It’s been an interesting few days. Sunday afternoon I went for a run, in an area where there are usually lots of pedestrians and cars driving by. About five minutes in, I saw two young black guys approaching on the same side of the street. There was nothing unusual about this scenario but I had just a moment of unease. No one else was nearby. A month ago I wouldn’t have worn my earphones on a run and would’ve given them a wide berth when crossing. I’m still careful but probably not as alert as I was before. Interestingly, just a few minutes before, I had been thinking about a sister in downtown Durban who had someone try to steal her necklace off her. I was wondering how I would react in a situation like that.
As I came up to the guys I greeted them and one of them said something. I thought he was asking for money but he tapped his wrist. I was relieved he just wanted to know what time it was so I pulled out my phone to look. It was 1:24. I figured he wouldn’t understand what I said so I turned it toward him (I did not hand it to him, as has been jokingly reported). When I did that, he grabbed my hand and tried to pry the phone away. Neither of us made a sound as we struggled. We looked each other straight in the eye and wrestled for the phone for a few seconds. His friend just stood there watching, which was amazing since with a little teamwork there is no doubt they would have had my phone.
Finally, the guy just let go. We still had our eyes locked for a few seconds as I was backing away. Right when I started to turn and run, my running app beeped in my ears (the earphones hadn’t come out during the struggle), and said, “Start running.” I did. I kept looking back and they were casually walking along in the other direction.
I ran for a minute or so, but I was shaking really badly and just wanted to go home. But I didn’t want to turn around and go back in their direction. As I rounded the corner I saw two guys in professional-looking clothes discussing some kind of electrical box on the side of the road. I went up to them and told them what happened, and that I lived just around the block but didn’t want to walk back that way. One of them offered to drive me back. Obviously there was some hesitation, but it seemed the best course of action at that point.
After I got back and told the story a few times – including calling my mother at 6 am her time so she wouldn’t read it on Facebook – I knew if I didn’t go right back out I would be scared to go at all. So I went a different route, left my iPhone and earphones home, and took my volunteer phone with me (I can’t make calls on my iPhone so I have a cheap pay-as-you-go phone). I was on high-alert the whole time but I’m glad I went.
As the day went on and I had more time for it to sink in, I felt more and more shaken up. But after a couple of hours of hiding out in my room, and an evening visit to the Beelers’, I felt much better.
Of course I put this on Facebook and the variety of reactions (from there and from others I told) was interesting. It made me think about the way people respond to potential danger. Some were adamant that I shouldn’t ever go running by myself again, some made jokes about the situation, and some expressed that I should be careful but not let it stop me. I was especially grateful for the way my mother reacted. She’s pretty good at not making me responsible for her opinions on a subject. Of course she was half asleep and probably doesn’t remember the conversation.
All of this sounds really stupid in hindsight. I know now not to get complacent, and to be friendly but not naive. I am very aware of my surroundings and originally asked several people whether running by myself was a safe thing to do, and the consensus was that as long as I run in the daytime, the odds of something serious happening are very low. Other volunteers and locals run in this area and this is the first incident of this type. I’ve since been told that another strategy potential phone-stealers will use is to ask if you have a cigarette and then grab your stuff when you come close. A guy in the Spar parking lot asked me that the other day. Luckily I don’t smoke, and now I know not to start.
My philosophy on this kind of thing is to take reasonable precautions (not wearing earphones; crossing the street when someone approaches, even if it feels rude; having my volunteer phone with me) but not to let fear cripple me. It’s a level of risk I’m comfortable taking in exchange for the physical and mental benefits I get from running.
Later that afternoon, Matt and Liz and I decided to take a spur-of-the-moment trip to St. Lucia (not the island – sorry for the confusion, Facebook people). We left Monday morning and stayed two nights. We went on several game drives (safaris), which will be blogged after I’ve gone through all my pictures.
But now it’s time to go for a run.
(In other news, I just triply impressed the new girl who was being trained at Spar. A. I taught her how to scroll through to find the credit option, B. I knew her name, Thando, means “love” in Zulu, and C. I said “ngiyabonga” [thank you – singular, as opposed to “siyabonga,” which is plural, but used more commonly].)
Happy Thanksgiving! Our “American Thanksgiving in South Africa” celebration is tomorrow. I have a lot to be thankful for.
Next Comes Africa 