Biting Crocs and Bitter Blackberries

I always thought that it was only ever people who lacked imagination who say that food tastes just like chicken. Crocodile, however, does actually taste like chicken except it is much tougher (predictably – like a scaly, old, angry chicken) and quite a lot fattier. Cape Town is renowned for having good food, but very little of it is what you would call ‘African’. So Mama Africa, nestled right in the bosom of touristy Long Street is there to provide something of what tourists expect from local food.

People who go because they want to have a genuine African experience though are guilty of caricaturing the country. It’s theatrical Africa: murals on the walls; African bongo band (which we couldn’t really see from where we were sitting even though the music overwhelmed the conversation a bit).

As well as crocodile kebabs, Mama Africa’s menu comprises a range of wild game including ostrich or springbok. If I went back I think I would just order chicken. I would love to find a single home in this city where someone has crocodile in their fridge.

After supper we went to for a drink in one of the crowded bars. I left feeling geed up by good company and good fun and I decided to walk the short distance home alone. Perhaps I felt brave because I had eaten a crocodile – an animal that would I am sure have happily have eaten me. On this occasion I am not what I eat. Anything that goes into the territory of a crocodile is fair game, especially if that thing looks unprotected and like a slow runner.

I hadn’t even left the busy street when a man came up close beside me and started muttering into my ear about wanting to get to know me better. When I was unresponsive he clearly decided that the easiest way of going about this was by reading all my texts and emails. I felt weight on the strap of the bag across my shoulders and knew instantly what he was doing. I put my hands flat on his chest and pushed him away from me, but he already had my phone and disappeared down an alleyway repeating slightly louder what he had been whispering into my ear about just wanting to get to know me. I didn’t follow him. I did not have to fake the tears of frustration. A good lesson and a necessary reminder that I am not invincible, that I am not familiar with this city and I did not respect it enough.