by R. A. Lang
Even the food I bought from supermarkets was considered ‘food for the house’ in her eyes, and she began helping herself. She took whatever she wanted down to the beach to share with her friends. That was the typical culture on the island: whatever you had was automatically taken as if it were there for the taking, just like my time in Venezuela!
After having the girl in my house for a week, and being tired of how she was speaking to me, I had had enough. One morning, she started shouting at me because a couple of my friends had visited me the night before. She told me she would not stand for people visiting the house, so I reminded her of who owned the place and kicked her out.
That night, she went back to my house with some of her friends and emptied the place of everything I had bought, including things that came with the house.
The next day, a friend picked me up, and we went to the electrical and water companies to transfer the bills into my name. I didn’t want the waitress cutting me off.
The gas company was closed by the time I got there, so the waitress who had already visited was able to cancel the contract and get the deposit back for the bottles which I had paid for. She also went to my house insurance company and tried to cancel my house insurance and get the money from that too! Fortunately, they refused her.
When she moved out of my house, she stole all the warranties for the new air conditioners and other appliances and also stole the original deeds to my house. It took a threat to bring the police to the Spanish tapas restaurant where she worked for her to return them.
A few weeks later, I signed contracts to work in Kazakhstan. I was worried about the house being left empty because crime was escalating dramatically on the island. Out of pure desperation, I agreed to rent the two spare bedrooms to two young girls, one from Surinam and the other from the Dominican Republic.
They had lived on the island for several years. Not to be ripped off yet again, I had the same real estate agent write up a formal rental contract that allowed the girls to rent their rooms for a very small fee per month.
I knew it was a mistake but I just wanted someone living there to prevent thieves from breaking in whilst I was away.
Anyway, the girls moved in that weekend. I explained that my only rule was that no men were allowed in the house. Naturally, they helped themselves to everything in my fridge, freezer, and cupboards.
I was flying to Kazakhstan soon, so I didn’t let it bother me too much; I’d be gone, and they’d have to shop for themselves. I made the girls sign the rental contract and figured the formal approach to be a better solution.
I was later to learn whilst away in Kazakhstan that the Colombian real estate agent never bothered to collect the signed contract, nor did she bother to collect the monthly rent or ensure that utilities were being paid. Actually, the real estate agent never visited my house at all.
Before leaving for Kazakhstan, I paid a Dutch marine to be my caretaker. He was paid to go to my house every week to ensure everything was okay. The very weekend I flew out, the two girls had a big party. My house was still full of men sleeping on my sofa and chairs the next morning when my caretaker walked in.
He threw all the men out and gave the girls a strong warning, but people on that island don’t care about warnings. They live for the moment just like the majority of Latin Americans did. I also had a lady drive past my house every morning, on her way home from working at a hotel all night. She sent me emails explaining that there was a different car in my drive every morning.
The girls never did paid any rent, or any of the utilities, and they were eventually kicked out. My electric bill was incredible because they had every air conditioner on twenty-four hours per day. All my frozen foods and cleaning liquids were taken as well; I suppose they stole them for their families.
During my time in Kazakhstan, I had Colombian builders in my house renovating it. All was going well until they began laying new floor tiles throughout and broke through the bathroom floor. When they did so, they were greeted by millions of cockroaches. They escaped from under the tiles and ran up the bathroom walls and across the ceiling. Lisa was there supervising for me at the time and ran out of the house screaming. Lisa would regularly visit to take photos and later email them to me so I could see the progress.
The cockroaches were living under the house because all the waste water pipes had totally corroded. No wastewater was getting to the septic tank alongside the house. The surveyor had failed to find that problem; he didn’t even wonder why the septic tank hadn’t needed emptying for several years. The wastewater had eaten deep into the walls, so those had to be completely removed and rebuilt.
While all this was going on, a Colombian electrician, who had already rewired my house and been paid in full for doing so, wormed his way back into my house to rewire it again for a second fee. As I was off the island, he had told my caretaker that I had asked him to return!
The first time, he had just fitted a breaker box and pretended to rewire the house. The second time, he lied to my caretaker and said it was the second part that he’d come to finish. Therefore, he got paid twice for doing the same job.
Something else the islanders liked to do was visit. When they visited, just like when I lived in Puerto Ordaz, they came empty-handed. Once they had consumed every beer in my fridge, they’d leave and visit someone else. In the beginning, I needed to put up with a lot just to get to know people and find my way around the island.
Later, when I was in a position to stop all that, I was totally ignored by the islanders … unless I invited them for freebies, which they never refused.
In the bars, they adopted the Latin American culture and got familiar with tourists and invited them to other bars. If the tourist agreed to go, they’d telephone and bring more of their friends, and the tourist would need to foot the entire bill. The islanders never had any money on them, or so they claimed. They’d order take away food and drinks to supply their entire families and have it added to the bill!
When I first got there, I needed to be driven around because I had no idea where to go for things. Each time, I was forced to fill their petrol tanks, tip the pump attendant ten dollars, and feed them before getting dropped off at home.
I knew I was being financially milked, but I didn’t have much of a choice at that time, it was the island way!
Chapter 22
Kazakhstan
In September of 2009, I flew to Kazakhstan to start working with Chris again, as he’d made sure I had the contract as his senior quality assurance engineer. I hadn’t seen Chris since working with him in Nigeria back in 2004. I still had outstanding issues on the island, however … and a few more horrifying surprises in store for me on a scale I could never have imagined possible.
Kazakhstan was a very hostile environment to work. We were warned not to walk around alone and never to use the local taxis. Former colleagues had taken local taxis and been taken down backstreets where thugs would be waiting to beat them up. Several were medically evacuated with fractured skulls, broken ribs etc. I never dreamed that I, too, would fall victim to an attempted murder.
My worst fears were confirmed when I got back to the island on the 31st January 2010. It was clear that I’d been ripped off by the caretaker.
The first time I use the shower, the water quickly filled the drain pipe and flooded out of the bathroom and out the back of the house. The new wastewater drainpipe didn’t lead to the outside septic tank. Instead, it was buried under concrete.
The Colombian electrician had robbed me of everything I’d bought, including clothes, shoes, Mont Blanc pens, DVDs, Ray Bans, tools, and even my bedroom door keys together with $5,200 dollars of holiday cash. He had also stolen a Bible written in English, which the Gideons had given me when I was just ten years old.
It was a nice start to the carnival month. Not even the island police could help because the Colombian electrician had somehow heard they were on their way to visit his place and moved all my things he’d stolen out.
The carnival festivities were in full swing, and they were leading up to the carnival’s grand parade on the 14th of February. I had waited a long time to see it, so I was excited. This time, I thought, nothing will go wrong. Not!
I’d stuck it out in Kazakhstan for five long months to ensure I would see my first carnival, which would surely be worth the wait. I followed my caretaker’s instructions regarding the grand parade day. I stayed in my house, ready to be collected in the morning before all the roads were closed off around the island’s capital.
Anyway, after taking it easy by staying home for four nights and declining the Friday night/Saturday morning pyjama parade, to ensure I wouldn’t be tired for the grand parade, I was wide awake and rested for the big day.
I got up early that Sunday morning. My camera was fully charged, and I ate a good breakfast to soak up the day’s beer intake and ready to be collected, as promised by my caretaker. What could possibly go wrong? I thought.
After waiting a couple of hours to be picked up, and calling my caretaker several times to ask when he was coming, I dozed off on the sofa. I woke up a couple of hours later and quickly called all the local taxi companies, but they all told me the same thing: “You’ve left it too late.” All the roads were already blocked off for the grand parade, and there was no hope of getting anywhere near the carnival unless I was prepared to walk for hours.
Therefore, I spent the entire carnival grand parade day home alone with no food or drinks. I just kept imagining all that I was missing. With nothing else to do, I decided to walk to the nearest Chinese supermarket, which was a twenty-five minute walk away. In the heat, however, it felt like hours. Of course, nobody thought to warn me that all the shops would be closed until Tuesday. Even more good news, I thought, I can lose even more weight than I’ve already lost due to the renovation problems and robbery. The island did have its advantages, I supposed.
By Monday I was starving, but nobody was picking up their mobiles because they were asleep the entire day after partying until five or six o’clock in the morning. Eventually, a friend, Marina, called me to ask how I was doing.
She spoke the usual: Spanish, Dutch, English, and Papiamento. She was horrified that I had spent the day alone at home with nothing to eat, and she immediately rushed over with some traditional island home cooking.
Marina was always the first to come to my aid and solve any problem I encountered on the island.
Marina worked permanent nights at the reception of a beach resort hotel that was just a three minute walk from the beach and close to all the most popular bars and restaurants.
Later that day, Lisa woke up from the carnival asking where the hell I was on Sunday. She was angry that I hadn’t been at the roadside to take photos of her leading the grand parade.
When I told her that my caretaker hadn’t picked me up as promised, she went crazy. Lisa is a professional Latin dancer, and as I’ve mentioned, dances for an island dance group. They entertain tourists by performing on stage at hotels, and are very popular.
The Friday before the carnival, we had spent all day shopping for materials such as ostrich feathers for her blue and silver costume. She wanted me to take a lot of photos of her while she and her dance group were leading the entire grand parade. Because her group was the first along the road, my job would have been very easy … if I had made it there.
I spent the following two weeks winding down from all the bad news and horror I had discovered when I first arrived on the island. I deliberately kept myself away from all the people who had ripped me off and let me down. I stopped all building work, and just took things easy.
Marina continued to help me as always, and she even drove me around so I would be spared the heavy taxi fares, plus she’d keep me company whenever she could, so it wasn’t too bad in the end.
During this period of time, I met some locals at a bar near my house. It was nice to be far away from the tourist area.
They were horrified to hear how much trouble I’d had with my house just up the road and what my house renovations had cost me. It seemed that, from that point onwards, things would be easier, and certainly a lot cheaper.
In June of 2010, my mother visited the island for the first time, and it was my first incident-free visit. Having a better imagination than I had, she explained what she’d do to my house if it were hers. So the next three months of my life were filled with local builders again.
I arranged to have a very high wall built across the back of my place, mainly for security reasons. I wanted vented blocks to allow the breeze to come through. In the front, I requested a mix of walls and fancy railings with a rolling gate.
Work had just started when I left the island to return to Kazakhstan, so I relied on photos being emailed to me so I could control the payments. Just before leaving to Kazakhstan, I had rented the spare back bedroom to a Dutch marine and his young Colombian wife. The couple were about to have their first child so I thought they’d be a good choice after the two girls I’d previously made such a mistake with.
During the construction, they called me to let me know that many Colombians had moved into my house.
Apparently, the new tenant had invited his friends over from Amsterdam for free holidays, and his Colombian wife had done the same with her family. My builders had told me there were people sleeping outside on my swing, on my sofas, and even on the floor.
I got them out after giving them thirty days’ notice as per the rental agreement, which I respected and they kindly left the place in a disgusting condition. They also failed to pay all the utility bills and stole everything they could carry, just like the two girls had done before.
As a temporary solution, I invited two local people to house sit, rent free, out of pure desperation. I will call them Haitian and Ronnie. All they had to do was pay the utilities. This proved to be the biggest mistake of my life, which almost cost me my life, which fuelled my inspiration to write my story.
Haitian was from Haiti, and didn’t have any friends, which I found strange, as she had lived on the island for twenty-five years. Ronnie was a very inadequate islander and alcoholic, who had not completed his schooling.
I didn’t know at the time that Haitian was a voodoo priestess and practised voodoo daily. People I had never met were invited to my house in my absence to pay her to carry out voodoo ceremonies. I had no idea that was going on while I was working in Kazakhstan.
During September of 2010, events occurred that changed my plans in a way I never imagined possible. On September 25th in Atyrau, Kazakhstan, the resident security guard knocked on my door at 6.50pm to present his friend.
All his friend could say in English was, “Want lady.” I told him no and closed my door on the both of them.
I continued to get ready to go to a wedding party that night, but ten minutes later, I heard a noise coming from my living room. I looked around my bedroom door and found the same young Kazakh man in my apartment with a young girl. I ordered them to leave immediately, but he was extremely persistent and wouldn’t leave.
My camera was sitting on my kitchen table, as was some money, and my gold Rolex, which he kept looking at.
I could not turn my back on them and go to my apartment telephone at the far end of the room to call reception, due to my things on the table.
He insisted I keep the girl, and he still wouldn’t leave. Finally, he agreed to leave after I took his name and phone number. Of course, his name was false and the number was from a stolen mobile phone, as the police later told me.
After they had left, I finished getting ready and went to the wedding. After just two hours at the wedding party, I began to feel very sleepy for some reason, and I decided to leave much earlier than planned. I arrived at my apartment at around eleven o’clock at night.
I left my camera on my kitchen table, took off my Rolex, and left it at the side of my bed. I woke up early on the Sunday morning, and both my Rolex and Nikon pocket camera were missing.
&nbs
p; I told the receptionist and called my company’s security. My security was very quick off the mark and came to my apartment to view the security video footage from the closed circuit television cameras. Unfortunately, they had already removed the discs.
They arranged an identity parade with the Kazakh police so I could point out the guard who had brought his friend to my apartment, but he wasn’t among the men. Apparently, they’d already fired all fourteen guards who worked that Saturday night, so I couldn’t identify the guilty guard.
On Tuesday, along with a licensed translator and a security company representative, I went to the local police station. The building was in a terrible state, a leftover from Russian times.
The entire incident had been hidden from investigation, and I didn’t have any hope of recovering my losses. Both the Kazakh police and my company’s security did what they could, but the cover-up made it impossible to make any progress.
I was introduced to a lawyer who accompanied me and continued to represent me throughout the proceedings. Her name was Antonina, and I had no idea at the time that she was about to turn my whole world upside down and inside out.
Antonina and I soon began living together. Because we had become involved with each other, Antonina explained that she could no longer represent me as my lawyer. She claimed that it was not professional, and it wouldn’t look very good in court.
Antonina recommended two male lawyers whom she’d known for many years. Evidently, they both had well proven track records. In the background of all the enquiries, Antonina was still leading the process, but the two new lawyers were representing me. Antonina had an unusual amount of power in her country, but the alarm bells came too late. She had the local press and television cameras go to the apartment block to put on national television as she conducted her initial investigations.
