“Trust me! I’m an Engineer!”

Location: Jo’burg, South Africa

 

I had a few hours to kill before dinner and my brother was taking a nap, so I decided to grab a light lunch of instant noodles, cookies and other nutritious stuff at a corner store. I looked at a map, tried to get directions from the front-desk people but they were no help. “It’s too far! You should take a taxi!”

“But it’s only 1k away! and it’s lovely out! I want to walk!”

“Oh no… You shouldn’t do that. Take a taxi for anywhere outside the compound. We’ll call you one.”

“No thanks.”

 

Because I’m an idiot, I totally ignore them. Leaving with just a little bit of money in my pocket, I set off down the road towards the corner store that I found on google. I left a note for my brother:

“Hey fathead,

I’m going meandering. If i’m not back by 4pm, I’m probably dead- but you’re my beneficiary, so….yay(?)

Love, LN”

 

I should note that I found out AFTER the fact that Johannesburg doesn’t have the best reputation for being safe. During the fact, I could tell this as well- as all the houses were in compounds with electric wires running around their property or broken glass on top of the walls and all the “No Trespassing!” and angry dogs that seemed to be everywhere.

 

A security guard at a hotel waved me over. I walked over and greeted him with a big smile. He asked where I was going and what I was doing. I told him I was looking for instant noodles and cookies and motioned towards the corner store that I saw down the street. He looked me up and down and said “take off your watch and hide it. Don’t talk to anyone.”

huh… ok.

I did what he said and continued walking. I finally get to the corner store. It’s a tiny little cubby of a store with 1 isle and a freezer in the back. (In Latin America and NYC they call these Bodegas). I’m walking through the store and a guy approaches me and starts questioning everything about me as if he’s a 4-yr-old.

“Where are you from?”

“Why are you here?”

“Do you like Nigerians?”

…..what?

Apparently this guy was a Nigerian. He apologized for his accent because he was raised in a french colony and speaks quickly. He informed me that he’s an engineer and “totally trustworthy!”

Then he proceeds to open up his jacket, like the “store” guy in Resident Evil, and show me every single drug you could imagine.

“Hey sister. Do you want anything? I have it all. All great quality! You can trust me, I’m an engineer! Smack? Acid? Hash? Rocks? Molly? Morph? Xan? Hero? I got it all.”

“No, thanks. I really just want cookies.”

“I have those, too!”

“Do you have lemon-flavored ones? Because these (points to some on the shelf) look really good.”

“Nah, mine are better, though.”

“I believe you, I mean, you’re an engineer, but I think I’m going to take these. Thanks so much for the offer, though.”

“No problem, sis. You have a great day.”

 

It’s a shame, really. Part of me wanted to find out what the hell he was talking about- but the other part of me wanted to get the hell out of that store ASAP— ignoring the fact that he was (obviously) SUPER TRUST WORTHY.