Cochabamba, City of Thieves

[Theme song: to the tune of "Happy Trails": "Happy entrails to you, until we eat meat again. Happy entrails to you, keep chewing until then..." (fade)]

Like God, they are everywhere and they are watching you every minute. Like snake venom, they act silently and swiftly. Like polluted air, they are all around you all the time, invisible and foul, messing with your health and sanity, not all at once, but all the time. They are the thieves of Cochabamba. You can park your car on a busy street in a decent part of town in the middle of the day, but if you leave for thirty minutes, you may loose bits and pieces of it, your mirrors, your spare tire, your brake lights, your chrome. All these have happened to me.

Does nobody notice them as they do their dirty work? That's another story. So you end up buying your car twice, once as a single unit, then again, piece by piece over time. The thieves only get a few dollars for their booty. But the price of buying back those parts is very expensive. Everyone knows where to go, the "Mercado Chino"section of La Cancha. Stealing and reselling car parts is a major industry in this city where industry barely exists, jobs are scarce and poverty is rampant. You need what sort of light? Hey, we just happen to have one of those right here, in just your size and color. Kind of pricey but... The other big business is the sale of locks and other odd devices to fit over lights and mirrors to prevent their disappearance.

Thieves here are resourceful, daring, professional and ubiquitous. Part of me admires their panache and part of me fantasizes catching them at their work and bashing their brains out. You can see the many disfigured cars on the streets, missing lights or mirrors. This city survives in part on this cannibalism, feeding off itself. You cannot put your bag or purse down anywhere, even for a minute. Someone is going to grab it. My wife's purse was stolen from the chair where she was sitting in a cafe. Another time, in the market, they took car keys and wallet as she stood there paying for something, without seeing them do it. In the LaPaz bus station, one man engaged my wife and son in converstation while his partner stole my son's backpack. Thieves steal from rich and poor alike. They are opportunistic. I have heard tell of more violent muggings on the streets, usually groups of young guys with knives (guns are rare here, thank the gods). But most theft is petty.

The anger against these pests tends to fester silently. But woe be unto those few who do get caught. You see there pictures in the tabloids. They suffer all the built-up resentment against all the thievery that occurs without punishment. They are the scapegoats for the pervasive lack of justice here. So what is called community justice takes its toll and the unlucky apprehended suspects may be tied to a tree while everyone in the barrio takes their turn whacking them with sticks like a human pinata. Or they may be set on fire or even crucified. It's not right, and it's nto pretty, but these unfortunate few must pay for the crimes of the many. The police? They only come around to inspect the charred or bloody remains of the suspected criminals. They don't actually ever investigate or enforce anything or ever apprehend anyone. They only stop people to collect money from them. I am among the estimated fifty percent of drivers who actually have licenses, just to keep the cops from fining me for not having one. So you want to steer as clear of the cops as of the thieves. It's a jungle out there.