Taking advantage of the sad mood across the country on Tuesday night, unknown people ‘expertly’ broke into my friends’ well gated and wall-fenced house and ‘skillfully robbed it clean’ of everything they fancied including a flask containing the baby’s milk.

The 4-bedroom house located in one of the newly established Kimironko residential neighborhoods is one of those impressive modern pieces whose rent you pay through the nose but at least assured of its comfort and security, a bonus feature in city listed as one of the world’s safest.

The small community of hard working citizens that reside in the house had enjoyed peaceful nights in this beautiful crib for years until Tuesday night when robbers mysteriously found their way in and leisurely stole what they wanted. 

Before leaving, they went to the kitchen where they smoked the owners’ cigarettes and drank the babies’ milk before stealing the empty flask, several kitchen electronics, the smart TV-set, a home-theatre music system and a frieze floor carpet.

Did this happen with residents inside? Or yes! They were in their respective bedrooms, locked. At one point during the ‘operation’ the young couple allegedly heard their bedroom door knob turning, someone attempting to enter; who could it be? They wondered.

If a man or woman {unlikely} could rob you during the commemoration week, there’s little doubt that they are also capable of taking a life, cold-hearted enough to murder! But who is robbing Kigali residents? They’re daring. That’s for sure.

Maybe not yet up to a level grave enough to worry our security agencies but many a resident can testify that the trend of home burglaries in city suburbs is steadily becoming a major nuisance.

In the break-in of my friends’ house, one wonders how they managed to gain access of such a secure set-up in a neighborhood that is regularly patrolled by local security teams whose operations and welfare are funded by money collected from area residents. 

I suspect maids and home-guards could be playing a role in these robberies. I haven’t been a victim of a robbery ever since I relocated from my studio apartment in Gikondo over three years ago, to a serene neighborhood in Kicukiro, but I know people who have. 

Last year, a Kenyan friend working with a commercial bank was robbed of all major household electronics in her living room, including a fridge, smart screen and a music system.

The robbery happened in spite of having a professional armed guard, a metallic gate and a high-wall fence in the uptown suburb of Gacuriro; as she soundly slept in her bedroom upstairs, downstairs, the goons were making off with house valuables.

She noticed the missing items in the morning, as she rushed to the fridge to pour herself a glass of juice; it was gone along with all its contents; the guard was right in his usual night spot, on duty; his security agency first denied responsibility but finally gave in to save the contract.

The robberies are daring, or they sound, from tales by their victims. They can pull off an operation in broad day light as the case was a fortnight ago; when a young man manning the mother’s fresh-fruit store in Kicukiro lost his laptop in a rather cunning robbery.

It later emerged that the machine had been nicked by three men that had called-in, posing as fruit customers; they were actually on a mission.

Driving in a white Toyota sedan, they parked by the roadside opposite the shop, one of the men jumped out and entered the shop where he took a tour of the stock; then the driver summoned the boy to ask him for something, off he went, leaving the other guy in the shop, alone.

Bending over the driver’s window in conversation, the guy in the shop stealthily picked the laptop and disappeared in thin air just as the driver ended the conversation with the boy who on re-entering the shop realized his laptop was missing as well as the customer left behind.

He was momentarily dazed by the fast events. He turned to look at the car, it was speeding off. An alarm…a small crowd… a little village chase…all was futile. The laptop was gone. You could be its next owner, bought on the cheap off the street, its former owner, sad and blue, somewhere.

editorial@newtimes.co.rw