Without stigmatizing a whole continent, country or neighborhood, my family and I went through a period of constant persecution from our neighbors back home in Cameroon, Africa, including four armed robberies.
I was 11 years old and watching a movie with my sisters on a typical Friday night around 7 p.m. when the first armed robbery occurred. My older sister decided to leave the living room and head into the kitchen. Next thing I knew, she came back with two guys behind her and a gun pointing at her head.
This might seem ridiculous, but for a second, I thought the movie we were watching suddenly became real. I think they realized that we were new to this, and so they took the time to let us know their guns were indeed loaded with real ammo. After inquiring about my parents’ whereabouts, the two men headed to my parents’ bedroom, gathered the five of us together and tied us up. Yes, like in the movies.
To our great surprise, we learned through conversations between the armed robbers while they were consuming the alcohol in the living room, that there were about 15 of them, with a little group operating at our neighbors’ house. After gathering some belongings and some money my parents had lying around, one of them asked my father, as he sprayed insecticide into his face, “We know you have more money. Where is it?” My father directed him to a suit case with some jewelry in it. After that, they kept pushing my father for more money. This time, my father responded, “That’s it. There is no more.” They kept pushing, but my father had the same response.
One of the armed robbers grabbed the iron in my parents’ room, plugged it in and threatened to burn my face if my parents did not provide more money. I had my first glimpse at what it would be like to die. I remember crying to my father, asking him to give them more money. I was surprised when he insisted that there was no more money. Though back then I thought my father was selling me to the dogs, it might have been the best thing to say. One of the other guys attempted to grab my older sister, but my mother lied to him, convincing him there was more money elsewhere. An argument started because of this, and we heard a gunshot outside, which scared everyone, including the armed robbers, who left in a rush. After waiting for a while, confirming they had actually left, we untied ourselves and witnessed the aftermath of what had been one of the most terrifying nights of my life. The robbery had lasted for about four hours.
It turned out that the shot we heard came from one of the armed robbers shooting at one of our neighbors, who happened to come back home late that night and figured something was wrong. He suffered no injury and might have been the reason the night did not turn into something much worse. We got robbed for three consecutive years after that, but I like to think that because of this unfortunate experience, my siblings and I got to have a better life experience by moving to Seattle, Wash.
