"You and your children look like an affluent family," says a male traveller.
I take a deep breath and wait for Part Two. He doesn't disappoint.
"So what work do you do?"
Suddenly those who were conversing around me seem to have nothing more to say to one another. Without looking in my direction, I know they are all ears.
"I am a housewife," I say, at the same time frantically starting to search for something in my bag - lipstick? Purse? Keys? Pen? I don't know.
All I know is that I become this flustered when I realise a conversation is fast approaching that point. Then comes Part Three.
"So what does your husband do?"
Another deep breath. I put on a poker face and pull out my all-time-winner, especially reserved for my fellow South Africans when we find ourselves together somewhere far from home.
"He's a spy."
The fellow-traveller-turned-interrogator receives that as a joke and starts to sweet-talk me.
I take that as my cue to go for the jugular."Continue with this interrogation and by the time you go through that door (I point at the hotel's main entrance), you will already be under surveillance."
I don't remember what happens next.
It is day nine of the trip and I have been repeatedly answering the same two questions: what do I do for a living, and what does my husband do.
By this time of the trip I have already been the "Ag shame" primary-school teacher from a rural area, who has been saving for this tour for years.
"I married rich," I told another lady traveller whom I actually liked and did not want that civil status to change.
"I rob banks," was a rebuff to the mother who pretended to be asking on behalf of her little daughter.
And to those I told I was a tenderpreneur, that was my nice way of telling them to bugger off, that I saw through them.Truth be told, their real question was actually about how I could afford, a woman alone with offspring in tow, to be gallivanting about the world.
I can also tell the difference between normal small talk and amateurish investigation.
I do lots of diverse tours but the questions I get asked remain predictable. I'd also like to talk about global warming or rhino poaching and other stuff like that.Really, if this is the cost of being in the minority, minority sucks big time.
But it is predictable enough when questions are about me, but I am shocked when my fellow travellers inquire about my husband. For starters, I never carry a husband when touring. And I am not bejewelled in any way that might suggest a wifely situation.
So what is it that makes people conclude that I must be somebody's wife? Really? Out of all careers?
Finally the tour ends, as they always do, but even then as I stand by the carousel at OR Tambo Airport, some Sherlock Holmes wannabe is still keen to confirm what my husband does.
With a smile and a wink I decide to come clean and tell the gospel truth once and for all: "I have had five, and the one waiting for me in 'Arrivals' is not mine."
• Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photograph of yourself for publication with the column...