Of mice and men: walking in
It’s a wonderful and scenic place to have on one’s doorstep, but be prepared for
You may know that I live in Cape Town. It could be considered the toepiece of Africa, named after its geographical position on the continent. It is a part of South Africa with unique geographical and botanical diversity, well suited to exploring on foot or other non-motorised forms of transport. I am fortunate to live close to some of these natural attractions.
As we all know, Africa in its deepest and darkest form has all sorts of denizens creeping and lurking around, waiting to make you their next meal. This sadly includes criminals wishing to relieve you of the weight of your wallet or cellphone.
A friend and I decided to take a brisk walk in the fresh air of the Tygerberg Nature Reserve, which is traditionally defined as being behind the “boerewors curtain” in suburban terms (see footnote for a description of this quaint term).
We live under the slopes of this hill and are subject to its influence on the microclimate of our suburb, Parow.
Sadly, the greater Cape Town area sometimes has more than its fair share of criminal activity. Sadder still, this share is proportionally weighted towards poorer communities and suburbs. But in a nature reserve?
I mean, c’mon, I’m a product of Gqeberha. More specifically, Parkside, yon hill of debt after the Group Areas Act forced us out of South End.
Me, subject to crime without recourse to justice or the old knuckle duster treatment as defence? Really? I mixed with ruffians in the form of people by the surname of (and here I use noms de plume) Messteker, Clovenhoof and Viskopsuiger! I roughed it with the best. Tough as nails. Yet nothing could prepare me for the travails of a tramp in what was essentially my backyard.
We, as law-abiding gangsters, paid our entrance fee with a buttered cheque and started walking. I do suspect that my friend had a role to play in the eventual incident by way of softening me up. We immediately hit a sho’t left downhill followed by an uphill. These things, hills and friends, usually happen in pairs.
At this point, aerobic physiology gave way to the anaerobic sort, the type that makes you start puffing like Thomas the Tank Engine up an incline.
The scenery was beautiful and the vegetation of a verdant nature long last seen. However, said puffing made one a tad blind to the visual feast on offer.
When we arrived at the top of a peak somewhat akin to the tallness of the Matterhorn (or Eiger or suchlike), we rested Thomas (me) on a park bench to belch steam and other bodily gases in preparation for further assaults on the trail ahead.
At this point, I must tell you that I walk in sandals as opposed to big, tough hiking boots. Because I’m tough. So, there were my winter-white, spindly legs hanging off the bench when the attack took place.