Over the years I’ve heard many stories of people being car-jacked, arm-robbed, harassed by police and sometimes even kidnapped for ransom.  While I’ve found all these stories shocking, I’ve never let it affect our day-to-day lives.

During these times, my parents and my in-laws have told us to stay in on Saturday nights.  And to come back early.  My response was always the same, ‘For how long?  We can’t do that forever.  We can’t put our whole lives on hold.’

After our incident last weekend, I was scared.  But to be honest, I think I got over it quite quickly.  I wasn’t afraid to go out on Sunday.  I wasn’t afraid to take Vinay to playgroup on Monday.  I was even ok taking him on all my errands on Tuesday.  I hadn’t forgotten about it.  But I wasn’t scared.

I know of people that have left the country for five or six weeks after they’ve been robbed.  I can understand it, but I didn’t feel the same way. 

And I know why.  It’s because nothing happened to us.  Nothing was taken from us.  Neither of us was hurt.  

On Wednesday afternoon, I started feeling very differently.  

We went to playgroup in the morning.  A friend who I was expecting to see there, didn’t show.  I messaged her when I got home.  The message didn’t deliver.  

We slowly started getting details.  First of all – they are all fine – no one was hurt.  That was the main thing.  

They (husband and wife) were coming home at about 11pm after having dinner out.  Their daughter (a couple of months younger than Vinay) was at home with her paternal grandparents.  Somehow…  They don’t know how it happened – they were followed home.  They were being extra cautious as they’d heard of what had happened to us at the weekend.  But still, they were followed home by four armed men.

Before entering their home, they had taken their phones, her handbag, watch and earrings.  

I don’t know how the husband was able to warn his parents, but his mum hid in the bathroom with their little girl.

They took some cash and they left.

They were lucky.  Very VERY lucky.

It’s one thing to be stopped on the road and *almost* be car-jacked at gun-point.  It’s quite another to have someone in your home, with their hands on you, taking your belongings.

My father-in-law told us that we shouldn’t have stopped at the lights on Saturday night.  He said we must NEVER stop at traffic lights on any night.

I later told LagosDad that he did absolutely the right thing.  

What if we were followed home and didn’t realise it?  

What if we had actually lead armed-robbers to our house and to our sleeping child?  I would never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to Vinay.

I wasn’t scared before, but I am now.

A few days ago, I had a depressing thought.  And it’s been playing on my mind since then…

There are so many customs and traditions that need to be followed (in our religion and within our community) whenever someone gets engaged, married, pregnant, for the baby’s naming ceremony and even when someone passes away.

When I got engaged, there were a number of things my parents had to send to LagosDad’s parents and grandmother, etc.  And vice versa.  It was the same (but more complicated) when we got married.

It was different for my parents when my brother got engaged and married because they were then the groom’s parents instead of the bride’s.

It’s complicated.  Who helped my mum in deciding over all this?  HER mum.  My grandmother and other elders in the family, as well as some of her friends who had been in the same position.

So I was thinking about what would happen when Vinay got married (not that *any* girl would be good enough for him, of course. JOKE!)).  And I immediately thought, ‘Oh well – mum will know what to do.’

And that’s when I realised, if Vinay is about thirty years old when he gets married, my parents would be in their nineties.  My parents probably won’t be “here” when Vinay gets married.  They won’t see their first grandchild get married and he won’t receive his grandparents’ blessings.

The more I think about it, the more depressed I become…

 

Some of you read my tweet on Saturday night/Sunday morning…

“Fuck. We were just nearly arm-robbed and car-jacked. Thank god for LagosDad’s quick thinking. Home now. *sigh of relief*”

Thank you so much if you replied to ask how we were doing.  I really appreciate it.

I’m still scared shitless.  The thought of what *could* have been makes my heart beat faster with fear.

Let me tell you what happened.

On Saturday night, LagosDad and I decided at about 9pm that we would meet with some friends for dinner.  After dinner, they insisted on going to a club, so we agreed to go for one drink (which turned into two or three).

At about 2.45am we all left, got into our cars and went our separate ways.  

We stopped at the traffic lights on a main road and a car (a Toyota Yaris) pulled up in the lane next to us.  LagosDad was muttering something about how no one ever stops at traffic lights at night.  Someone behind us beeped their horn, proving his point.

The Yaris which had pulled up next to us moved forward, partially blocking us and allowed other cars to get through.  The light was still red.  LagosDad said something along the lines of, ‘What an idiot! Why’s he stopped right there?’

The light turned green.  The man in the Yaris didn’t move.  LagosDad beeped his horn.  Suddenly the driver opened his door.  He looked angry.  He started walking towards our car very purposefully with one arm stretched out in front of him.  That’s when we saw the gun.

I don’t know how he did it so quickly, but LagosDad just stepped on the gas and drove.  But the only way to get away (since the Yaris was blocking us), was to bash it out of the way and remove its door with our car.

I don’t think we were able to piece it all together (why he stopped in front of us, etc) until we got home.  And until we got home, all LagosDad did was moan about the damage to our car.  

We didn’t talk properly about what had happened until Sunday afternoon when, in the bright sunshine, we saw the damage to our car and realised how lucky we were.