Yesterday started out the same as any other day. Chuck woke up about a quarter to eight, slid out of bed, and took the dogs with him out of the bedroom for their morning potty break. I stretched and yawned, and remained there in bed, enjoying the comfort of the mattress and the coolness of the bedroom, steeling myself to get up, turn off the air conditioner, and face the heat of the day. After a few minutes, Chuck came back into the bedroom, and with four little words, dramatically changed the course of my day: “Babe, we've been robbed.”

My brain had not yet given up its residence in sleep, and was reluctant to do so, so I stared stupidly at Chuck, unable to take in the meaning of the words he had spoken. But momentarily, screaming comprehension dawned, and, fully awake, I leapt from bed and followed Chuck upstairs.

As I stood there, in my living room, staring at the mangled metal door, the splinters of door jamb, and the hectic chaos that was now our home, I had never felt so horribly naked. My eyes swept the room, making note of things that were missing. I immediately looked toward my desk. Although disheveled, my beloved desktop machine and monitor were still in place, but my eyes failed to see what they were really looking for, and I began to cry; my wedding ring was missing.

I got myself under control quickly, because when I cry, Chuck cries, and this really was no time to have us both bawling in the middle of the living room. With the brief tears dried up, our minds turned to more practical matters: what to do next. The logical thing is to call the police. But our Spanish is not good enough to get across our need. I have no idea how to say robbed, break-in, thief, or any related word in Spanish, and the electronic translator was one of the missing items. Our next thought was we needed Jason and Cecy, who have very quickly become our guides, our companions, and our closest friends. I went to grab a phone, and thats when I realized that every single phone was missing. Every cell phone, every house phone. We couldn't even go to a pay phone, because all of my phone numbers were in my phone. We quickly decided that Chuck had to get into the truck and drive over there. I would stay behind with the dogs and watch the house, since there was no way to secure the door.

Chuck arrived at Jason and Cecy's at the very inappropriate hour of 8:30 for a drop in visit. Cecy was just starting to make breakfast and Jason was trying to get a few more minutes sleep. When Chuck told them what had happened, they dropped everything and sprang into action. Cecy called the police. It turned out the person who answered the phone spoke English, so she passed the phone to Chuck. He explained what happened, and the police said they would send an officer to our house.

While Chuck was gone, I tried to be productive. I couldn't call our landlord, Hector, who lives in Mexico City, so I emailed him to let him know what had happened and about the damage to the house. I started making a detailed list, complete with serial numbers, of everything I could identify that was missing: both wedding rings, my watch, both laptops, all the telephones, both digital cameras, the cordless drill, the photo printer, all of Chuck's cuff links, his dive watch, the remotes for the dog collars, the weather station, Chuck's silver money clip, my purse, even my prescription sunglasses. I was getting good and depressed when the doorbell rang.

I went downstairs and found an officer standing at the gate. The officer spoke only Spanish, and Chuck had taken the keys to the gate with him, so I couldn't even let the man in nor tell him why. We were at an impasse. Thankfully, Chuck arrived home only a couple of minutes later with a very worried Cecy and Jason in tow.

I was still walking around in a bewildered haze, desperately trying to grasp the full implications of what had happened. Chuck didn't know where to start with the officers, and they spoke more rapidly than either of us could follow. So no-nonsense Cecy took charge and dealt with the police, filing the report. I was able to give them my list of what I knew was missing so far. There was a lot of rapid fire Spanish going around me, but I was able to pick out one word that was repeated by the police several times. It was the name of a young man in the neighborhood who has unfortunately developed an extensive drug problem. They asked if I knew him. I told them yes, I did; yes, he has been by the house. That was their prime suspect. The police fanned out through the neighborhood, questioning everyone on the whereabouts of the young man, probing, searching.

I got a reply from our landlord. He and his family were deeply concerned about Chuck and me. He had already contacted Nacho, his local agent, and a local craftsmen to repair the damage and secure the house. In fact, Nacho showed up while I was reading the email. Nacho and Hector made arrangements to repair the damage, install a chain link fence and barbed wire around the roof, and install a dog door in the bedroom door, so the dogs can have free reign of the house at night – all at Hector's expense.

Local friends began to hear about what happened and responded with generosity. We had offers of loaner cell phones and equipment. Everyone was eager and ready to help, all we had to was tell them how.

When our neighbors heard what had happened, they all came over. Everyone was very sorry, very sympathetic. They all promised to help try to find the young man and locate our belongings. I didn't hold out much hope for that, but I really appreciated the support and took strength from the warmth that flowed from all of them.

The police returned with a lead. They needed someone to follow them to a pawn shop to identify our belongings. For the first time, I had hope. Chuck, Cecy, and Jason went with the police. I stayed with the house and waited. Chuck returned and told me it was a false alarm. It wasn't our stuff.

There was no time for dismay. Things had to be done. Chuck stayed at home while I went to buy new cell phones and make an official report with the district attorney. There is a special DAs office for tourists and foreigners located upstairs above the Balboa Clinic in the Golden Zone. The people there were very nice. They helped me make my report, then translated it into Spanish so it could be filed. I spoke with an Assistant Distirict Attorney. I had to provide three copies of my passport. I signed and thumb printed 5 copies of the report, and they gave me an official copy to take with me.

After several hours, I returned home hot, tired, and dejected to find out that Chuck had news. Our neighbors had been true to their word. They had found the young man. Upon hearing what had happened, the young man's family had promptly shipped him off to the mountains to a 6 month in house drug treatment facility and helped in the search for our belongings. Shortly after I left, our neighbors had come by with a few odds and ends that did, indeed, belong to us. They told Chuck they had a line on a friend of the young man who might have some of our things. A few hours later, they returned with more stuff, including my laptop, all of the telephones, the drill, the translator, Chuck's cuff links, and many items we didn't even know were missing.

An hour later, the doorbell rang again. Our neighbors had returned. They tracked down another friend of the young man. They had brought Chuck's laptop and assorted computer equipment. They also had some items and jewelry that didn't belong to us, so we know we were not the only victims.

One of the women, Myrna, pulled out a book and a pen and asked us what was still missing. I sadly had to tell her our wedding rings, also the two digital cameras, the printer, Chuck's dive watch, and the weather station. She wrote it all down and promised to keep looking. Everyone around shook their heads in agreement.

As we stood in the street chatting, I looked around me. I was surrounded by generations – men, women, and children. All of these people were standing in the street on a hot August night to show their support for us. Our misfortune had galvanized our entire block. This group of people I only knew well enough to wave at when I drove by had dropped everything and spent their day walking, knocking on doors, asking questions, bullying where necessary, all for us, the newcomers, the strangers. We are their neighbors. We are part of their community. I looked at all the faces, most not understanding a word of what I was saying, but standing there anyway, just to show us support, and I knew – we are home.