How getting robbed at knife point reinforced my faith in humanity.

I’ve recently coined the term “knugged.” It sounds a bit less terrifying than getting held up at knifepoint and having a man slice your purse off you and steal all of your money.

Which, technically, is exactly what happened. 

It was two weeks ago. Three of us were walking back home on the familiar road I have walked countless times before, often past midnight, and often alone.

(Sorry, mom.)

It’s just, I have never felt unsafe in this town. I’ve lived in this small town in Ghana for almost three months now. Everyone knows my name. Everyone had been nothing but friendly and welcoming since I’ve been here.

Hohoe had become my home. I felt safe, and, in a sense, invincible.

I had even heard about a knugging earlier that week. (See? It sounds a lot less threatening, doesn’t it?)

Two Americans were robbed at knifepoint on the market road near our house and lost 400 cedi ($200) and two iPhones.

I was appalled, shocked, but not scared. That couldn’t happen to me, I thought. We are the yeavos that live with the Rasta. We stay for months, not weeks. We’re a part of this town. Everyone looked out for us. No one would think to touch us. I was sure of it.

It was 8:30 p.m. when we turned onto our road. It had just gotten dark.

“Don’t worry, those travelers were jumped on that road over there, not this one,” I told our skeptical Couchsurfer.

We passed a couple men who enthusiastically greeted us.

”Wazo! You are welcome in Ghana! How are you enjoying our country?”

This was the typical way people treated us. Warm. Friendly. Kind.  We responded that we loved it here, thank-you-very-much, and went on our way.

I started talking about what someone should do if they were attacked, not because I thought it would happen three minutes later, but because I recently read an article about how a woman journalist stayed alive while taken hostage in the Middle East by remaining submissive when they tortured her. She knew fighting back would do more harm than good, and she stayed alive because of it.

Before we could reach a consensus on what we would do in that situation, it happened. Two men walked in front of us and quickly spun around.

“Do you know what this is?” One said to me, holding a knife blade close to my face.

My stomach dropped. If I hadn’t heard what happened to those two tourists a week before, it wouldn’t have occurred to me what was going on. I probably would have assumed he was genuinely asking if I knew what knife meant in Ewe or something. That’s how safe I felt.

Before I could really respond, he grabbed the strap of my purse and sliced it off my body. Rachael hit the other with her water bottle, and they left as quickly as they came.

Numb, I walked to the small shop next to our house, refusing to look behind me, and collapsed in tears. Immediately, a crowd drew. Through choked sobs, I told them our story.

A group of boys, most of whom I had barely spoken with before, immediately went on a search party.

Dorcas, a fifteen year old girl, offered to be our body guard any time we go outside again.

Our friend Elvis swore to figure out who did it and make sure "justice is served." He comes over almost every day to give us updates. 

So yes, these two men stole 15 dollars, my debit card, cheap cell phone and our house keys. But, in all honesty, they haven’t taken much else. My perception of this community and the people living here isn’t tarnished. What happened to me on that street could have happened to me in any other part of the world, and I refuse to blame the entirety of Hohoe for the actions of two stupid dudes.

If anything, this experience has strengthened my belief in community.

- ashley rose.