Rewind a little bit...
Halloween came and went, and the American kids in Cape Town, specifically in my neighborhood and near the University, tried to honor the holiday festively. There were several parties here and there, and some half-assed dressing up. No costumes during the day, though, because let's face it, it's just not that easy to explain to the average South African onlooker why there are a pack of Ninja Turtles in their local bottle store. One of the larger VAC houses had a pretty successful party anyway, and it made me feel like perhaps I hadn't entirely missed my favorite holiday. All I could hope is that when I land on American soil, there might still be a few bags of candy corn on the drug store shelves and the puke orange remainder of smashed pumpkin on the pavement.
On Saturday afternoon, I got the chance to revisit Mizoli's, which is a huge braai and dance party in the township of Guguletu. I went with a couple of the dancers from the iKapa company which was a cool experience because I blended in a little more due to the smaller size of the group. As much as I love being caravanned around in a protective intern bubble consisting of mostly white kids with cameras drawn, I much prefer this more intimate type of cultural experience. Having been in South Africa for three months has made me both very aware of racal stratification and at the same time, made me immune to noticing it. At Mizoli's on Saturday afternoon, I forgot what color my skin was almost automatically as it seemed that everyone around had too. However, at one point Mbulelu laughed and told us that the guy at the table over had said to him in Xhosa, "Hey man, you have TWO white girls? Let me have one!"
Later after the sun set on Mizoli's and the DJs packed up, we headed over to a birthday party at Zandile's house (another iKapa dancer). I think my ultimate favorite thing about township life is the the communal living and overall friendliness of the people. In these poorer communities, nothing is more important than family. In the neighborhoods everyone knows everyone, kids are truly raised by the village as a whole, and everyone seems to be constantly smiling. Anyway, the party was a rager. A DJ bumped some sweet jams from the 90s (because South Africa SO has the American 90s in their bag), larger women in traditional dress boogied in their chairs and children scampered in and out of everyone like it was their own human obstacle course. Eventually, the birthday girl began emerging from the kitchen with heaping plates of braai meat, butternut mash, paap (savory porridge) and creamed veggies. No one seemed to care who the random foreigners sitting in the living room were. Instead, they shoved plates in our direction with large gap-toothed smiles, as if delighted to be sharing their family, their food and their culture with us. After dining and dancing, we said our thank yous ("shap!") and set back toward town.
On Sunday morning I hiked up Lion's Head, a mountain that stands near, and is slightly dwarfed, by Table Mountain. It was a hard climb with stunningly rewarding views at the top. I had intended to do a hike since the day I first set foot in Cape Town, and I was glad that on the last day of my last weekend I finally got around to it.
Things started to get really sad on Monday when I began to pack. My close friends and I went out to a good dinner in the evening at this place called Bombay Bicycle Club. There were teapots, tubas, and a twin bed hanging from the ceiling as well as draperies on the wall, elephant figurines and vases full of different, odd things strewn about. It was organized chaos and made for a fantastic last dinner in Cape Town. I realized, quite overwhelmingly, that I have made some truly amazing friends here- ones that I am certain I will remain close with for a long, long time. I also discovered something a little less glamourous about my "get-up-and-go" lifestyle. I am constantly having to say goodbyes. And frankly, that is just NO fun.
So, yesterday morning or Monday night or last week mid-day or whenever the hell time it occurred, I said farewell to the friends, the house, and the 'hood and headed for the airport. Standing there in a numb daze, I barely had time to be disappointed that the iKapa directors hadn't met me to say goodbye. Then, from behind, I heard my name being called in an English accent and turned to see Theo and Mitzi (another intern) running through the airport to find me! I had already returned the good ol' Nokia phone (good riddance), and so they had been frantically searching the airport looking for my curly haired head, just hoping I was there somewhere. It was the perfect sentimental and serendipitous conclusion to a great internship.
The first flight from Cape Town to Johannesburg was short and sweet. No turbulence, no offensive odor from the passenger next to me, a chicken curry lunch and free beer to wash it down with. It was lovely. When I arrived to Joburg airport, I schlepped myself and my carry on luggage to the international terminal. My dear friends had stocked me up with all my favorite South African snacks, including TV bars (best candy bar on the planet), Nik Naks (don't be fooled, these are just Cheetos in flashy African attire), and choc chip biscuits. Strangely, while waiting near the gate to board the plane, all passengers were forced into gender divided queues and thoroughly frisked. This all happened right in the middle of the terminal walk way, which was weird, and weirder, after they were done, they handed us all these little cards with numbers on them, sort of like we were playing African airport bingo. These cards were then handed in again when we walked onto the plane. I asked the flight attendant if I was the lucky winner but I don't think she was very amused.
When I found my seat, I met my seat partner. She was a lovable woman, no younger than 70, wearing a cheesy Big 5 t-shirt and a safari hat. Right off the bat I learned three things about her. She was deaf in her right ear (the ear closer to me) so if I wanted to talk to her I was going to have to tap her shoulder, she would need help opening bottles because I guess she had faulty hands, and she suffered from asthma, which was irritated by dry air. This last one was concerning because when she hacked, which she did for the whole first part of the flight, she sounded like she might be dying from tuberculous. Not too reassuring for a 13 hour flight. BUT OH WAIT. The last piece of information I attained from this lady was the most disturbing of all. This was, in fact, NOT a 13 hour flight. Oh no. It was a 19 hour flight, with a middle of the night stop scheduled for Senegal. I don't know how the hell I missed this little piece of information, but I can tell you as the aircraft left South African soil, I was about the farthest thing in the world from stoked.
The flight actually passed pretty quickly but I had to shift positions about a million times in order to sleep. At one point I found myself in fetal position on the floor in the small space between my seat and the one in front of me- the whole lower half of my body in the under seat space reserved for "personal items and carry ons." I don't really remember making the decision to get down there, but when I woke up my face was smashed into the zipper of my backpack and my body resembled a rolly polly bug who had taken cover. After the first 8 hours of the flight, we landed in Dakar and had to pull all our luggage onto our laps. About 20 Senegalese security men then poured onto the aircraft and did strange things like run their hands along the sides of the seats and check in children's dipper bags. I even seem to remember one large guard pick up the limp arm of a sleeping man and then drop it down again. Good thing he didn't check me because I definitely had a pipe bomb hidden in my armpit.
After checking in through American customs, running through the Washington DC terminal, barely boarding my last flight and sitting for another 5 hours on a plane, I finally found myself in sweet, sweet San Francisco. The air felt instantly like fall and I was happy to be home.
So here I am now, in the lap of luxury at the Webber abode, feeling so grateful for things I didn't know I missed. Top on the list, as stupid as it may sound, is my iPhone, home cooked meals, my cowboy boot collection (I know, I know), a real pillow, a clean shower, cinnamon graham crackers and access to free internet. The things I DID know I missed, primarily my parents and friends, have welcomed me back as warmly as can imagine and it makes me wonder why I ever even leave. For now, as I sit and reflect upon the incredible journey that was South Africa, I am also looking eagerly toward the future and my fast approaching move to Sydney. It may not be the most practical way to live life, according to some, but I am the happiest and luckiest girl in the whole world to be able to live and travel as I do. Beyond that, I am eternally grateful for the people in my life who encourage me and support me constantly. Don't worry, I will land somewhere sometime and when I do, I will welcome you all into my home and pay you back with hugs and cupcakes and whiskey cocktails and children's laughter and good tea and dance parties and bubble baths and homemade waffles. So until then....
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