Pride and Pickpocketing

The Metro was packed. It was Sunday afternoon, and we were heading to our first cultural event with our Spanish School in Medellín.

At our stop, the majority of the passengers poured out. We stayed with the flow, funneling one by one through the turnstile, and started down the wide stairs of the station leading to the street. The crowd swelled again as they passed us on the steps. Vendors greeted them at the bottom, selling rainbow ribbons and flags. We stopped three-quarters of the way down. I opened WhatsApp and messaged our school group, “We’re here, on the stairs of the Metro Station – Duwan and Greg.” Danny, our Spanish teacher, replied. He spotted us and waved us down. We waded through the crowd to reach him. He gave both of us a hug.

Our Spanish School in Medellín did cultural activities every week. Sometimes it would be as simple as providing all the students with paletas (popsicles) with exotic flavors, or sometimes more involved, like going to a festival and a play on Colombian Independence Day. This was our first big event with the school, marching in the Pride Day festival. Yes, Pride Day, the same celebration of love and acceptance of the LBGTQ community commemorated all over the world.

We followed Danny across the street to the sidewalk. He took a picture of the building we were standing in front of and sent it to the group text so everyone else could find us.

Soon Ofir and Camila showed up, the event coordinators from our school, and then, some friends of Ofir’s. We were waiting for one more student. Greg and I tried to make small talk, but our Spanish wasn’t quite up to par in the noisy crowd. So I started taking some pictures. I had my phone for general, expansive, quick pics but also had my “big camera” for zoom shots, capturing details from the crowd, people in colorful costumes, two women embracing and kissing, and a man covered in butterflies. What I was most drawn to, though, were the vendors.

There was a man with a popcorn machine, a live flame burned under the kettle of corn. A man navigated through the crowd with a tray of snacks over his head. People sold beer and soft drinks. There were the ribbon sellers who likely had just bought rolls of ribbon and cut them in lengths just for this event. The guys with the rainbow flags were selling out.

Any place where crowds gather in Medellín, you will find vendors for anything you might find you need. If it starts to rain, the poncho and umbrella sellers will be right there. Any event is an opportunity for people to make a few pesos and to piece together a living.

The other student texted. He was going home. The crowds were too much. Ofir’s friends had already gone ahead to find the parade. We headed up the street, Ofir leading the way. The crowd wasn’t too bad on the sidewalk, but there were still plenty of people. A man, about 50, skin aged from too much work out in the sun, came hustling towards us with a tray of maybe 40 drinks in plastic cups with lids. Just as we were about to pass each other, he tripped on something and fell forward onto the sidewalk. The drinks lids popped off as they hit the hard concrete and orange liquid started seeping into the sidewalk.

Everyone who saw him froze and stared. It was like as if standing stock still we could figure out how to help the man, but the shock left us unsure of what we could do. The drinks were unsalvageable. I wanted to whip out $20 and give it to the vendor, but I didn’t know where to find $20 or how, at that moment, to figure out how many pesos were worth $20. After a bit, he stood up, pulled out his phone, and took a picture of the ruined drinks. I felt some relief. Maybe he can get replacement drinks, maybe this loss won’t come out of his pocket. Ofir tugged at my arm, pulling my thoughts away from the man, and motioned for us to move again. Everyone else on the sidewalk started moving again too.

Getting ready to cross the street and join the parade.

Another ribbon seller.

We came to the parade street and Ofir told me to hold on to her as we crossed to the side where the floats were lined up ready to start their procession. Once we reached the other side, we went back to waiting. At the time, I wasn’t sure what was going on or where we were going, but eventually, it became clear that Ofir was trying to catch up with her friends. She got on her phone. I took more pictures.

Suddenly we were on the go again, passing colorful Chivas, floats with sparkling dancing bodies, and vendors selling rainbow accessories. We stopped at Plaza Cisneros so Ofir and Camila could have their pictures taken with two people dressed like characters out of a fairy tale. After the pictures, Ofir got on her phone, and soon we were off again, weaving through the mass of people waiting for the parade to start.

Ofir with a big mouse?

A selfie with Camila.

During all this stopping and going, I was trying to capture the day with my phone and big camera. Camila told me to be careful with my phone. I tightened my grip. Juggling two cameras while trying to be conscious of the risk of losing my phone became difficult. I put the phone away in my bag for good.

Selling rainbows on the sidewalk.

Chivas. Chivas are used for tourism in Medellín, but in other parts of Colombia they are used for transporting people from one city to another.

Another Chiva.

Rainbow angel.

We caught up with Ofir’s friends and joined the parade, which was now moving. One of Ofir’s friends gave us plastic shot glasses decorated with a rainbow ribbon. The glasses were attached to a string, and we hung them around our necks. Someone pulled out a box of Aguardiente, a licorice-tasting liquor loved by Colombians.  There was a toast. Everyone downed their shot, except for me. I sipped mine until I realized I was the center of attention. I downed mine too.

We started moving again through the packed crowd of revelers. Ofir tried to keep us in a train with me hanging on to her, Camila hanging on to me, etc. The train would break every once in a while. I’d look back to make sure Danny and Greg were still behind us. When an especially good float would come by, one of the group would point it out for me to take pictures. One of Ofir’s friends had a large Colombian flag he was waving overhead. We tried to keep him in our sights.

“We unite for equality”

Make room for the Chiva.

Vendor selling fruit.

The train had broken, and I had briefly gotten ahead of Ofir when she came rushing up behind me, saying, “Tu phone!?” I checked my bag. It was gone.

Ofir had seen the person take the phone out of my bag. She grabbed them, but they insisted that it was theirs. She let go and they disappeared.

You know that sinking feeling when you realize you have lost something? I didn’t have it. I had disregarded one of the first things I had learned about Colombia, “No dar papaya.”

No dar papaya, which translates to “Don’t give papaya,” is an expression that Colombians use to warn people to keep their possessions safe and not give an opportunity to thieves.

The parade was rife with all kinds of opportunities.

Our school group left the procession and found a quieter spot on the sidewalk. Everyone was in a whirl telling me what to do and no one was listening to what I was saying. They told me it was only a phone. I don’t think they realized that they were more upset than me. I felt bad that I had now ruined the day for everyone. I should have been more careful. I should have kept my bag in front of me. I should have turned it around so the clip that holds the flap on was against my body.

A friend recently reminded me that I was a victim. “The thing is, we are the victims! It’s not our fault. Someone else robbed us.”

Spectators on a bridge.

A different kind of vending opportunity.

At first, I tried to trace the phone, but I’m sure the phone was turned off by then. So I took the steps to erase and lock it.

The next day at school, Ofir helped me inform the phone company, Claro, that my phone had been stolen. Ofir doesn’t speak much English, so we used Google Translate on her computer to communicate. The phone company blocked the IMEI number, which meant that it couldn’t be used with a phone plan again. Hopefully, for all the thief’s effort, for the work they put in tracking me through the crowd and waiting for the right opportunity, they only got away with some useless plastic, glass, and bits of metal.

I ordered a new phone on Amazon and had it sent to our friend, Dian, who was coming to visit us in Medellín in a week.

I lost all of my pictures on my phone from that day. I had to change all of my passwords and reinstall all of my apps on the new phone. While using Greg’s phone to try to remotely wipe the data on my stolen phone, I inadvertently wiped Greg’s phone. He had to reinstall all of his apps again. It was all a major pain besides being a loss of money.

I now have a carabiner on my bag that connects the clip in the ring, which serves as a tricky obstacle to opening the bag.  In really crowded situations, I can turn the clip towards me. I hold onto my phone tightly when I use it to navigate through cities and keep it close to my chest. Occasionally I will let my hand dangle by my side with my phone in my grip and some passerby will admonish me to be careful.

* Click the pics to enlarge and view in a slide show. Let me know how many phones you can see in the pics!