On, Off, Either Side and Underneath the Beaten Track

Waking up underneath a soaring Table Mountain; with sun streaming through rickety shutters and a soothing salty breeze in the air; its impossible to believe that anything could go wrong.

I arrived in Cape Town full of all the bravado of youth - bravado that was to last about ten minutes, until two gangly street kids pointed a gun in my face.

"That's awful!" people usually cry. There was a time when I would have exclaimed the same. But.. Is it? They didn't shoot me, I assume they had never intended to, and they relieved me of $20 - $20 which they most probably needed, and which I most probably didn't. There it is folks, the informal redistribution of wealth.

As it happened, it was most polite of the few muggings I have encountered (I must have racked up some bad karma somewhere along the line)

I had decided to take a shortcut through a derelict CBD backwater against all experienced advice to the contrary. I was surrounded by inquisitive faces peering at me, most bemused, some menacing. I had barely scratched the surface of this makeshift concrete jungle before serious thoughts of turning back circled my mind like marauding sharks. At the same time, I was still running on this reserve of bravado.

I persevered, and was rewarded a few steps later by aforementioned two gangly street kids, who seemed to materialise out of the urban sprawl and blocked my path, hands outstretched.

“Give us your money miss”, one called out as I approached. Unsure whether they were begging, I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t have any”, I replied and made to walk past them.

With a flourish, his accomplice produced a gun and pointed it squarely at my face.

“We’ll ask you one more time - give us your money miss”, the spokesperson said, as though speaking to someone with limited intelligence.

“Sure”, I mumbled, handing over my 200 rand and then standing there, at a loss as to what to do next. It felt a bit over-zealous to run.

“Thank you miss”, he said graciously, bowing slightly. “You’re welcome” I replied brightly – before remembering that I was being mugged at gunpoint, not ordering a coffee.

They ambled nonchalantly away, and I stood there awkwardly swinging my balled fists a moment longer. The inquisitive faces were still there, some smirking, some clouded with pity.

As for me, I'd just had the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed to my temple, and came out feeling as though I'd had a casual chat with a local. It just goes to show how far manners will take you.