoried my stuff. As far as I could tell, the only other things he
took were 2 grey sweatshirts, both unisex. One was vintage, as my brother
politely said. For anyone from my high school days, it was a sweatshirt from
the Dadvale regatta in Philadelphia. And yes, I had gotten it in high school.
So upon assessment and reflection I actually felt relieved.
The caravan had been broken into and it was still intact. The door wasn’t
damaged. It still closed normally and the lock worked, as long as you didn’t
use special tricks to open it. I only lost some food and a couple of
sweatshirts. Nobody was harmed. I knew there was a strong possibility they
would break in to the caravan so I was anticipating it, with a small measure of
anxiety thrown in for good measure. Once it was done though I felt lucky, considering
many things that could’ve happened and didn’t.
By the way, despite the benign outcome, I am still staying with friends elsewhere.
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