Rational Perspective

One of my scariest moments as a crime reporter in the 1990s was being shot at by a gangster in the Cape Flats. I was driving alone in a gang-infested suburb when a young boy, who couldn't have been 13 years old, suddenly stepped out of a group and pointed a gun at me as I drew to a stop at an intersection. As he readied to pull the trigger I put my head down below the dashboard and drove, like a blind person, at speed across the intersection, thinking I had a better chance of surviving a car crash than the young boy's bullet. Miraculously, I got through the traffic unscathed. That was just one of many close brushes I had with gangsters. Not all were violent towards me; I was invited for tea on several occasions with a hardened gangland boss, who would update me on the nuances of the turf wars between various groups. I was in his contact book and he was kind enough to call me periodically to give me the heads-up on murders that I'd missed, or read incorrectly, in my daily crime wrap. Nothing has changed since