11/11/11 was a memorable day, except not for something worth remembering

Someone asked me what I’d do to make 11/11/11 memorable. I had no idea since I wasn't doing the expected like having a baby or a wedding. All I knew then was that it was a Friday, my day off, and I could do the special but repetitive things I do most Fridays. Go for a morning run, Skype and later join some girlfriends for a coffee. I even received an email from a journalism community asking if I wanted to document the day in any form. I didn’t have time, so I declined. But now, I’m forced to document something that doesn’t need time creating or researching. I call it my official “induction into Quito”.

On Thursday Nov 10th after my classes I went out for a coffee with a friend. She had cancelled our date on “The Day of the Dead” and she wanted to make it up to me. So she picked me up after my lesson at 8pm and we headed off. We debated staying in, but she felt that I haven’t had a chance to see Quito in the night [I live just outside of Quito in Cumbaya], and she wanted us to eat at one of her favourite spots. She’s an architect so she thought to take me to a place where the decor is as impressive as the food.

From this point on everything goes lighting speed or in slow motion depending on my mind. We went to La Mariscal, the tourist centre of Quito [locally known as ‘gringolandia’] and it was buzzing. I don’t particularly like this area and crowds just enhance that feeling, so I was happy the restaurant we went to only had a few patrons. We sat, and made our orders, starting with the amazing fresh fruit juices they serve here. I asked for a moraa/Guanabanna [soursop/blackberry] mix.

Guanabana fruit on sale at a roadside stall
EstherWambui/Photos

All this time, my handbag was on the edge of my chair on the right, and my jacket hung at the back of the chair. I remember going to the bathroom to wash my hands, coming back, and getting some hand cream from the handbag. A few minutes later, I wanted my lip balm and as I stretched my hand into the bag, I hit an empty space. I thought my handbag had fallen, but at the same time I thought I should have heard or felt that. A few seconds later, and one look under the table and I knew my handbag was gone. A friend’s purse had been stolen the same way and I’ve heard her story many times.

Here is the story as recounted by the only waitress who saw the thief. Apparently, an attractive young woman with dark hair [as if that were some unique feature in Ecuador] had come in a few minutes prior and sat at the table behind me, facing me, meaning the farthest place from me. I didn’t even know she was there. She ordered a glass of water and a few minutes later, she told the waitress she had to go call a few friends. That was it. All I ever “saw” of her was the solitary glass on the table, and the last I saw of my beautiful red handbag and all its contents; both valuable and sentimental. I can replace most of what was taken except a few weeks of lecture notes on the voice recorder and all my press cards, from three countries. In Quito you learn to never carry important documents on you, but unfortunately misfortune pounced on the day I had taken my documents to make photocopies.

On this memorable day of 111111, I lost a ‘little bit of myself’ with the loss of my handbag, and in the process, my love affair with Quito was prematurely tainted. But in all that I’m thankful to God that I wasn’t harmed at all. Some people I know here haven’t been so lucky. I strongly believe the thief had some help from the waitress either getting my purse or getting out of there without anyone noticing including my dinner partner who was facing that side.

Loosing my entire handbag with all the items in it has taught me a lesson about what is really valuable in life.