A gentler species of criminal?

IT WAS during 2009, in the Pretoria CBD, that I first experienced the kinder ways of the crooks of the city that has recently become my new playground.

I was walking from Sunnyside to Sammy Marks when I realised a man in his mid-20s was approaching me at a pace that signalled intent.

With the instincts of a “Peter goes to Pretoria” kicking in, I checked quickly that all was in place – wallet, phone and watch.

It was my day, and there was no running away from it. I even recall the time – about 7pm.

Swiftly stepping in front of me, he said in the “Pitori taal”: “Ntanga, ngaye foune ya gao please, gao fetsa o vaye (My brother, please give me your phone and walk away).”

I sheepishly reached for my phone, looked around – there was nobody around to help – and handed it to him. I was not nervous, just shocked. I stood without moving. He began to move away, stopped and said: “Mfowethu, ke go gaye sim card le memory card tsa gao? (My brother, do you need your memory and SIM cards?)”

I said yes, and he quickly gave them to me and walked away.

I got home, perplexed, but laughing helplessly.

Fast-forward five years to last year. I was living in Joburg and walking from the Noord taxi rank to Carlton Centre at about 8pm on a Saturday. There were people about.

I was walking as if I was on the streets of New York, and dressed for the part. But suddenly, a guy was in line with me, pulling a gun from the front of his trousers, just above his… I was scared, surprised by where he kept his gun.

He was not wearing a belt. My uncle, who wears a blue uniform, has shown me how to hold a gun and how to stow it in its holster on the waist.

I realised the gun was a fake. The real thing would be too heavy to be held in place by a waistband.

But an accomplice was coming up behind me. He pulled me by the coat roughly. I screamed. Nobody cared to turn their head or to help.

I was not worried about the gun, I just wanted to escape from being manhandled by thugs. Luckily, I got away. A friend on Facebook, Thanduxolo Buti, had a worse experience in Joburg a few weeks back.

He wrote: “I am walking in a busy street and trying to respond quickly to a text before my phone (dies). Out of nowhere, bang!! It feels like I am dreaming, but I am half-awake and half-dead.

“Ten minutes later, I wake up and I am lying on the street.

“As I try to raise my head, I am lying in a pool of blood and it looks like it’s mine. Everyone walks around me, oblivious to the stranger lying in his blood, trying to stand up.

“Eventually an old gogo pulls me up and a man comes to assist… Turns out I was hit with a big old brick and they made away with my phone. Now all I have is a huge scar on my face.”

I have been living in Pretoria for two weeks and, without fail, every day as I leave the office at about 10pm, a police van is patrolling the streets. The guys always stop to ask if my belongings are stashed in my bag and if I am not going too far.

I like this about Pretoria – the sense of security on the streets, morning, noon or night.

Joburg is a rough city and the Joburg criminals are not as friendly or considerate as those in Pretoria.

In Pretoria, you need only insure your cellphone, but in Joburg, you’d better have all the life cover you can muster. Your memory card won’t be offered back to you. Numbers, snaps and videos – your precious memories – will be gone for ever.