Between victims and aggressors

It's a thin line between being a victim and an aggressor in a situation. I'm not quite sure if 'aggressor' is the exact word that I mean, but it's the best one I can think up right now. Last night at around 10-ish, J and I went to Island Grill in Twin Gates Plaza to get some food before heading back to the house. I remember shaking my head that the security guard outside was so engrossed in his cell phone conversation that he barely saw us go in, but we were hungry and steeling ourself for a long wait in line. We came out the fast food joint and headed to the car. When I got to my side, a man walked up and asked me for $1 to be honest, in Jamaica, someone begging you for money isn't a novelty, thinking back though, what strikes me is that he only asked for a dollar. Even the smallest street kid never asks for less than $20, but hindsight is 50/50.

When I realised that he wasn't going to move, I hightailed it into the passenger seat, set on shutting the door quickly. One hard yank should've done it, but no dice, and I looked back and saw that he had his foot planted in front the door. So I gave it another hard yank, then looked up at him. At that point he half pulled what J later told me was a home-made one-pop gun and said, "Lady hear me, gimme yu phone and yu money."

Okay, this is how I know that I'm an aggressor, or maybe just have serious anger issues, or maybe I'm just stubborn. I looked at him and simple said, "What?" And not a soft plaintive 'what', a highly bitchy, disdain-filled, outraged 'what'. And then I have the door an even harder yank. I'm not 100% sure this shocked him, but he didn't say another word. By this time though J, who hadn't gotten in on his side after seeing the guy approach me, rounded my side of the car and came up on the guy, asking "Yow, is wha a gwaan here so?" in a very loud voice. None of us had realised that there was a man waiting for someone in the van parked on J's side, but at J's shout, he sat up and started asking the same thing. At this point the guy with the one-pop pocketed it and went towards his bicycle, and J came and got into the car and started checking if I'm alright. Honestly, I think I'm blood-thirsty as well. The first thing I said to J was, "I wish we had a car with a grill on the front. I'd make you run him down." I respect J so much though, you can tell he's in the military, he was so calm in the situation that he was able to take control of it. Left to my own devices I would've probably attacked the guy myself (if he hadn't moved from the door when J shouted I'd dropped my handbag on the edge of my seat and was preparing to punch him in his side), and that would probably have made things worse.

Every Jamaican Christmas?
I hope that this isn't a new Christmas season starting. I couldn't help but remember that the last time I spent Christmas in Jamaica, someone had tried to hold us up at gun-point and take away her car. The Nissan wagon had pulled up as we were waiting at someone's gate and the occupants had asked directions. We'd said we didn't live in the area.

Next thing we knew, the wagon had turned around and one guy jumped out with a gun, while the wagon sped off. Then I did fight. We both fought. Moms had thought the thief was asking for her bag and when he advanced on her she fisted him in his neck and flung the keys on the driveway of the person we were visiting. He got the keys, but as he got in the car to start it the alarm had gone off making starting the car impossible. I'd realised my bag was on the passenger side floor, and I had to get it. My Dutch verblijfsvergunning (residence permit) was inside, and I sure as hell wasn't going to be stuck in Jamaica (the NL consulate had closed by this) on account of some two-bit gunman who barely looked older than me. So I opened the door and grabbed the bag, he caught the handle and we started to struggle. Moms was trying to drag me away, but I stood there pulling for all I was worth, directing one string of bad words at him in the process (Moms, God bless her may she RIP, stopped at one point and says, "Child, what have I told you about cursing badwords like that?! No cursing!" - only my mom :-)

Like last night, in that instance with Moms, I think the would-be thief was startled that his marks didn't do the victim thing and scream, give in and toss their belongings. Moms told me then that this was why she was working so hard to make sure that I could leave. It's so sad that I turned to J and said virtually the same thing, that this was why I can't wait for my papers to come through so that I can leave.

Merry Christmas indeed.

• Mood: disgruntled, but thankful that I'm still here for another day
  
• Music: some neighbour doing home repairs with a hammer/drill