Kidnapped

A little more than a decade ago I was on a business trip in a Latin American city. I was familiar with the city, as I had been coming and going for many years. This time I was spending longer periods there because I was building my business in the area.

Around 6 pm I put a long raincoat on over my suit jacket and asked my brother to get ready. He was coming with me to a sales appointment. We took the elevator down, walked a few blocks and hailed a cab from the street.

We got in and, after traveling a few blocks, I called an uncle. While I was on the phone with him, I saw from the corner of my eye a black Suburban blocking the access to our cab. Then, in a matter of seconds, someone jumped inside our car and knocked us to the floor, yelling all the while.

He put my coat over my head and pointed what felt like a gun to my upper back. He said that if we didn’t try anything stupid we would be fine. I quickly realized this was a kidnapping and thought about my brother. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him right next to me on the floor.

The taxi driver stepped out and someone else jumped in, driving who knows where. One of them kept saying, “Be calm, you’re going to be safe if you behave.” As the car drove away I thought about jumping out. The handle of the right side door wasn’t too far from me and I could risk it. But I thought about my brother, and that I could not live with myself if I left him. I chose to stay, and to stay together.

About forty-five minutes later the car stopped and the man with the gun stepped out to talk to someone, while the driver stayed with us. He had gone to talk to the “commander.” He came back and asked for our debit and credit cards and PINs. “Don’t be fools,” he said. “Give us the right numbers.”

He stepped out, and the driver continued for some time, until we stopped at what seemed to be a safe house for them, because there was no traffic noise or people around. And we waited.

The driver was still in his seat and I saw an opening to try to connect with him. I risked a question, and he answered; I asked another, and a conversation ensued. I asked why they were doing this. He said it was work. He explained how, early in the evening, he would tell his wife he was going to work and would head to a bar where all of them met, since they didn’t trust everyone knowing where each lived. From there they departed and followed a chain of command like the police or army. He needed to do this, he said, because he needed to work. He blamed the president and the bad economy. He had to work.

During this conversation I noticed my body was in a fight-or-flight response and the adrenaline was pumping, but I was not afraid. I was very alert, yet I felt no fear. I knew my life and my brother’s could be over very soon, and I was ok with it. I didn’t worry about the future. I just wanted to do everything possible to stay alive in the moment.

From where I was, my usual worry about not achieving a work goal, my fears about failing, seemed so petty. Mundane concerns about clothing, food, recognition, looks, or being accepted seemed so out of reality when I was confronted with a real life-or-death situation.

I realized, being there, that most of my fears were really superficial. If I didn’t achieve a work project, so what? I wasn’t going to die from the failure. My life was not at stake if someone didn’t like me. Being afraid of what other people thought of me seemed ridiculous. If a girl I wanted to date didn’t want to date me, it didn’t seem like such a big deal.

In other words, I got to experience a different point of view as a result of really being in a life-or-death situation, where the possibility of dying quickly, or of some form of torture and confinement, was real. I didn’t know what could happen.

I kept the conversation with our captor going. I saw it as an opportunity to learn about his perspective and the world he lived in, and to hopefully help him humanize us. He believed he was entitled to steal because he had fewer opportunities, and he justified his actions by blaming the government. He followed orders like a soldier, and then he would go home with his cut. He explained that they would wait until midnight, because there’s a limit to how much you can take out from an ATM per day, and they wanted their victims to be able to make other withdrawals.

The conversation helped me humanize him too. I guess blame, rationalization, and lying to ourselves to justify doing the easy thing, even when it is not good, happens at all socio-economic levels.

Hours passed, and suddenly we heard a car approaching; someone got in and we drove away. They said they were going to drop us somewhere. I didn’t know if they were lying and planning to kill us, or if they would really let us go. Around twenty minutes later they asked us to step out and walk forward without looking back. We stepped out and walked, and during the next thirty seconds I waited to be shot in the back. But no. They didn’t shoot us; they drove away. They left us in what seemed a very unsafe area, and I almost laughed, thinking: what would be the odds of being robbed or killed after what we had just been through?

I hailed another taxi from the street. I told the driver I had no money and what we had just gone through, and that I hoped he was not in the same line of business, and that we would pay him once we got to our apartment. He took us home safely, and I paid him with the cash I had there.

A few minutes after we entered the apartment, my mother called and asked if we were ok. She sounded very worried, and I wondered why; she didn’t know what had happened. But she did. I had forgotten I was on the phone with my uncle when it all began. When I dropped the phone, the line stayed open, and he heard what was happening and called my parents. They had called the police and were waiting to see what would happen.

It may have been worse for them than for us. Parents worrying about the lives of their sons. I saw how much they care about us, and how love and our relationships are really the base for a good life. All else is not that relevant in the big scheme of things.

Life seemed better back at the apartment. I had the freedom to move and do as I pleased, without expecting to be shot. Life seemed so good just being normal. I guess normal is not so bad. Normal was what I had unconsciously taken for granted: my health, my freedom of movement, and options, limited only by my capacity, to do whatever I want with my life.

I had been warned about these random express kidnappings in the city, but I thought it would never happen to me. I was wrong, and I was arrogant to believe reality would somehow be different just because it was me.

I am now here safely in my house, sharing my thoughts with you from a comfortable chair. I am healthy, I like what I do for a living, and I am married to someone I love. I have three wonderful children, and people like you who read and try to learn from what I share. This is really great. I don’t ever want to take any of it for granted.