It's a Long Walk Home

It’s official. I’m a working man. 9 – 5, a shared desk, instant coffee, lunch breaks, awkward elevator conversations, and presentations to the boss. It’s a laid back atmosphere at Grassroot Soccer and most everyone working here is young and passionate about what they do. The office is located in downtown Cape Town right next to Long Street, the night life center of the city (coincidence or by design?). The first week on the job was spent getting the feel for the organization and figuring out what exactly I’d be doing. My initial impression of the office revealed a very casual dress code; luckily for me I came to Africa equipped with nice khakis and plenty of dress shirts. These would have come in handy on Friday when most people dressed smart; unfortunately I chose that day to dress down. Yeah, I’m that guy.

I would like to take this time to talk a bit about Long Street and my first (but most likely not last) run-in with the street rogues who prowl the city during the dusk hours. Instead of walking home from work with my coworker Luke (an MBA student at Notre Dame) I decided to explore some local shops. This didn’t last long as everything closes at 5pm (Which makes no sense to me. Wouldn’t stores want to stay open later so people with actual jobs can come in?). So, after a frustrating visit to closed-up store fronts I turned to walk home along Long Street. Not soon after I started walking than a tattooed street-hawker approached me and offered to sell me some sort of phone-card. Declining, I just kept on walking. He followed me down Long Street about a block, still insisting I take his card. After I had ignored him as long as he could tolerate he turns to me and says,

“Look, I am a very bad man and you don’t want anything to happen. So just give me everything you got.” Looking around at the crowded avenue and half-dozen security guards patrolling the streets I couldn’t help but laugh. Really? This chump was trying to rob me in blind daylight? Looking at him with disbelieving eyes I respond,

“Are you crazy? You’re not getting anything.” A stupefied smile appeared on his face and he replied with a slow “okay.” He then turned around and let me continue on my way. I couldn’t believe it. That was quite possibly the worst mugging in the history of crime! I mean, it was just lazy. Absolutely no initiative.

The fun didn’t just stop there, though. Moments later, still in shock by what had just happened, a limping teen approached me asking for money. Not satisfied with my resolute “no” he too decided following me would offer a greater return on his investment. Now wise to the game, I crossed the street towards a department store, thinking this a safe refuge. Unfortunately, like I said earlier, everything closes at 5. Keeping stride he declares,

“Look, you better give me something or I’ll have to take it from you.” Although I realized it was a dangerous situation I couldn’t help but acknowledge the pathetic irony between the two cases. I was now in a less-crowded area and there were no security guards in sight. After telling the young punk off with a few choice expletives I turned to cross the street towards a Shell. About that time another street-friend of his spots us and started approaching. While the first is still insisting I donate to his cause, the other moves to intercept my movement. Unfortunately for them, petrol is open 24 hours. I spent the next 20 minutes in a gas station sipping a Coke and browsing the magazine rack. After my potential muggers had gotten bored and walked away I too turned to leave. It was now getting dark and I wanted to get home so I could get ready for the night…we were planning on hitting up a couple of bars on Long Street.