The first pang of fear was felt when the man locked the doors. I had attended the Brazil versus North Korea match and bumped into a few Dubai-based journalists who were in South Africa for a couple of nights. We had agreed to meet up later that night to soak up the atmosphere of the World Cup amid the world famous Selecao supporters. After dropping my laptop off at my apartment in Killarney, a sleepy suburb in North Jo'burg, I walked down to the local petrol station to catch a taxi. Before arriving in South Africa, I, like all travellers to the country, had been warned not to walk at night. Killarney is different though; it's perfectly safe - a peaceful haven inside a hive of action. I walked down to the shop and, for the first time since arriving, there was no taxi there. I asked the attendant inside the shop if he could call me a cab as I didn't want to wait around in the cold. He agreed and proceeded to make some calls. Half an hour later and he still hadn't reached anybody who could help me. Then a quartet of Brazilian fans arrived in a taxi and the driver told me he would return for me once he had dropped them off up the road. "Five minutes is all I will be," he said in his deep African accent. I waited and, true to his word, he reappeared shortly afterwards. He was driving a pristine white BMW and parked up on the forecourt. "Sixty rand" (Dh30) was the price he quoted me, which seemed reasonable considering the relative prices I have been paying of late. I hopped into the passenger seat; The doors locked. To say I was scared, wouldn't necessarily be true. After all, what kind of a fool would try to kidnap/kill/rob a tourist after being recorded on a CCTV twice? As we made our way down the motorway, he asked me for the money, to which I responded: "I will give you it when we get there." Perfectly reasonable in my past experience of taxis. He, however, was not impressed. "No, no. How can I trust you? You give me it now," he pressed. I explained that I have lived in South Africa for two years with my wife and I am meeting a friend at our destination. I told him: "You know that is not how things work here. I will have my friend give you the money when we get there." He was not having it though and, in an increasingly pained voice, explained that he would be turning around unless I gave him money. I refused, so he stopped in the hard shoulder of the highway. Now, at this point I was starting to realise how vulnerable I was: a tourist, alone, with an iPhone and R600 (Dh300). As the car rolled to a stop, I told him to drive, which he refused to do, turning to me; his dark sunken eyes peaking out from beneath a black beanie hat, and saying: "Give me the money." At this point I opened the window and tried to open the door from the outside. But it remained firmly locked. He looked at me incredulously. "What are you doing? Where are you going to go?" "I don't care," I responded. "I'm not comfortable. Let me out." And, amazingly, he agreed. The doors opened and I was free. It was only once both feet were on the ground that I turned and saw the shining beacon atop the police car parked behind us. Lady luck had struck. They questioned the driver, warned me of the dangers of getting taxis at night and gave me a lift to my destination - before asking for a tip, which I happily dished out. Had they not been there, who knows what might have happened, but it certainly provided a reality check. Note to self: In future, only enter taxis with a meter - regardless of whether the driver has been captured on CCTV or not.