Mom, Can We Borrow My Little Brother?

San José, Costa Rica, had inventive—sometimes even amiable—street criminals. Tican thieves and grafters were out to make a living, not hurt people. They took pride in their cleverness and skills, in their ability to spot an opportunity and profit from it.

One day when Wally and Anita Madill were visiting from Calgary, Barbara and I were showing them around downtown San José. Congestion on the crowded sidewalk had squeezed the four of us into a single file, setting us up for a skilled team of pickpockets.

A man hurried past from the opposite direction, bumping all four of us in turn. Immediately behind him came another man who seemed to be blowing his nose—or hiding his identity—with a cloth held to his face.

“Be careful,” Barbara said, and reached behind her, putting her hand over Anita’s belly pack. The pack was already gapping open.

The “bumper” had unzipped the pack. The “dipper,” following with his face covered, intended to reach in and grab the contents—cash, credit cards, passport, maybe all three.

His hand was blocked by Barbara’s.

Early training for thieves

Friends from other boats, Cherie and Jane, had left their husbands behind in Puntarenas while they went on a jaunt to the big city. They stepped off the bus in San José, set their suitcases on the sidewalk, and pulled out a map, trying to figure out where they were.

Then they realized one of the suitcases had disappeared. Whipping around, they saw a local woman standing behind them with two small children. She pointed down the street, to her right.

Jane took charge. “You watch this bag. I’ll try to catch the guy and get the other one back.” She ran in the direction the woman had pointed.

As Cherie waited she exchanged glances with the local women, who shrugged. These things happen.

Then Cherie noticed the woman was keeping a tight grip on the children, holding them close beside her as they wiggled and tried to pull away.

Something was hidden behind the woman’s full skirt and squirming offspring. Cherie had spotted the missing suitcase.

The woman shrugged again and walked away. These things happen.

An alternative to mall ratting

Clever misrepresentation flourished along with snatch-and-grab in San José. Walking back to the hotel after dinner one evening, we noticed, among the beggars scattered along the sidewalk, a girl of thirteen or fourteen with a toddler on her lap.

She looked plaintive and held out her hand for coins, a convincing simulation of an indigent child struggling to mother a child of her own.

Except she and the child didn’t look indigent. Both were well clothed and well fed.

We stopped. “Isn’t that the same baby we saw on our way to the restaurant?”

“Yes it is.”

“But that’s not the same girl?”

“No, it’s not.”

“And they don’t really look like beggars, do they?”

“No.”

We noticed three other girls standing a few feet away, also dressed prosperously. They were watching us closely.

“The girl on the left. Wasn’t she holding the baby when we went by an hour ago?”

“That’s her all right. Looks like maybe they’re taking turns.”

We imagined a conversation that may have taken place earlier that evening in some middleclass suburb of San José. “Hey, ask your mom if we can borrow your baby brother tonight.”

An Annual Tragedy Turned into a Celebration This Year

First the footage, then the back story . . .  The video shows swallows, barn and tree varieties both, filmed two weeks ago from our front veranda.

 (You can see a larger view of the video at: https://youtu.be/hVjy4fKzDkU)

In mid-September southbound swallows pass through Bonaire. They show up exhausted and depleted after their long flight across the Caribbean. Often they’ve had to battle through a hurricane along the way.

Then, only 75 miles short of the promised abundance of South America, they arrive on a desiccated island where no rain has fallen for weeks. There’s little water and, therefore, few insects to feed on. The mortality rate is high. We find their little carcasses scattered everywhere.

But this summer brought plenty of rain. Plus, Bonaire had a perfectly timed feast waiting.

Just as the birds began to arrive, a heavy rain triggered the annual swarm of flying ants. The swallows in the video are restoring themselves before continuing their migration to Venezuela.

NEXT POST:

TBD