Don't Pull Over

I'm an American-born woman, but my mother was born in South Africa, having immigrated in the 90s. Growing up, she always taught me to be on guard, and to be extremely cautious.

It was simple things, like driving up to an ATM at night. While my mom was using the machine, I had to look out of one window while my sister would look out of another, so that we could see if someone was coming.

I had always wanted to visit South Africa, and when I was 17, I went as a graduation present. I ended up staying with my grandparents who were both in their late seventies.

My grandmother was hell-bent on showing me as much of the country as possible, even though my grandfather's Alzheimer's was worsening and traveling was becoming harder.

Regardless, we took off from Johannesburg towards Cape Town. We would drive for up to six hours at a time. Anyone who has been to South Africa knows that you can go hundreds of miles and see nothing but grass. It was incredibly beautiful, but eerie.

Once we drove into wine-country in the Cape, we began passing signs that said "Don't pull over for people selling grapes", as we were near vineyards and people would steal grapes and then sell them on the side of the road.

Around hour three or four of the day, my grandfather was getting antsy. He was obsessing with the GPS of the car, plugging it in and unplugging it, cursing and getting frustrated. Eventually the thing just kept repeating "recalculating" for hours on end.

My patience was wearing thin, and I was trying to take it from him so I could fix it, but he wouldn't let me touch it. Finally, my grandmother had enough, and pulled over.

This stretch of road was narrow and lined by trees. It was probably mid-afternoon, but we were the only car in sight, and it was silent. My grandparents were reading the GPS instructions and arguing, when my grandmother turns around.

"Keep watch out of the back window." I kind of smiled to myself, remembering what my mom used to say to me.

I glanced at my phone, which had no service, and scrolled through my camera roll for the three-hundredth time that day.

I casually looked up and turned towards the back window, and my heart stopped.

A man had come out of the forest and was running, full sprint, at our car.

I found my voice and yelled, "GO!" to my grandmother, and her instincts kicked in, and we took off.

We drove away, and the man was just left standing there.

My grandmother explained that often, when travelers pulled over for the grape-sellers, there would be people waiting in the trees who would come out and rob you, sometimes violently.

It doesn't get much more vulnerable than a teenage girl and an elderly couple, one of which was obviously suffering with Alzheimer's.

Thank you mom, for making me cautious.

So, man running at us from the forest, let's not meet.