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South Africa - Mugged


Tiger's Milk had a special discount for the day. The seasonal 1+1 deal meant I got an entree with a takeout. At 80 rands (~$6) I got to cover lunch and dinner.

Review: Tiger’s Milk on Long Street - Eat Out
Inside Tiger's Milk on Long Street

I should have known that carrying food openly was never a good idea. A week before, I had been afraid to walk around with a backpack. This fear subsided as I learned how to navigate the streets. The ritual consisted of the following:
  1. Avoid looking at your phone and showing it.
  2. Take long strides and walk confidently.
  3. Stare straight while you're moving and know where you're going.
  4. Know which streets to avoid at night.
  5. If you're followed or want to check the phone, go inside a shop.
The ritual was my bible, and so long as I abided by it, I would remain unharmed.

After finishing lunch, I stepped outside the restaurant, carrying my box containing extra food. I passed the immediate corner. Little did I know I would attract several homeless people, who were waiting for the tourists in the corner. They started gesturing at me, some desperately yelling, "I'm hungry" and others threatening me. I attempted to walk away from them as quickly, towards home. When the instinct that I should sprint hit, it was too late. They surrounded me and blocked my way. I tried turning the other way only to be met by others who narrowed my way.

The realization that I was surrounded, that I did not have a route to escape, hit hard. At a loss, I screamed, "I'm going to report you guys to the police!"

To this, one of them replied, "This is Africa, there is no police."

They took everything of value from my backpack. This part of memory, the scenes in which my backpack was ripped apart at the mercy of another's gain, is blank in my mind. The backpack was pretty empty, so the most valuable thing they took was an umbrella. I was carrying a laptop, but it was strapped in deep so it wasn't noticed. Because of the rough treatment my backpack received, my laptop became unusable. And despite all the things they took, funny enough, they didn't take the food.

Afraid for my life and stripped of my possessions, I ran the rest of way to home. The realization of having been mugged did not strike me until I reached home. When it hit, there was nothing more to sob.

It was not only my backpack and possesions that had been stripped. My moral dignity as a human being amounted to nothing measured against their hunger. I was merely an objective leading to their satisfaction, but one that they could not afford to forgo.

How I know this—in the eyes of the robber, I had seen fear. I saw a disdain for his own actions that could not trump his primal needs for survival. But survival does not care about the rules of morality. It simplifies and reduces your needs to the primary. It pits your need for nourishment against the rest of the world. Hunger unattended consumes the soul, and morality becomes a luxury. And to the certain hungry, since the world has already abandoned him, he finds no refuge in its justice.

The poverty of the soul is the greatest of its kind.

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