Big Man With Machete

It was a dark stormy night…oh wait…it wasn’t stormy, but it was dark. It seemed appropriate to start my horror story there, but my integrity won’t allow me to mess with the details. So let’s start over, last night it was really dark. Ha! That sounds lame, but you get the picture. Anyways, the point that it gets dark at night isn’t quite the focal point of my story. You could have guessed that from the title.

I’ll rewind a little bit so you can get the full picture. Like in any city, there are more dangers when it gets dark. Not only are there more dangers, but I get more scared. Because of this, I’ve made sure to be home long before dark so I didn’t have to worry about it. The past few days, however, I’ve been assured over and over again by both Colombians and North Americans that my area of town is very safe and as long as I walk straight home I should have no reason to fear.  So, last night I took the risk.  A group of us teachers met up for dinner and by the time I mosied home it was well after dark. As I parted ways from the group, they yet again gave confidence to my shaking knees and told me that I’d be fine. Whelp - off I went to face the dark and whatever may lie within it.

Turning off the main drag where we ate, the street gradually darkened.  About 100 paces I noticed on the next street corner (the street I had to turn down) was a man in a dark suit clinking around a garbage can. My pulse started picking up. Keeping my cool I warily/cautiously proceeded. I knew walking in the dark was bad. But then it got worse. My eyes drifted down (don't make eye contact with the enemy) and just then I caught the glint of a giant machete hanging from his leg. I mean this thing could chop through the oak logs (that take me 19 swings with an ax to split) back home in a gentle swooping motion.

I peeked behind me and decided running back seemed more ominous than continuing home. I had no cash to hail a cab, no way to contact my teacher friends, and this was the only way home. I also knew that as soon as I turned the street corner this man was on, there would be a security guard on duty (my friends gave me that detail). My fight or flight response kicked in and I knew there was no way I was staying to fight. The score would settle at Big Man With Machete: 1 / Leanne: 0 The other option was flight. My little feet kicked it in high gear as I zoomed by him trying not to let him smell my fear. He didn’t even look up and before I knew it I saw the welcoming smile of my portero. I narrowly escaped death, but death I did indeed escape.

This, however is not the end of the tale. In the morning I told all my teacher friends the unfortunate turn of events after I had left them. A calmly as ever a Canadian (who’s been here over a year and knows my neighborhood well) listened empathetically, then responded, “Sweetheart, that man with the machete is the security guard we’ve been telling you about.”

 Wow Leanne…wow…