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I walked out of the converted brewery on a sunny day in February knowing it would be my last. After countless sleepless nights and endless meetings, I had been pushed out by my self-serving manager. “What next” I asked myself? I had no job, was barely speaking to my family and desperately needed a change. I needed to regain control of my life. “What brings you to Cape Town?” My Uber driver asked as we made our way to Sea point from OR Tambo airport. ‘I needed to escape’ I thought but simply replied, “I’ve heard so much from a colleague at work”. Which was partially true. As we drive from the airport I am immediately captivated by the mountainous landscape, the vibrant contrast of colours and the fresh breeze blowing from the Atlantic Ocean. Coming from London it’s easy to forget a world exists out there in colours other than grey. “That’s Table Mountain” my Uber driver points out as we drive by. Shortly after we stop in front of a peach coloured mansion block building now less regal after years of being ravaged by the salt in the sea air. This would be my home for the next 5 days. We sent off the following morning at 5am in order to make it to the top of Lion’s head before sunrise. Our guide, a local called Riaan hands us each a head torch before we set off for the 1.5hr climb. For the first 40mins we walk at a steady pace as the landscape shifts. The last part includes an almost vertical climb up steep metal ladders and foot grips secured into the mountain. A girl ahead slips and grazes her knee. This serves as a reminder that we are climbing a mountain with zero safety equipment. We are almost at the top when the first light starts to break through the clouds. 30mins later we clamber onto the plateau at the top which is surprising much bigger than it appears from below. I sit down to catch my breath looking out onto Cape Town below in awe. We are above the clouds 669m above sea level and it’s magical. I close my eyes taking in the atmosphere, a slight breeze blowing across my back. I could sit here for eternity until the whirr of a drone cuts through the silence. After we descend our guide drops me off and I head to camps bay. As I step into the restaurant I am instantly reminded of the harsh truth. A nuance that my British accent cannot shield me from. Everyone serving in this restaurant is black and all the patrons except me are white. Living in a multicultural city like London it’s hard to shy away from such a contrast. For the first time since I’ve arrived, I see Cape Town through the eyes of a black South African and not a tourist. For the beauty that exists in South Africa it hard to ignore the bitter underbelly that exists for people that look like me. The them and us. Apartheid ended in 1994, I was only 4years old but for many black South Africans it’s business as usual. I sit down at a table facing the ocean and smile as the waitress approaches my table. I wonder what goes through her mind when she sees me. Does my accent immediately give it away that I’m an ‘other’ despite the darker hue of my skin? I try to convey warmth with my smile I’m sure she understands. I order a drink and spend the next 1 hour staring out onto the Atlantic Ocean reflecting on my journey to this point. As I stand up, I leave 200 rand on the table and walk out onto camps bay the twelve apostle mountain range behind me. Travel has afforded me the gift of self-discovery, a form of escape but yet I cannot escape my blackness, the oppression of those that look like me. London is by no means perfect, but the illusion of equality exists. I fell in love with South Africa; the rawness, the beauty but most of all I fell in love with the resilience of my people.