I got robbed the first week I was in Nicaragua

I am telling this story of my robbery because it has a happy ending and was a fine introduction to the kind people of Nicaragua. 

The day after I moved into my house, my new friend Melissa took me to the big fancy supermarket on the edge of town. It was a beautiful Sunday and we walked. The local market is brilliant for a lot of things, but you can't find olive oil and other necessities of life there. Because we were walking and carrying our purchases, I didn't buy very much. (at least not by US standards) Also, it was a new store to me and it took a long time to find each item.


I had a new mesh bag with a zipper.  We walked in the middle of a nice street in the middle of the day and were gabbing away when two  teenage boys came up behind us and one yanked the bag from my hand and shot off down an alley. I was so pissed off that I hauled off after him screaming "give me back my shit". 

We ran past about five people sitting on their stoops. I was making good time and almost catching them when they ducked into an alley where I didn't want to follow. (too dark, how do you get out?) I gave up and went back to the street. My friend was there waiting along with much of the neighborhood. 

A family made us sit down and drink water and someone called the cops. I was still very pissed off. Then an old lady and a young girl came around from the alley triumphantly carrying my bag. The girl had seen me screaming and tripped the thief and her grandma had yelled at him and he dropped the bag.

By then about fifty people had gathered and everyone was telling the story of my running and yelling. I guess 68 year old grey haired women aren't often seen here chasing teenagers and screaming "give me back my shit!" The cops came and everyone told them the story. We now had a huge circle of people each eagerly telling and retelling and adding where they were and how they happened to see me. 

Also, the neighbors and the witnesses and the cops and especially the grandma insisted that I get out my receipt and go over and over each item to be sure nothing was missing. It was hot and I was tired, but there was no avoiding this process. "Two carrots" and we all found them, "One yoghurt" and so on.

Someone knew the names of the boys. They were 'bad'. The cops wanted me to come to the station and file a report! After they had how many witnesses? I couldn't face the tedium and I had my bag and was fine. So I used the excuse that I had butter in my bag and had to get it to the fridge fast or it would melt. The cops insisted on driving me home. 


We all hugged and kissed and repeated ourselves once again. When we pulled up to my house in the cop truck, my second day in the new house, the landlord and his family and my new neighbors all came out to see what was up and the scene was more or less repeated without the going through the receipts part.


I got my Native American name that day "She Who Runs After Robbers"