And Then It Hit Me…

Daily writing prompt

If you had the power to change one law, what would it be and why?

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I spent the summer of 1991 in Yugoslavia, a country that no longer exists. As always I got paid to travel and had all extra expenses reimbursed, which is fair enough because you still pay all your monthly bills at home.

Oh, how I enjoyed this summer. Far away from America, the country where I now lived, close to the place where I had been born and raised, I explored a foreign land. Funny enough, I worked as a translator, even though I didn’t speak Croatian, Macedonian, or Serbian.

Of course, I had heard about the tension in Yugoslavia, but I was distant from it -so I thought.

In the evenings, after a long and intense day at work, I went back to my hotel, showered, changed clothes, and went for a walk in the city to unwind. I stayed in Split, a beautiful city on the Mediterranean Sea.

I enjoyed these trips alone, away from my colleague who I liked, but didn’t call friends. I didn’t want to explore tourist attractions or sit in the hotel lobby every night, I tried to mingle with the natives instead.

One night I walked into a restaurant/bar because I couldn’t resist the smell that came out of the kitchen. Music was playing, and as usual, I was the only woman without male companionship, but after years of traveling, I had learned to walk in like I had the right to do so -which is a privilege not every country willingly gives females, not even today.

I showed confidence that I didn’t feel, walked through the tables, and took a seat at a place close to the window. I waved to the waiter and ordered water and a gin tonic. I asked for the menu which was given to me without hesitation.

Some of the guests, middle-aged men with dark brown faces stared at me the same way people look at a monkey in a zoo, but as always they lost interest when I smiled, nodded a HELLO, and started to read my menu. I was dressed appropriately, didn’t offend or attract anybody, minded my own business and soon I was no longer the center of attention.

Some might think I am a feminist by heart, a rebel, a fighter for women’s rights and perhaps now I am, but back then I wasn’t. I simply wanted to be independent and when I went out all by myself I felt safe. I never went out unattended when I wasn’t comfortable, and always obeyed the rules and laws of the country I visited.

I was enjoying my meal when voices got loud at a table close by. I minded my own business – that much I had learned, never get involved if you don’t have to – until you want to. The argument got louder and seemed more heated. Other men got involved and now half of the restaurant seemed to be interested and people were shouting at each other. A red flag for any foreigner!

I wanted to get out but didn’t want to get noticed either. I debated in my head. Should I wave for the waiter and pay? I felt nervous and helpless. Then I felt a hand around my upper arm, and heard a voice behind me in English say, “Get up slowly,” and somehow the way he held me, the way he talked to me, convinced me that I could trust that voice.

I got up quietly, and at that very moment, a young man close by drew a pistol and pointed it at the table where the fighting had started. Now I was in panic mode, I wanted to run as fast I could, but the hand around my arm kept me in place. Then with one quick step, the man switched places with me. He no longer held me, but now shielded me. A second man I hadn’t noticed before stood all of a sudden beside me, he too spoke English. “Let’s get out before it escalates and if I tell you to go down, you go down and crawl under a bench.”

I didn’t nod or talk, I was paralyzed with fear and felt very vulnerable. What if...

My confidence shattered, I felt that my well-being and perhaps my life were in the hands of these two English-speaking strangers. The situation heated up more and more, the voices were shouting back and forth and then we stood outside. To this day I am not sure if they carried me, or if I really used my own two feet.

We walked away from the place, as quickly as we could. One of the guys now held my arm again, the other seemed to walk more backward than forward. Half an hour later we sat down at a coffee shop, they ordered me Slivovitz, a Yugoslavian Schnaps which I poured down like a cowboy in a Western movie.

They were soldiers, stationed in Yugoslavia to be there when the crisis would get out of control. Their mission was to get people like me out, in case it would become too dangerous to stay. “Can you defend yourself,” they asked me and I looked at them in disbelief.

“How many people were in the restaurant?” “Where was the exit?” “How many waiters?” “How many were in the kitchen?” I found all the questions very offensive. “Why do I need to know? And yes I can defend myself.”

“So you can punch a person if necessary? You can free yourself if one holds you against your will?”

Right then and there it hit me, I cannot defend myself other than talk or run and hope for the best.

That I couldn’t answer any of the questions they asked bothered me. I had considered myself to be observant, yet it seemed I was the opposite. Sidetracked by smells and atmosphere, I hadn’t noticed any of the obvious.

I stayed in Split for two more months and Matthew, the young man who had grabbed my arm and I became acquainted. He told me about his girlfriend back home, and I talked about my husband. We stayed in contact for many years.

I knew he was a soldier. To this day I believe he was working for a special force or task. Which he never denied or agreed with.

Three weeks later I traveled to Zagreb, and from there I went to Belgrade where I was supposed to stay for a couple of weeks before I flew back home. “If I call you and tell you to get out, you do that!” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. A couple of weeks later the hotel phone on my nightstand rang. “Pack up and get out,” he said and he told me where to go. A few hours later I was on a plane back home.

The civil war in Yugoslavia had started. Years later the country was split into different countries.

From Matthew, I learned to walk tall and to look strangers in the eye when I smell fear. “Don’t look down! don’t look away! Don’t be an easy victim!”

I don’t have a black belt, nor have I taken self-defense classes, but he showed me a few things. I can get out of a HOLD, I know how to use a key as a weapon. I know where to hit when I have to. I don’t believe in violence, but strongly believe in self-defense.

Wherever I go now, I know where the exits are, and how many people are at a restaurant or store. I always look for the bathrooms, and the fire extinguisher signs, and I choose a table so that nobody can sit behind me -or one where I can overlook everything.

I learned to trust my instincts. I learned to read a room, not just by voices and words – that’s what you do as an interpreter- but by tension. Matthew made me believe in myself and he taught me to trust myself and my judgement.

If I could change one law?

Then I would make self-defense classes/martial arts mandatory in all schools, perhaps even in Kindergarten.

Domestic violence – Child abductions – Sexual abuse – Sexual assault – Women and men being held against their will
So many situations can leave us feeling vulnerable and helpless. 

I always regret that I never found the time to take classes because I know it is comforting to know that you can defend yourself from an attacker and protect your children and family when needed. The little I learned helped me throughout my life – it still does.

Self-defense is an exercise of the mind and body. Nothing wrong with that. Perhaps we would have even fewer guns here in America.