tear gas

That one time I went for a walk to get a coffee and ended up getting tear gassed instead.

The Global Brigades office has no windows. It is also located in my apartment. Meaning that if I was to work in said office all day, I would never go outside nor see the sun. Some days exactly that happens. I do not like when this happens. I like windows. I like sunshine. I like venturing outdoors, inhaling fresh air, getting vitamin D, and an assortment of other crazy things. So, I take walks.

Alas, our neighborhood leaves much to be desired in the leisurely-amble realm. It’s mainly residential, with the token pulperia and pharmacy, a Chinese restaurant here and a ferreteria there, and the empty lots serving as makeshift car garages where I can always count on a gaggle of hisses and kisses from the working men, sometimes even a perfect imitation of Joey from Friends “how you doin’?” It’s no stroll in the park, but beggars can’t be choosers. There are exactly two malls within walking distance: Casacadas and the slightly seedier Plaza Miraflores, and not a whole lot else. So when that moment hits me, when my legs get figdety and my eyes overly computer-strained and mind wandered, that is where I go.

Today, I chose Miraflores.

Meandering around the mall, I hardly noticed the extra police force. I hardly notice police, or military, or guns, actually. The fact that there had been riots and protests last week at the university across the street didn’t really phase me, and after a couple months in Central America, you learn that AK-47 is never too far away. I’ll never become immune, always a little shaken by that constant over-arching reminder of insecurity, but you accept it for what it is—life.

I headed toward the gates that led to the street outside, but the policemen directed me otherwise. It was locked, I would have to try another exit. Not thinking anything of it, I headed down the side of the mall, up the stairs and across the overpass. That gate was locked, too. I started to get a little inkling that maybe something was wrong, especially when I saw some people, not running, but hurrying back towards the mall. Crowds had begun to gather in the entrances, and just as I scooted back into the mall, security guards started hauling down the grates, clanging metal sealing off the exits. Men literally dove under the grates, scrambling to get back inside before the bars slammed to the ground. It was like that one scene in Indiana Jones (of course), where Indy rolls past the stone door moments before it grinds to a close. Except this was real. What the heck was going on??

I called Liz in the office. “Um, hey, I’m barricaded in Miraflores. Just thought you guys should know in case, you know, I’m not back in a hour or something. I think it has something to do with the university protests.”

Still, no cause for panic. The food court was still packed, a safe haven of Subway and Wendy’s in the center, far away from the chaos at the entrances. I assured my co-worker that I would wait it out for a bit, assess the situation, then get my gringa butt on a cab home.

A couple minutes passed, the grates opened a halfway, the brave walked out, the tentative stayed inside. I peeked through the crowd, wondering what my next move should be, wishing I spoke better Spanish, wishing I didn’t stick out so much, wishing I wasn’t alone. Looked okay, almost like business as usual, but there was hesitancy in the air.

BAM.

A cloud of toxic smoke exploded from the tear gas canister. Shots, were those shots? The metal grate fell to the ground. People were running, screaming, pushing others out of the way. Bars immediately barricaded store entrances, inviting neon signs quickly covered with dull metal. Some tried to roll under before they shut, seeking the asylum behind. This is not a drill, warning, this it not a drill. My first taste of a mob mentality, of what a riot would feel like, of having no control and every man for himself. I ran.

There was a minute there when I was really scared. Hell, the Hondurans were scared, why shouldn’t I be? I had no idea what was going on, no idea who was going to break through the mall entrance, no idea where to go or what to do. A moment when I was thinking, “Eff. This could get really bad.”

The food court was deserted this time. Mascara streamed down women’s faces, eyes glazed over and watery from the gas. Men covered their mouths with scarves. I was breathing through my sleeve, the air was toxic and thick, my throat was burning with every panicked gulp. Tear gas BURNS. I just wanted some coffee!

Slowly, things calmed down. Grates open, people breathed, I detected the faint semblance of nervous laughter; oh wait, that was my nervous laughter. The vibe was interesting—people seemed shaken up, that much was palpable, but somehow not completely thrown. A semi-normal occurrence, maybe, but one to which you don’t get accustomed. I didn’t really want to venture out to try to find a cab, but wasn’t particularly keen on staying, either.

Adding insult to injury, the cabbie ripped me off on the drive home. I tried to haggle him down from 50 lempiras to 30, but I guess when you are fleeing the scene, you lose a little bit of bargaining power. Needless to say when he denied my lower offer and began driving away, I went running after, “No, no, ok, ok 50 lempira!”

Shaken, not stirred.

So I survived my first—mob? riot? tear gassing? Whatever you call it, it was by far the most…unexpected experience I’ve had in Tegus thus far.

But hey, I lived to tell the tale.