Almost stabbed in Cape Town. Bad luck or bad timing?

Saturday, 12^th of January, 2019.               

Dear friends and readers, what you all are about to read right now is not yet about my experience in Cape Town. Damn it! That probably will take me two followed posts. But I decided to write about something that just happened to me, about three hours ago. And even though it happened here in Cape Town, it is just one singular event. While writing this, I am having a Double Black Johnnie on rocks. If you know me, you are probably wondering why am I doing this. I do not drink whisky. Well, lest just say that when I arrived at Aziz’s home, alive, I said that famous movie speech: “I need a drink!” And because the only options where either our dear Mr. Walker or a sweet white wine, “Here’s Johnny!”              

Do you have sixth sense? I am actually not a fan of this term, so whatever we can call it, do you? I prefer to call our extra sensitivity. That feeling telling you that something is going to happen; that feeling that you should go in this or that direction; all those signs that you decide to ignore when you are liking someone but you know you should not, etc. Do you ever heard it? I mean, actually listened to it and let it prepare you? I had an interesting conversation about this with Paula, and she told me that it is possible to develop those kind of extrasensory things. And I really want to do it. But then today, after what was already a horrible day, I told myself, in a moment of fury, that there was not such a thing, that was stupidity to believe it. Isn’t ironic that just some minutes after, I had one of the most important ones? Or is just too obvious to tell yourself that something bad is going to happen to you when you are walking at night in one of the most dangerous cities in the world?              

After walking for about 20 Km, I am not that exhausted. Yay! And I know it would be around 25 in total, so I am happy with my endurance. Girl, I would be feeling even happier soon. When I felt that something was about to happen, I told myself – Prepare to action. Did it make any difference? Was I more prepare than I usually am?

Also, “ironically” (perhaps not), today I decided to wear a dress. My red retro dress. All the other times I came to town, I was wearing my long shorts and big t-shirts. And I know, not by a fashion eye but by a safety one (which has accompanied me for the last 13 months travelling around Africa), that people keep distance of me when I look like a man. It is not just about my owl tattoo and the fact that they think I am a which, it is a natural bigger fear that most people have of men than of women. So there am I, in my short and tidy red dress, and not in my boots, but in my All Star Converse. I see two people about two hundred metres from me. At the beginning, I thought they were coming in my direction, because we were getting closer to quickly. But then I realize that is me who is walking too fast, and getting closer to them too much. Too much.              

You see, I made the bad decision or what? I decided to pass them instead of keep a safe distance and maybe they would not see me. Or would they wait for me anyway?              

A guy in a bicycle pass. A white guy. Didn’t the thought of talking to me, or asking if I was alright, occurred to him?

I get close enough to see that they are two men.

They see me. I am getting closer. But what can I do right now? It is a long and big road, which connects Century City to the Yacht Club or the town and the Waterfront too. And I cannot go back to anywhere because there is nowhere to go back. So I lie to myself and think that they are just two ordinary and innocent guys, who are probably as much scared of me as I am of them.

Well, at least they are worse liars than I! They look at me, the one in my left get closer to the other and say something before push him out to the other road. Then, in the worse rehearsing in the history of crime, the one who remains in front of me, goes down and pretend to be tying his shoes. Nice shoes by the way. I pass him. I start to walk faster.       

I do not turn my head completely, but pretending that I am looking to the view on my left, the ocean, I can see him. The other one is across the road, and because it is a big road, he is far from me. After what seemed like a long time, the one who is behind me  starts to run. But he is not desperately running, like chasing me, no, he is running like someone who is jogging. Her passes me. Ten metres after, he comes back.              

What he is holding it seems pretty much like a kitchen. But it could be something else. He seems to be in his late thirty’s, and he has only two or three teeth. He’s wearing nice sport clothes to go on with his nice running shoes. Perhaps he is not even a thief but just saw on me an opportunity.              

At the same moment he shows me his knife, I show him my pepper spray. He does not point the knife to me but to the floor. His words are “Just give me the phone, I just want your phone”. My most sincerely words, the first words which come out of my mouth are – I don’t have a phone, I’m sorry man. He runs away. Just like that, without saying a word, he just ran. I don’t know if he believed me or he was just scared of the pepper spray but he left, crossing the road and going back in the direction I had come. I run too, but in direction of home.              

The weird thing also is that I was just twenty or thirty metres from the bus stop. He did not even though about that?              

My fear now is if they would go around (it is a big open space right where I must turn) and stop me again somewhere in front. I kept running for what looks like an eternity. And if you think how much tired i was… I guess adrenaline is something real when your life is in danger. Where the hell is that energy when you need to do simple things, like spending the whole night awake with that person that you like. Oh! Look at me saying all kind of crap just because what happened. OK, OK… where the hell is that energy when you are late to take a bus, or a train, or late for that important interview and cannot walk faster than a turtle? When you need to finish cleaning the house and your mother is almost coming back and she knows you spend the last few hours in front of the computer? (or Netflix nowadays…)              

While I am running, a car stops and the guy asks me if I am fine. My answer? Kind of… He left.              

I keep running and walking and trying to breath. I arrive at Aziz’s house. I am alive and not harmed. I need a drink. I need to write.              

How do I feel about it now? It is weird. It is like it had not happened at all. It is like a bad dream. And just as that time I was almost kidnapped in Tangier, Morocco, I do not cry. Yay! At the shower, I tell myself: Fuck it! I will finally watch A Child’s play. If I can deal with this fucking situation, I can watch that fucking movie. Let’s start with Sixth Sense for tonight.