I knew this would happen. I remember like it was just last week, sitting at the Med with my mom over drinks and tapas telling her I wanted to start in South America for my trip and end in Africa because I didn’t think I would be able to leave Africa. That intuition, like most intuitions, proved to be utterly true. Now I have a ticket out of here and every cell in my body wants to stay on the Dark Continent.
Africa is intoxicating. It is completely tantalizing and addicting.
Now, keep in mind when I say Africa, I have yet to see much of Central Africa and none of West Africa, just to clarify that before I continue, but I have seen a good deal of the rest now. In Africa there is a rawness and wildness you cannot find anywhere else. To be truthful, Africa is completely lawless. It really is. You see both the best and the worst of humanity and only get through most days and situations because of an invisible but cohesive web of basic humanity that threads through your interactions. That and luck.
It cannot be overstated that in Africa, absolutely anything can happen any day. That is why I love it, it’s the perfect place for someone like me who feels suffocated by routine.
I planned to go from Egypt to South Africa overland, but had to take two unexpected flights because of rebel attacks and civil war that sprung up unexpectedly. It feels like there is more life squeezed out of a single day in Africa than a month somewhere else.
I have experienced so many extremes in my 8 months here. I have seen inconceivable poverty and unrivaled opulence. I have been drenched by rain and scorched by the sun. I’ve crossed the equator several times and looked up at the starry skies in both hemispheres, unobstructed by urbanization’s glare. I have seen the sun the biggest and reddest I have ever found set behind an acacia tree in the Serengeti and sand dunes in the desert. I have seen explosive coastlines and towering sand dunes, churches, mosques and huts. I’ve seen the pyramids, I’ve seen lions and zebras. I have seen refugees right after their homes have been burned pleading with their eyes into mine for something I had no idea how to give.
I have seen political rallies full of false hope and seen them turn to violence. I have seen a once-thriving capital turn to a ghost-town of oppression. I’ve seen shepherds with their flocks, women with painted faces, turbans, tribesmen with tattooed faces and gaping earlobes, women who’s only exposure to the world was a small slit in the cloth that covered them over the eyes, colorful tribal clothes and blankets.
I have danced in a mud hut to a drumming that escapes no one’s pulse as the candlelight cast shadows that leapt with the yells that echoed around the walls. I have been absolutely positive that I was about to die. I felt baptized by the spray of Victoria Falls in the high season, hanging on for dear life so that they wouldn’t wash me over the rope bridge. I have sat in more churches in Africa than the rest of my life put together and listened to the prayers of some of the most impoverished people in the world. I have been grabbed and groped and stared at because of my skin color. I have been feared and a curiosity and spectacle for it as well. I have also been an honored guest and allowed to do things other people would never be able to do because of it.
I have felt real fear. I have been hassled more than I could ever imagine before coming here. I have learned to sit and do nothing. I have had more communication errors and lack of communication because of such a vast language barrier. I have laughed and laughed at this crazy life we find ourselves in and the incubation of our culture that affects us so much and blinds us to other possibilities in life. I have laughed because sometimes that was all I could do.
I have heard stories of so may that have stitched a fabric of other ways of life in my consciousness; stories of hope and courage as well as stories of bone-chilling evil that crushes my chest. I have been told things that I would never write down for fear that the atrocities are so massive they could almost come to life if put onto paper. Why did people speak so openly of their own private hells to a stranger like me? Maybe some things are so evil they must be released or they will choke the life out of you. I know I didn’t want to hear them and I still wish I never had.
I have met people that it is inconceivable to me how they go on. Things I have learned about in Africa have challenged everything I have ever thought about and known. It has made me realize that I don’t understand anything,
I look back on what I have done and see that I was completely alone while at the same time never alone. It was only by the good grace and compassion of the local people I met along the way that I could get through each day much less survive on the whole.
Nothing is easy in Africa. It tests you. Things that should be simple never are. Noting is what it seems. The psyche and culture here is completely different from other places in the world. It is a place of extremes, a place of thriving markets, breathtaking scenery, violence, chaos, traffic, passionate music and blood-red soil.
Every African I met said they would never leave this place permanently. The white South Africans I met said if their land was taken away they would go with it because to leave Africa would mean to die. There is so much mystery and rawness on this continent. I think it would be fair to say that Africa is the true embodiment of passion in its purest sense, for better or worse.
T.I.A. (This Is Africa) has become a cliché now, but for anyone who has ever been here, they know that sometimes that is all you can say much of the time. How this place has changed me, I haven’t even began to look at that landscape. I feel the same, but can you really tell when you are leaving a place, and places seem to have hidden lessons you don’t encounter until years down the road. If anything it has made me more confident in who I am but more unsure about everything else in life. But I know it has gotten under my skin. The thought of leaving makes me feel like I am dying a small death myself. I can’t explain it, these last 8 months. Their meaning is poignant but at the same time hidden even to me. Part of me feels that because I did this I can do anything, part of me just wants to cry for both what I’ve seen and what I’m leaving.
I’ll be back. That’s for sure. But now, it’s time to leap and to trust. That’s all I can do as I leave this behind for what I have no idea. I thought I would be more certain of something after leaving but nothing is clear. How can time go so fast? How many lifetimes exist in one life? I don’t know where I’m going but at the same time, I’m always there.
I hope for nothing
I fear nothing
I am free
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Training Horses (South Africa)
I have experienced more extremes on this trip than throughout the rest of my life in its entirety. I started my time in Africa in a mud hut in Zimbabwe with no electricity eating sadza. I finish in a mansion of a farmhouse in rural South Africa (though often with no electricity because of South Africa's current power crisis) drinking some of the finest wine and whiskey I ever have.
I have spent 2 1/2 weeks training horses on a remote farm and it has been an incredible window into life for some South Africans. The family I lived with are some of the richest of the rich in the whole world. It was pretty spectacular to get a glimpse into that sort of lifestyle; private planes, yatch clubs, golf clubs, many many full-time staff, tea served on silver platters, multiple vacation homes, the best private schools, more silverware than I could figure out what to do with. These people have a life of privilege most would never even think to imagine. I met a guy who told me he has never cooked a single meal for himself (he's 27).
Many of the white, wealthy South African farmers are waited on hand and foot, yet this is Africa so the wealth is different. Another guy I met may not know how to do his laundry, but he does know how to birth a calf. For most, these massive ranches are hobbies, though they are multi-million dollar ventures, it's not so much about the money, more the lifestyle and tradition.
I would never consider myself to be a city girl, but they certainly did here. The people I met are adept at hunting, fixing fences and making their own sausage. It is completely counter-intuitive to that kind of wealth, but hey, T.I.A.
Working on the farm with the horses allowed me to get an inside view into a community that few non-members would ever see. I met all sorts of people at the golf club, tennis club, luncheons, etc. They were very welcoming on the surface and I had to tell them that yes, I am here training horses, but no, I am not a horse trainer. There is a big difference! But I think that if I ever wanted to come back to train horses it wouldn't be a problem. It is a tiny community of very affluent farmers. Racial tensions are strong and everyone is racist or a realist, as they explain, in their own way. Yet almost all the kids grow up speaking Xhousa (a clicking language) as their first language because their nanny taught it to them before English. It is incredible to see. The men and boys are a different breed here. They still seem to be in a "Gone with the Wind" era where they are chivalrous beyond belief. I never once had to open a door or buy a drink and their whole "ladies first" mentality was funny because I would lead but not being from the area I didn't know where I was going!
Because town is so small people of all generations socialize together. There is that sense that everyone knows everyone. But another pulse throbs below the surface of this wholesome fresh milk, fresh bread and a lot of whisky veneer.
One night, bored of the blandness of the local pub (all white of course), I went with a couple of local guys to a nearby township of sorts. Their plan was to have me wait in hte car because it would be "far too dangerous" for me to go in, while they bought some booze at the township bar and we would take it back to the farm. Well, there was no way I was staying in the car, we had found the party that was definitely not going on at the all white pub. The bar was bumping music and full of energy. We, the only white people, were all cheered and hugged when we entered. I headed straight for the dance floor where a few girls took me under their wing. I had a blast dancing with them and everyone was so ridiculously nice and welcoming. It was a little unnerving because I was constantly surrounded but most people were just having fun. A few men just came really close and stared, just standing there on the dance floor watching me but other than that it was really fun. So I honestly don't know what would have happened. After about 30 minutes the guys I was with pulled me away. A crowd tried to suck me in, it was pretty chaotic, I was lucky I had 2 big guys with me, one of whom had to force a guy to let go of my arm so I really couldn't tell you the way the night could have gone. I like to believe that my friends were just paranoid when they said it would have gotten ugly. The people seemed happy we were there, but race in South Africa is a very tricky deal. Nothing is clear, it's all sorts of grey area all the time.
But I do know that I learned so much in the last couple weeks. As cliche as it sounds, it has been a very eye-opening experience to say the least. I got to ride whenever I wanted and gallop my horse through the stunning African bush past warthogs, bless bock and impalas. Now that is pretty hard to beat!
I have spent 2 1/2 weeks training horses on a remote farm and it has been an incredible window into life for some South Africans. The family I lived with are some of the richest of the rich in the whole world. It was pretty spectacular to get a glimpse into that sort of lifestyle; private planes, yatch clubs, golf clubs, many many full-time staff, tea served on silver platters, multiple vacation homes, the best private schools, more silverware than I could figure out what to do with. These people have a life of privilege most would never even think to imagine. I met a guy who told me he has never cooked a single meal for himself (he's 27).
Many of the white, wealthy South African farmers are waited on hand and foot, yet this is Africa so the wealth is different. Another guy I met may not know how to do his laundry, but he does know how to birth a calf. For most, these massive ranches are hobbies, though they are multi-million dollar ventures, it's not so much about the money, more the lifestyle and tradition.
I would never consider myself to be a city girl, but they certainly did here. The people I met are adept at hunting, fixing fences and making their own sausage. It is completely counter-intuitive to that kind of wealth, but hey, T.I.A.
Working on the farm with the horses allowed me to get an inside view into a community that few non-members would ever see. I met all sorts of people at the golf club, tennis club, luncheons, etc. They were very welcoming on the surface and I had to tell them that yes, I am here training horses, but no, I am not a horse trainer. There is a big difference! But I think that if I ever wanted to come back to train horses it wouldn't be a problem. It is a tiny community of very affluent farmers. Racial tensions are strong and everyone is racist or a realist, as they explain, in their own way. Yet almost all the kids grow up speaking Xhousa (a clicking language) as their first language because their nanny taught it to them before English. It is incredible to see. The men and boys are a different breed here. They still seem to be in a "Gone with the Wind" era where they are chivalrous beyond belief. I never once had to open a door or buy a drink and their whole "ladies first" mentality was funny because I would lead but not being from the area I didn't know where I was going!
Because town is so small people of all generations socialize together. There is that sense that everyone knows everyone. But another pulse throbs below the surface of this wholesome fresh milk, fresh bread and a lot of whisky veneer.
One night, bored of the blandness of the local pub (all white of course), I went with a couple of local guys to a nearby township of sorts. Their plan was to have me wait in hte car because it would be "far too dangerous" for me to go in, while they bought some booze at the township bar and we would take it back to the farm. Well, there was no way I was staying in the car, we had found the party that was definitely not going on at the all white pub. The bar was bumping music and full of energy. We, the only white people, were all cheered and hugged when we entered. I headed straight for the dance floor where a few girls took me under their wing. I had a blast dancing with them and everyone was so ridiculously nice and welcoming. It was a little unnerving because I was constantly surrounded but most people were just having fun. A few men just came really close and stared, just standing there on the dance floor watching me but other than that it was really fun. So I honestly don't know what would have happened. After about 30 minutes the guys I was with pulled me away. A crowd tried to suck me in, it was pretty chaotic, I was lucky I had 2 big guys with me, one of whom had to force a guy to let go of my arm so I really couldn't tell you the way the night could have gone. I like to believe that my friends were just paranoid when they said it would have gotten ugly. The people seemed happy we were there, but race in South Africa is a very tricky deal. Nothing is clear, it's all sorts of grey area all the time.
But I do know that I learned so much in the last couple weeks. As cliche as it sounds, it has been a very eye-opening experience to say the least. I got to ride whenever I wanted and gallop my horse through the stunning African bush past warthogs, bless bock and impalas. Now that is pretty hard to beat!
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