Wrong Taxi, Wrong Street: Qiana's Encounter with Colombian Police

This evening I attended a small birthday celebration for my trainer in Barranquilla, Professor Alzate. Everything was great, and I had a fabulous time.

However, there was a small, but jarring twist to my evening. Ronald, a fellow athlete, was charged with the task of making sure that I arrived to my temporary residence safely. He, along with my trainer, flagged a taxi and negotiated the fare.

We had to have gone maybe 3 side streets when two Colombian Policeman stop the car. It is around probably midnight or so at the time (I think). They are waving their flashlights in the car and asking the driver questions. Before I know it, we are asked to get out of the car. One policeman is asking me questions on one side of the car, while his partner is questioning my escort.

Now, the Spanish is coming fast from the policeman and slow from me. I was instructed to step away from the car, open my bag and answer whether or not I had drugs. I was processing everything as fast as I could, but it was obvious the Policeman wasn't understanding why I was giving short answers and not pleading my case.

Ronald was doing all he could to explain as fast as he could why in the world I was looking like a panic stricken, non-Spanish speaking American on a side street in the middle of a nontourist neightborhood in Barranquilla.

For the first 3 minutes, I started to get a really sick feeling to my stomach. You know you hear about those stories of shady police, being in the wrong place at the wrong time and the stigma (unfortunately) of being an American.

Ronald could sense I wasn't looking too well, and he told me to stay calm. I, too inserted a mental note of looking at peace because those guilty of transporting drugs panic, right?

Taxis passed down the dark street and there were a few passersby, as Ronald and I watched the two cops talk on their radios, check under the hood of the car and continually ask questions of our driver.

Finally, the police agreed to Ronald's plea to let us go so that he could make sure that I arrived to my aparthotel. I was happy that whatever the ongoing situation with the taxi driver didn't automatically include the passengers.

We were told to get back in our original taxi. One of the policemen hopped in the front seat...and that's where the video picks up. Here's the remainder of my trip after my encounter with the Colombian Police. Getting a lift to a main street. Ronald negotiating with another driver, and then recounting our hold up. Of course, I follow up with my English synopsis.