Carol’s Column

There's a great new way of meeting people in SA

I pick up a strange man every day. In fact sometimes I pick up two or even three. I know what it sounds like, but, it's not what you think. I have not become a sex worker.

No, it's all part of the South African way of life. It started a few months ago when I was mugged twice in one week. Nothing serious. I mean I wasn't stabbed, shot or maimed.

I just broke my knuckle when I slugged the first aspiring thief while the second briefly scarred my neck when he pulled off a chain.

Nevertheless, these days I'm wary when walking alone in the street and think I've become a bit more streetwise. It's sad, because I used to love walking wherever I was, Johannesburg, Cape Town, Durban, wherever. A city is the heart of the people, it tells you what's happening, gives you a vibe.

When informal traders mushroomed all over, I was delighted. I like the buzz in the streets, the chatting to somebody who's selling look-alike Rolex watches for R50.

I used to talk to the grandmother from Francistown who sells dried mopane worms and tells you exactly how to cook them in a mouth-watering stew. To the guy selling designer trainers who swore they weren't stolen just minimally defective.

The vendor selling secondhand books came from the Transkei and told me he was a schoolteacher but that it was impossible to make any kind of a living in teaching these days. I bought what he told me was a first-edition Pablo Neruda book of poems and he told me his favourite poet was Maya Angelou because she was spunky.

That was before I was mugged.

Now I'm suspicious of everybody. I don't stop to chat and I cross to the other side of the road if there's anyone who looks remotely threatening. And the sad part is that everyone looks remotely threatening.

I pick up a man this way. When I leave the office, I have to walk four blocks to the parking garage, or vice-versa in the morning. So I look around and find a man walking in the same direction. Then I attach myself to him.

Usually I introduce myself and ask if I can walk with him. At first, I was too embarrassed and used to trail along behind, but it made a guy nervous to hear this tip-tap-tapping of heels running along directly in his footsteps.

On one occasion, someone turned around, challenged me aggressively and asked if I intended to mug him. Now can you imagine what a fright I got – I almost passed out.

So now, I find somebody and walk alongside explaining that I'm scared of walking alone. Surprisingly not one of the men has thought I might be attempting a sexual pick-up. Mind you, I guess a short middle-aged, flat-footed, bat-eared female in joggers one size too large (they belong to my daughter), hardly looks like a tart.

I am absolutely amazed at the different types of people there are. I've met some really pleasant folk this way.

For instance there's Horace, a doctor from Middelburg who's a black belt in karate. Then if that's not enough, there's Boris from Bellville who works in a pet shop and Kenny from Umtali who sells secondhand cars.

I couldn't help but introduce Kenny to Horace because he mentioned he was looking for a secondhand car and they struck a deal. As an obvious need to celebrate we all went out for coffee.

“How can you pick up strange men?” said my mother when I told her. “In my day I wouldn't have spoken to somebody unless I was introduced, let alone walk the streets with him.”

How can I explain? “Ma, it's the new South African way of socialising – street style.”

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