In a Cape Town parking lot I struggle to worm my car in between two others parked quite rudely across their lines. A man with a Bible under the arm gives directions.
When I step out of the car, he announces that he will safeguard it. “Me and my watchdog,” he says, one hand solemnly on the Bible and the other pointing to a dog.
The dog looks on soberly. His name is Pacman because apparently he devours everything that crosses his path. Especially the Bible and specifically Leviticus. The man opens his Bible and shows me. A whole chunk of it is missing. “I’m on my third Bible!”