The salty breeze of the Indian Ocean drifted languorously through the open window of Alain's compact Toyota Venza, in the less dense traffic of Port Louis. It was almost midnight, and after a long day of ferrying passengers of all kinds, he was tired and wished to retire home for the day.
Then his phone buzzed. It was another Uber request.
The pickup point was Grand Baie, and the drop-off was at Belle Mare.
It was quite a distance but the payment was good, so he accepted.
Fifteen minutes later, a tall man wearing a grey hoodie which covered most of his face, slid into the back seat. He didn't offer any greeting. He carried a faded duffle bag, his eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the dark streets ahead.
He avoided eye contact.
Alain tried to engage him in a conversation, but he was silent, murmuring inaudibly when he asked if he was going home. It was nothing new; some passengers just wanted peace and to be left alone, still, something about the way he clung to the bag made Alain uneasy.
They had barely driven for ten minutes when the man suddenly barked, "Stop here."
They were in the middle of a quiet stretch between the cane fields and the coast, far from any residential house or hotel.
Alain hesitated. "Are you sure? There's nothing—"
"I said stop."
Alain pulled over, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. The man opened the door, swung the bag onto the back seat, and stepped out.
“Hey! You forgot your bag!” Alain called.
“Keep it,” the man muttered, and then hurriedly disappeared into the darkness.
A thick silence followed, Alain sat frozen, staring at the bag. Instinct told him to drive off, but curiosity won.
He turned and slowly unzipped the bag.
Inside were bundles of cash, wads of 500 and 1,000 Mauritian rupee notes. His throat dried. Some of the money was stained with something dark red and sticky.
Blood?
His hands trembled as he zipped the bag back up, barely able to breathe. Was this drug money? Was someone killed? He pictured the headlines that would make the rounds;
"UBER DRIVER HELPS FUGITIVE ESCAPE"
Then he would be accused of aiding and abetting crime.
His blood ran cold.
“No, no, no,” he muttered and fumbled for his phone.
He called the Mauritius Police emergency line.
“My name is Alain Merven. I’m an Uber driver. A man just abandoned a suspicious bag in my car. I opened it, t’s filled with money… and blood.”
They told him to wait. Minutes later, two police cruisers arrived and surrounded his car. They approached him with caution, hands on their weapons. Alain came out of the car with his hands up and explained everything slowly and calmly.
They examined the bag very carefully and called in the forensic team, placing the contents into evidence bags.
"You are lucky you reported this," said one of the officers. "If we had discovered this at your place, you would be arrested."
He was taken to the police station nearby, for questioning. Under fluorescent lights, a detective reviewed Alain's dash cam footage. Everything he described checked out as the unknown man entered his vehicle, looking visibly anxious, to the time he dropped the bag and walked away.
"I knew nothing about the money, I swear," Alain repeated again.
The detective nodded. "I think we will just wait for the lab results."
Twenty minutes later, an officer returned with a clipboard and a facial expression that screamed irritation.
"It's a huge mess," announced the officer. "It's not blood. It is a sugar syrup product, palm-based. As for the money..."
"Counterfeit?" asked the detective.
"No, it is props from a film. All fake. Printed notes that have a rubbery feel to it. It even contains a watermark, 'CineNote Films'."
Alain blinked. "You mean this was a joke? A prank?"
Rajen clenched his teeth. "Looks like someone is experimenting on social media, probably had a camera rolling, for TikTok."
Alain was allowed to leave, but a lot of questions still lingered in his mind. Who would bother with a joke to such a degree? What if I'd never called the police? What if I'd taken that bag back home with me?
The day after the incident, the video popped up.
A viral post titled, "The Uber Trap: What would you do?" showed hidden camera footage of Alain's response... his fright, his bewilderment, the moment when he zipped the bag back up and went for his phone. Inside that bag was a GoPro.
Millions of views. Reactions called him honest, but stupid. Some thought it was staged. Others laughed.
Alain felt humiliated.
The police were enraged. The pranksters didn't get clearance from the appropriate agencies before pulling the stunt and Alain's privacy had been violated. Legal action was taken, but unraveling the damage was impossible. There was nothing that could be done to erase Alain's face plastered all over social media. He had become a meme.
Later that week, and sitting alone on a bench adjacent to the beach, Alain watched families walk by, lovers laugh, tourists take selfies. The ocean shimmered like gold in the evening sun.
He should’ve felt relief that it had all been a false alarm. But somehow, he didn’t.
The world had laughed at him for doing the right thing.
His phone buzzed again—another Uber request.
He stared at the screen for a long time… then hit Decline.
He didn’t feel like driving tonight.
All images are AI
🌸My Motto is work at making yourself proud of yourself.🌸
Thank you very much for taking time to read me. Have a wonderful day!
