M. Woryonwon Roberts Lucky Victim From Waterside downtown Monrovia, on a hot Thursday afternoon, I boarded a minibus for home. Christmas fever was prevailing powerfully once again. With less than a week to spare, the 25th was approaching quickly. The driver maneuvered the bus out of the swarming crowds and made straight for Somalia Drive. There was lively talk in the bus all the way about the season. It was like a charter ride. Some commuters even joked the carboy that it was Christmas whenever he announced a stopping point along the way. No sooner the bus made its first stop than a fellow sitting behind me rose and descended. To pay the carboy his fare, he reached inside his back pocket for his wallet, but his hand felt nothing. The wallet was gone! Someone has cunningly cut his jeans pocket, probably with a razor blade, and slipped out the wallet. “Oh, my God! I’m finished!” he screamed. His hand nervously passed through his pocket. “Someone has damaged me!” There was nobody who wasn’t shocked or angered. The victim stood confused, his heart pounding. He looked as if he would collapse with grief. In sympathy with him, and wanting to grab the culprit, all the commuters on board agreed to be searched one by one for the missing wallet. After each of us in the front got off the bus and waited after being thoroughly searched, a smartly dressed, decent-looking guy came rushing from the rear, disgruntled. “Here’s your wallet,” he said, “I found it under the seat.” He spoke quite shamelessly and without remorse. He hastily paid the carboy, meandered his way across the street among speeding vehicles and was lost from sight. Like he had cast a spell, no one hurled insults on him, nor made a move to seize him. Humph! Thank God the wallet had not been opened! In the wallet, beside the few Liberian dollars bills was USD $1,500.00 the man had received that same day from abroad via Western Union on behalf of family members and relatives. Holding on tight to his wallet, the man—traumatized and shivering still—explained how he had gotten the money. We climbed back on and the driver pulled away. Before the man left, he managed to breathe a few words of gratitude. We watched him stumble home down a narrow path. My fellow commuters clamored on and on about the incident. I sat mute in my seat, staring ahead in disbelief. Copyright © 2006 Liberian Association of Writers.