Being robbed in Sao Paulo

"Assalto! Assalto!" (Assault! Assault!) It was somewhat eerie listening to the entire congregation at the Chinese Baptist Church in Liberdade (the "Asian" district), Sao Paulo practicing their Portuguese, with these violent words. The church is made up of almost entirely mainland Chinese immigrants, including the Fujianese man who was murdered a fortnight ago.

The Taiwanese pastor was having the entire church practice saying "assalto" for two reasons. Should the churchgoers be robbed, they would (1) know that they were being robbed -- robbers always say "assalto" -- and (2) they would be able to call 190, the police, and inform them of the robbery.

(The first point shouldn't be taken for granted. A Buddhist friend told me of a robbery of a Buddhist congregation in Aclimacao district in Sao Paulo, when two men came in with guns yelling "assalto." The Buddhist service continued without interruption, the monks reciting from sutras, unaware what "assalto" meant. Only my friend spoke Portuguese, and had to inform the Chinese congregation that they were being robbed, and later had to serve as a translator for the robbers when they tried to extort money from the monks. She had to explain to the robber that Buddhist monks have very few possessions or money.)

"Say 'Assalto,' as clearly as possible. Do not say 'Asado,'" the pastor said half-jokingly and half-seriously. "'Asado' means barbeque."

* * *

"Assalto! Assalto!"

About five seconds passed before I realized that the restaurant was being robbed, and I was in it, and there was no escape.

In fact, my first thoughts when these two men came running in were that I recognized one of the men. Hey, is that Nivaldo, the nice man who has been attending and working at the Buddhist temple for ten years? Who puts his hands together in prayer every time we meet? No, that can't be, this guy's got a scar on his left cheek. It was not in fact Nivaldo, the guy from the temple. Noticeably more aggressive. Oh. Crap. He's robbing the restaurant. Crap.

* * *

I hopped on the back of Li Jinwang's motorcycle, a friend of a family friend, and rode down Cons. Furtado street in Liberdade. I normally try not to walk down the street; it is somewhat desolate during the day, and noticeably dodgier than the main streets of Liberdade. But as we rode off, I noticed Chinese restaurants here and there, which I had never seen because of my avoidance of the street.

Parking outside a nondescript Chinese restaurant, we went inside, into a quiet Hot Pot restaurant. We chatted with the Taiwanese owner for a while, going through the list of usual conversation topics:

1) The economy and local business
2) The wildly fluctuating exchange rate (It was 1.8 reais to the dollar when I got to the Brazilian border in Paraguay, and now it is 2.4 reais to the dollar.)
3) How much better the U.S. is than Brazil (with my futile attempts to convince them otherwise)
4) The recent spate of robberies and murders in the Chinese community

At about 10:30 pm, as the restaurant was closing up and the security guard had already packed up and gone home, the two men came in screaming that word the Chinese have come to fear and recognize.


My second thoughts, after realizing we were being robbed, was that I had my camera on me. Not any old camera, but the camera that I had only gotten two days ago when my parents left Sao Paulo and my dad left me with a fine, working digital SLR. How awful would it be to have this camera robbed, just two days after finally having a working camera, after all the bad stuff my cameras have been through? Luckily they didn't take it, they were after cash and not much more.

Both men had one hand in their shirts, as if to conceal a firearm. They never showed it during the entire robbery, which was to last less than ten minutes; I seriously doubted they had guns, but it was not something I could do anything about.

One man kept lookout at the doorway while the other, with the scar, ushered all the restaurant patrons -- maybe fifteen in all -- into the back room and had us put our hands on the ground. He yelled at all of us angrily, most of which I couldn't understand. He demanded our money, especially dollars. I had about 35 reais (about $17 dollars) and about five U.S. dollars on me, which wasn't anything I was terribly concerned about. I handed it over. The Chinese man behind me, who let out a sigh, handed over more than 50 reais (about $25 dollars); Li Jinwang handed over 20 reais. An old Chinese family handed over a measily 6 reais, or three dollars. They were clearly smart and perceptive. I should have been smarter, these guys clearly weren't pros, and handed over some pitiful amount of money.

He then demanded our phones; I think all of us caught onto the fact that this guy didn't know what he was doing, and I don't think anyone handed over their phones, even though all of us had them. He pointed to me demanding my phone, and following the lead of Li Jinwang, who showed the man an empty cell phone case, I said "Nao tenho," (I don't have it), shrugging my shoulders. I gave myself a mental pat on my back.

Unfortunately, the guys made off with about 800 reais from the poor restaurant owner. I felt really sorry for her, and her workers. As we left about five minutes after the robbery, all I could say was "I'm really sorry" and patted her on the back. Li Jinwang offered to pay by credit card, which she declined.

Being put out twenty dollars is no big deal, but the psychological effects of such an episode can be far greater. A range of emotions overcame me that night -- anger, a desire for vengeance, fear. I wanted some sort of justice, some sort of karmic retribution for the two men. I mainly felt for the poor restaurant owner and her workers -- how hard they must work to earn money, only to have it taken away in blink of an eye!

But as dark and despicable these acts of violence are, I cannot let them cast
a shadow over my time in Sao Paulo, or my life in general. So many people have been victims of robberies here -- Li Jinwang said it was his fourth or fifth -- that there's no point in whining about it. Life goes on, business as usual; I will keep shooting photos; the Hot Pot restaurant will open tomorrow.