Home Invasion in Belize March 2009

I was robbed Friday, March 9, 2009, night starting about 10:30 until 12:15. A robber with a 16 gauge shotgun cut my porch screen and entered through the French doors into my bedroom.
At about 10:15 I heard what I thought were horses munching on the bananas and I turned on all the outside lights, I looked out of all the windows, but saw no horses and the dogs weren't barking at a horse like they usually do. I think now that what I heard was the scrunching of the screen being cut.
My computer was on the front porch and since I was up (again) I played a little solitaire, then latched the inside bolts on the French doors. I know now that I was lax about that. My back was hurting and rather than stretching high up to the top and jamming the bolts in, I most likely did it halfway. I didn’t seat them in the “saddle” and the barrel dropped down. On the bottom bolts I must not have seated them tight into the holes in the floor. I obviously don’t know what I did or did not do, but the doors between the screened front porch and house were breached without breaking any glass.

I returned to bed and read a bit more and thought I could go to sleep and turned out the only inside light by my bed. No dogs were barking. Usually the neighbor's dogs patrol my house and all the neighbor's dogs bark at everything that moves from about 8 - 12 every night. I remember thinking how nice it was that the dogs weren't barking tonight.

I wasn't fully asleep but did not hear anything except what sounded like the dog under the house or the cats bumping around. He was so quiet that I didn't know anything until he punched me with the gun barrel and said wake up.
“Wake up, shut the fuck up” Shut the Fuck up” over and over, punching me. I cried out, but it was frozen in my throat. “Oh, oh, what? What?
“Shut the fuck up” Shut the Fuck up – said with a thick Spanish accent. “No lights, no lights, shut the fuck up. Get up. I want $10,000 dollars. I want $10,000 dollars.
“Come here, I want the money. You give me money.”
I can’t see, I said. “Let me get my glasses”.

He was a dark Hispanic; about 5'6" to 5'8", slim build, not skinny, not big and muscular; he understood English, he spoke English and Spanish; he was probably 18 -25 years old; he spoke in a low "tough guy" voice; he wore dark pants or dark blue jeans; a navy blue (I think short sleeve) tee shirt with fancy white script arched on the chest (I couldn't tell what it said - incomplete view); navy blue bandanna mask with the common paisley print; the top of his head was smooth and dark, I’m pretty sure it was a warm cap.

I brushed the gun barrel away from me several times and at one point stuck my thumb in the end of it. I wanted to feel if it was a real gun or piece of pipe. It surprised him, threw him off stride, but didn’t provoke him. I decided it was real because it was blue-black, a shotgun because I could put my thumb in it, and the metal was as thick as a gun. I also think I saw the stock which was to me dark green. I was very afraid of being beaten with the barrel.
I’m 62 years old with a damaged back and right knee. Back in the day I could have moved more, been harder to handle. But now I am no match for a hopped up young guy. He could have swung the barrel at my head and I would have fallen over and not been able to scramble away.

It is a long story because he had me controlled with the gun barrel for about 1 1/2 hours. He allowed no lights so that I could see him. I also could not see what was in my wallet or jewelry drawers and so he pushed me to the bathroom where there was a night light.
I would take a handful of stuff from a drawer; he’d poke me in the back to the bathroom night light. If it was some kind of gold looking trinket he’d take it. If it was silver or ivory he’d scream it was “Chit”, and throw it in the toilet or shower.

I tried to see him in my peripheral vision, but I wear thick glasses and cannot really see anything beyond the center of the lenses. Any time I came close to turning toward him, he batted me with the gun and controlled my head movements.

He asked me for duct tape. I was terrified with that because then he could start beating and raping me. With his hands or hand holding the shotgun, he was awkward. Also two of my friends were duct-taped before they were murdered. I acted like I couldn’t find the duct tape. I said I think its outside, maybe it is in the truck.
He said, “Take down your pants.” I said I think I have a bracelet here. “Get on the bed!” I said, “I think there is a ring in this drawer”.
I talked like I was very old and befuddled. I walked slow and bent over. I asked him to repeat things. I said I couldn’t see. I did it enough to slow him down, wear him down, but there was a subtle line that I couldn’t cross. I didn’t want to provoke him.
I knew he was stupid. He wanted my bank card and the pin number. I gave it to him and he wanted the pin number. I said it’s a name, it’s DONNA. I said I can’t remember numbers, but you punch in the letters DONNA. He didn’t know that the numbers on the keypad also had letters. I managed to stall and slow down the bastard for minutes and minutes showing him how to match the letters to the numbers. I even said “I need my cellphone back to show you.” And he handed it back! But I couldn’t be tricky and dial 911 with it because I only have reception on my front porch, not back in the house.
The police said later, “You should have called us”. I said, “The phone won’t reach inside the house”.

Finally there came a moment when I was inside the bathroom at the sink under the light, and for some God-given moment he was out of the door frame. I actually heard my highest self say – It’s now or never. I knew that was my best chance and with one motion slammed the door in his face and turned the lock. He rammed the door with the gun, but by then I was moving furniture to block the door. I moved a heavy 5 shelf wooden storage unit in front of the door and piled everything in the bathroom against it. I even took down the adjustable curtain rod and expanded it against the walls. I crouched beside the door in case he thought he could shoot the door open.

I stayed in the bathroom while he ransacked the house. I could hear him inside the house and I could hear him through the bathroom window when he exited. He tried keys on a hook in the house to fit the truck, but ended up just breaking the ignition switch.

How I got help: I suspected he had left when I heard the truck door dinging, the back doors scraping, and then I heard dragging and scraping. I wondered what he had found that was so big he was dragging it. Later I saw my shopping cart with wheels was missing. It is a black cloth shopping bag on wheels with cloth handles. That is what I heard dragging.

I waited a good long time (anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes) without any sounds and unblocked the door and peeked out, prepared to slam it again. I was sure he was gone and went out and started screaming everybody's name. I screamed thief, man with a gun, police, help me, ayudame, screaming and calling everyone's name. I yelled fire. At first I tried the truck and discovered it was disabled. I'm too lame to try and run dirt roads in the dark, but then I knew the truck horn would still work and used it over and over.
The neighbors came, they called the police, the police came. It was a huge commotion.
There are several reasons I think he was local, that I was targeted, and that I was not a random house of opportunity.

It was things he said that clued me that he knew ABOUT me, but did not really know me. He was expecting that I had $10,000 in cash, that I had lots of gold jewelry. He was fully expecting that I was rich and had lots of things to sell. He asked specifically for $10,000.
When I first moved here, I brought about $10k USD cash to give the house builder. It was the easiest way to transfer the money. I told my daughter-in-law that I had the money, not thinking that she would tell her family and the story quickly spread around the village. I had disposed of the money within a week, but the story stayed. I was naïve to all of this at the time. Four years had passed, but it stuck in small minds that I was a rich gringa.
He asked me if I knew a Jeff in the village. He said he had come to my house for a job. He knew the house well enough that where he entered was a dark corner. The dogs didn't bark. He wanted the gold jewelry (which I had in the past, but had sent to my daughter at Christmas). He said, “When are you going back to your country. He asked, “Where is your husband? I said he was coming back in a few minutes. He laughed as though he knew I had no husband.

He took a Dell laptop, but not the cords. I had unplugged all the cords and offered just the unit to him; he took my bank card, cell phone, passport, the cash I had which was about $10. When he was alone to ransack the house he took out food from the fridge and opened a can of salsa, which he dumped around.

He smelled like alcohol and weed. He was jacked up, but not crazy jacked up.
I have been told by several people who I trust that I was robbed by Mark O., aka “Taxi”. Taxi plays futbol in our village most Sundays. He lives directly across the river from the village and canoes over. The San Antonio police ran him out of their village. This has all been told to the Town Police.

I’ve been told by Taxi’s employers, John and Mary, that they sincerely do not think Taxi is the robber. They don’t think he would do something like that. I have been told by a friend that Jeff E. knows who did it. I know it wasn’t Jeff E., I would have recognized him. I do believe Jeff knows who did it. I believe there are quite a few who know who did it.

Update: February 13, 2010. Not one damn thing has been done by the police.