Earl Moxam, Senior Gleaner Writer
SHE BIT her lips. Her voice trembled. Then the tears brimmed over. It was too much for the woman to contain her emotions as she struggled to retell her story.
It's a story that has played over and over in her mind in the years since her ordeal, but it is no less difficult to relate.
It was late one night. The men had just killed her male relative in one of those senseless reprisal attacks. One of those carried out by rival 'shottas' from neighbouring streets. Now it was time to carry it one step further. The family members had to quit the community, immediately... or else!
ARMED TO THE TEETH
And they were not hiding their intentions. Seven of them, armed to the teeth, brazenly walked up to her house and called her out. The leader of the pack, a third her age, issued the chilling ultimatum: "Woman, yu haffi leave di area right now!"
Trembling with fear and re-pressed anger, she could muster just two words in response: "Yes, boss."
But, remembering that this was, in all likelihood, the last time she would stand in this place, she pleaded for time; just a few minutes to go back inside and collect her most precious belongings.
His response? A bullet whizzing past her left ear; so close that she thought she had actually been shot. Her knees buckled and she almost fell to the ground, but, struggling to retain some dignity, she somehow found the strength to regain her balance.
Then, almost as if he was toying with the woman, her tormentor-in-chief told her she could go into the house and collect a few items. "And don't try any ting, or dis time di bullet won't miss!" he threatened.
"Yes, boss!" she readily agreed.
Glad for the brief respite, she scurried back up the stairs and into her humble lodgings, not knowing if by the time she got back outside the gunmen would not have changed their minds and decide to execute her on the spot.
But how was she going to avoid that fate? Who would she turn to for help?
Then she remembered! Her cellphone was lying somewhere in the darkened bedroom. Perhaps she could call the police! But time was running out! If she delayed her reappearance the men could become suspicious and she dared not use any light, just in case they were watching her through the window.
ONE ... ONE ... NINE
With a prayer for divine protection, she groped in the dark until her hand closed around that precious piece of technology. Quickly, she scooted under the bed, and punched ... ONE ... ONE ... NINE.
"Answer it! Pleeease answer the phone!" she mouthed silently, as she waited for the police to respond. A few rings seemed like an eternity where every second could have meant the difference between life and death.
Then, that precious voice at the other end of the connection!
In a whisper, at rapid-fire speed, she told her story, gave directions to her house and pleaded with the 'officer' to send a unit to the extract her from this situation of mortal danger.
But, in her cramped neighbourhood there was no guarantee that the police would easily locate her house on the dark, narrow street.
What if they came, and being unable to locate her, left her behind to face her angry adversaries?
Ah! The towel!
She had left a large white towel hanging from the balcony. Even in the dark it would be visible in the faint light of the quarter moon. That, she told the 119 operator, would be the landmark to look out for.
She gathered up a few items of clothing and her most valuable documents, which, fortunately, she had kept in a handbag within easy reach.
All she could do now was sit tight and wait for the police to arrive, hoping they would hurry it up.
She crept up to the window and, ever so gently, raised her head above the sill, looking out for the police vehicle.
Soon enough she detected the lights of an oncoming vehicle.
It could only be the police, she reasoned. So, on feet made light with a new wind of relief and hope, she bounded down the stairs and out the door, past the gunmen who had retreated into the shadows and to her gate, arms raised.
Only to see the police unit flash by!
RUN FOR DEAR LIFE
But she was not going to be deterred by this. It was still her only chance out of there alive, even if she had to chase it all the way to the nearest police station!
So, out the gate and down the road she ran, expecting at any moment to hear the crack of a gun and feel the sickening thud of a bullet piercing her skull.
And then, it stopped! A member of the police team saw her just as the vehicle was about to disappear round a bend in the road and called out to the driver.
She wasn't going to die, after all!
The ordeal was over!
But, was it?
Six years later, she still shivers with fear. The whiz of that bullet passing her left ear is an ever present sensation. And the voices! That of the gang leader ordering her around and his cohorts snickering at her evident fear.
But, despite the odds, she has not shrivelled up and died on the inside. Victim of crime, though she is, there is still a determination in this woman to beat the odds and overcome it all.
"I cannot allow them to win," she told The Gleaner news team, defiantly.
The Victim Support Unit
The Victim Support Unit of the Ministry of Justice sees an average of 10,000 victims of crime each year; 5,000 carry-overs from the pervious year and a new set of 5,000 in the current year.
From January to mid June this year, the unit has already seen 2,274 new clients and dealt with 2,176 follow-up cases.
Male victims outnumber females on a ratio of 2:1.
The unit provides mainly emotional support, including counselling and court visits with victims.
The Unit operates an office in every parish.
