Safari, etc.

Thank you for holding me accountable. Watch out, this is a long one.

[*Disclaimer: our Safari got screwed up. We booked through a booking agency that gave us the itinerary, general info, and price quote of Aquila, but sent us to Fairy Glen. Then we got charged by too many companies for too much money.. we spent quite a bit of time on the phone fighting with said companies. And since we were at the “wrong” game reserve we couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed. So the whole safari experience was a bit clouded; it was a challenge to not be frustrated, and instead be present. So if that comes through in my writing, I apologize.]

Last Wednesday Lee Anne and I were picked up by a man name Tophie, a proud African who smoked too many cigarettes and drove not-quite-but-extremely-close-to-recklessly. We drove the hour and fifteen minutes north of Cape Town, through endless wine lands and passing through sturdy and fervent mountain ranges. We traveled on a two lane freeway, driving through the mountain, honking at crossing baboons, and between two ubiquitous peaks. The mountains were beautifully and peacefully ominous; it felt like you might be swallowed whole at any given moment. Three men fished in a healthy stream from a rocky riverbed, dirt roads meandered through the rocky and beautiful terrain, and a lone mosque jumped off the side of the mountain like a meaningful words jumps off the page.

After checking in and dropping our bags in our chalet, we were off on our game drive. Our driver was funny and charming, albeit borderline offensive with the inappropriate and sometimes sexist jokes; he was knowledgeable and you could tell he loved animals. We saw so many animals! Antelope, blue wildebeests, rhinos, lions, elephants, zebras, ostrich, springbok, donkeys, giraffes, and others with tricky names that I cannot recall. The whole experience was surreal. I had to remind myself that I was not at home watching NatGeo. I consciously begged myself to remember what it was to feel the sun and the breeze, smell the smells, hear the sounds, feel myself sitting in the 4x4 open vehicle. To be so close to rhinos and see them swatting flies with their tails, to hear the snapping of branches under the giraffes jaw, to see a baby springbok drinking milk from its mother – was literally unreal.

The single moment when it all became fully real and I was certain I wasn’t watching the animals from the comfort of a television was when we apparently pissed off a buffalo. We were quietly sitting watching the zebras graze, when three or four buffalo approached the 4 x 4 from behind us. The first two buffalo amicably walked past, but for whatever reason the third buffalo – who also happened to be the biggest one – charged right for us. His eyes were fiery and although I’m positive it was in my imagination, I saw smoke and fire shoot out from his flaring nostrils. He was using his horns to buck the 4 x 4, right at Lee Anne’s feet. Lee Anne pushed herself as far away from the buffalo, swore left and right, and ended up in my lap while I hurriedly and nervously snapped photos of the angry animal. The British women in the back exclaimed, in her proper-sounding accent, that this wasn’t funny anymore. Our guide tried to calm our fears by telling us his horns weren’t sharp enough to do damage. I emphatically rebutted that I was more afraid of him flipping us over. At that, the guide started the engine and we sped off (I use the word “sped” loosely – those vehicles don’t drive at all). What an adrenaline rush! Oh, and did you know that rhinos poop in the same place? They have their own personal toilet that they always return to -- believe me when I tell you it's one massive pile of crap!

The one downfall of the game drive is that Fairy Glen is a constructed game reserve. That region of South Africa have not been home to these animals for thousands of years. Because it is a man made game reserve, there is evidence of such. At any given moment you could always see at least one semblance of not being in the true bush. There were paved roads in sight, as well as the buildings of Fairy Glen and electrical wiring. For an authentic safari experience, you need to go to Kruger National Park, which is a 2-hour plane ride from Cape Town and not a malaria-free zone. So, next time I’m in SA, Kruger is on my list.

After the game drive, we went on a nature walk led by Neilius, a twenty-year old South African who is more comfortable in nature than anywhere else in the world. He wants to come to the U.S. to earn money farming. The group of us walked the path and enjoyed the beauty of the mountains and colors and sky and rock formations and flowers and streams and outdoors. We saw ancient rock paintings done by the San bushman. Xhosa, the language of the San, has three to four different clicking sounds in their alphabet (x, q, ng, ny). When the springbok gallops their hooves cross making a clicking sound similar to the sounds of their language. Thus, the San worshipped the springbok as gods – and thus the depiction of the sacred animal in their art. It was quite unbelievable to stand on a path and take pictures of rock art that has been there for thousand and thousands of years – everything is so much bigger than our own individual lives – and we never know how what we do will affect those that come after us.

We hiked to the end of the trail, which brought us to a dam that is the main water source for the 20,000 hectares (about 50,000 acres) of conservation land and the game reserve). We were able to make the steep climb up to the top of the dam and absorb the beautiful views. It was a tricky climb (in part because of the ladder portion) and it was scary to step to the very edge, but exciting and quiet and exhilarating and calming. The ironic thing about the dam climb was that my legs were exceedingly sore and kind of like jello – which never happened after hiking Table Mountain. So strange.

That night at dinner, Lee Anne and I both balanced some sort of hawk on our arm. His name was Czec and he was stunning and I nestled his face into mine. We sipped margaritas as the pink African sun set over the mountains. Our dinner conversation was challenging and amazing (as per usual) – do we make choices and have complete free will? Or do things happen for a reason; are we where we are in life because of the experiences we’ve lived? What would I have studied in college and what job would I be doing if I didn’t go through what I had? I sure wouldn’t have been to South Africa because I never would have met Marita and wouldn’t have the flexible boss that I have who generously gave me a month off. Or what about Vincent and Vernon getting out of the Cape Flats? Did they make choice that their friends didn’t? Or was that how it was always supposed to be? How much ownership are we able and supposed to take?

After dinner, I had to persuade Lee Anne to walk down the hill to our bungalow in can’t-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face pitch black. She got all “American” and “Black” on me: “I dunno about this shit, man, motha fucka, I’m trying to make it home to tell my damn story.” She’s hilarious. We successfully found our chalet and climbed up the ladder to our rooftop patio. We continued our conversation and laid on our back staring into the endless sky. Maybe it’s because it was in the moment, or maybe it was how I was feeling at the time, or maybe it was because we were in Africa… but I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many and such bright stars. It was like the midnight sky was pricked with holes and the light was flooding and gleaming through, almost like it was trying to escape. I saw a few shooting stars and was brought back to my childhood summer nights – laying on a big trampoline with my friends always hoping to catch sight of just one more shooting star.

Back in Cape Town the next day, Lee Anne and I walked through the Company Gardens and found our way to the Holocaust Centre. The museum is done by the same people that put together the Holocaust Museum in DC – which is an intense and powerful experience. It was a moving afternoon, wandering through the exhibit. “I never saw my mother smile. I have a lot of guilt with my sister. I survived, she didn’t. And I can’t remember her face. I can see her running, her hair and her dress, but I can’t see her face. And there are no photos.”

The volunteers at the museum were so friendly and kind. One woman has a sister that lives on Langley Street in Newton Centre – again, the world is so small!

After the museum, Lee Anne and I temporarily parted ways. I walked through town and sat outside at a restaurant writing and people watching and drinking wine. In that particular section of town, there is a large population of working professionals. There are so many different looking and sound people, which I can’t imagine ever tiring of. Women in traditional African dress, Muslim men and women, people in uniforms (servers, domestics, hotel maids, and the like), young white South African men with faux hawks, construction workers, young and old, tourists and locals, the trendy and not, the rock stars and athletes, and groups of Xhosa men who had only just recently become men.

[In the Xhosa culture, boys around 18 years old are taken out into the bush for their traditional rite of passage and circumcision, which is known as the Initiation Ceremony. Circumcision is viewed as the ending of boyhood and the beginning of manhood. Groups of young men are taken into the bush with their elders, where they attend Circumcision School and spend several weeks, if not months, learning about life and what it means to be a man and how to handle life’s challenges and moral values and responsibility. When they return they are considered men, and dress in very formal attire (pinstripe suits, wide brim hats, shiny shoes, and walking sticks) for the first six or so months of their manhood. They walk slowly and proudly and look like young men with a quiet new confidence.]

From there Lee Anne and I reconnected and met up with Jeremecia, who came back to Marita’s flat to teach as a guest speaker in Marita’s class. She spoke about feminism, the South African constitution and congress, and ubuntu. After the students left, the four of us stayed up and shared fascinating and open conversations about race in the US and SA and how to raise awareness and make a difference. We talked about the issues of “not being enough” within a racial group. In the U.S., Lee Anne has been told she’s not black enough; in South African Jeremecia has been told she’s not really coloured. The n-word doesn’t have the strength in SA that it does in the US. Instead that heavy and loaded word is kaffir. We talked about politics, and Obama and Michelle, and wanting partnership in life and so much, so much.

I wish I could put these moments, experiences, and conversations in neat little boxes for safekeeping. Because then I could take them out and re-live them whenever I want or need. I’m so afraid I’m going to forget.