never say never

         I am walking in the air along a wire hallway, a cage, 216 meters above a river.  The wire moves, somewhat, up and down beneath my feet. I look to the left and see the ocean. I glance down. A mistake. The wide river, nestled between two mountains, now looks like a small vein snaking it's way through the trees below. Immediately I am queasy and my head begins to spin. I think I might faint.

       "Keep walking. Keep walking." He said.

       I cup my hands around my eyes like a horse with blinders at a race, willing myself to look only straight ahead. I shuffle along now, my pace slowed by my toes tenuously reaching first, to guide my way through the air-holed metal. There is a cool breeze up here of course, but I am soaked with sweat. I suddenly remember my childhood dreams of flying...

       My plan was to follow the Eastern Cape all the way down to the southern most tip of Africa, and the next stop was a part of the Garden Route called Storms River.  It was a small town, slightly inland and mountainous, not directly on the beach. A young man from Germany was on my bus and got off at the same hostel.

       “Hello, my name is Julian.” He shook my hand.

       “Hi, I'm Lucetta. I have a daughter named Julien, but she goes by Tessa. She’s 24.”

       “I’m twenty-four.” 

        I grinned, “Must have been a very good year.” 

       “Are you going to do it? Are you going to jump?” He was excited.

       “No! Absolutely not.” 

       “It’s the worlds highest bungy jump, how can you pass that up?”

       “Easily.  I’m not crazy.”

       And this is where he got to me.

       “I’m all by myself and no one else is around.” He begged, “Please don’t make me go by myself, pleeeease? I can't do this alone. Say you’ll go with me.”

        The neurons in my brain did something they hadn’t done in many months, they fired into ‘Mother’ mode.  He’d looked up at me with pleading eyes, which hit me right where it hurt. What if that was Tessa who wanted to take the highest jump with only a rope tied around her ankles?  She’s certainly got the nerve to do it, but still, I wouldn’t want her to go solo. I would hope someone would step up for her.

       There was just one small snag. I was deathly afraid of heights. If only there had been one more person at the hostel, I’d have sent them instead. Or perhaps, if this were the second highest bungy in the world I could have talked him out of it. Neither of those were true and so could not protect me from confronting myself again. If I'd had even one inkling that the theme of my journey would turn out to be that of constantly facing down my worst nightmares, I'd have never left the safe soil of the United States. I knew I had to do this. 

       We paid our fee, each put on a harness and waited to be taken out to the bridge walk.  For thirty minutes we watched from the side of the hill as people jumped.  A big screen video was in place that allowed us to hear the screams and watch the flailing up close and personal. Our names were called, and it was time to make the long walk out to the jump.

       "Julian! What have you gotten us into?"

       I can do this. I can do this. No I can't. Walk. Breathe. The blinders are helping. Walk. Don't look down. My stomach calms slightly. Breathe. Remembering childhood dreams with arms stretched out, wind in my hair, flying and I was free. Walk. This is my chance. Reorder my thinking. I will not close my eyes. I will not thrash. Breathe.  For ten glorious seconds, I will choose to fly. 

Bloukrans Bridge

Underneath, where the ropes and people are, is the jump point

This is what a crazy person looks like.

Can I go again?

        I bought Julian a beer.

Coasting

       I was sitting on a bus again for nine hours, which seemed to be the magic number for getting anywhere in Africa. I stared out the window. Never before in my life have I had nine-hour blocks of time to think. Some people, when they eat pray love, go to India and meditate for hours on end to find themselves. Me? Evidently I prefer sitting on a bus surrounded by Africans, whose odor is, at times, almost unbearable.  As I sat, my thoughts wandered to what meaningful volunteer work I might participate in next. The need in Africa is so great that it felt like anything I did would just be a drop in the bucket. I was dismayed at this thought, which concerned me because it was evidence of where I was emotionally. Rather than wanting to roll up my sleeves and dig in, I just felt overwhelmed as though I didn’t have the energy to make my voice heard. I’ve always been a helpmate, one to rally the troops or fight for a cause.  It was my identity. Could I live without that?

       Time after time and village after village, I was feeling the same way.  I couldn’t muster enough outrage to stay and help. I felt certain, or was hopeful anyway, that this was a temporary condition, but it was real nonetheless. It began to occur to me that maybe I had gotten it all wrong. Possibly the purpose of this trip was that of helping me. Fixing me. Allowing myself some space to sort through the past in order to move into the future. As women, we often spend so much time nurturing and caring for others that we don’t always do a very good job of taking care of ourselves. I realize that's cliche, but still, it rings of truth.  Could I have this experience without a noble intent?  It seemed shameful and selfish. Would it be sufficient for me to just “be” each day, and write? Is that a worthwhile life for now?

       I debated putting my deepest, less than heroic thoughts in print for all the world to ponder, but I realized this is the story of my new beginning and I can't take you on this journey with me if I don't take you on the journey. So here I am.  This is me as the halo fades.

South African contemplations

       I was headed towards the eastern coast of South Africa.  I arrived in Durban at dusk and found a cool hostel called the Happy Hippo.  The owners bought an old warehouse and completely refurbished the entire place.  Everything was new and hadn't been beaten up by years of weary backpackers.

Happy living room

Happy dining, kitchen and laundry room.  My journal for this day says:
"Today I put my laundry in a washing machine for the first time since October  2010."

The next morning I went out to explore and found the beach,
which came with a bonus; Durban.

The football stadium built for the World Cup

       Back on the bus I moved further down the Eastern Cape to an area called the Wild Coast.  It is unspoiled, not cluttered with urban sprawl or trampled by tourists.  There is plenty of big, beautiful wide open space.  I stayed for quite a while.

This little guy woke me up every morning jumping on the roof.

I signed up for a 28k ride to a Xhosa Village and back.  They said it was mostly downhill.
That just doesn't even make sense, and yet eight of us fell for it.

        We rode into the village and met Mama Tofu. Yes, Tofu is her name and at age 94, she is the oldest living, licensed guide in South Africa.  Speaking in very good English, she taught us about the traditions and practices of the Xhosa Tribe (pronounced cosa), passed down from their forefathers. Within the Xhosa culture each person has his or her place in the clan, and goes through many graduations and rites of passage ceremonies throughout their life. At each stage they sit with the elders for quite some time to learn from them, before the ritual of passing through. 

       To me, the most interesting thing about the Xhosa culture is they speak the 'click' language.  Even the word Xhosa begins with a click. There are different types of clicks formed in certain areas of the mouth for different meanings.  The closest thing we have to understand how it sounds might be when one clicks a horse into a gallop.  It was fascinating to hear it spoken and none of us mastered even one click. 

Mama Tofu

One test for marriage is if a woman can mill this corn efficiently.
If  not, she may not ever be married. It's more difficult than it looks,
and it was determined that I am not marriage material.

Xhosa home

       At the end of the tour, as we were saying our good-byes, I went to her.

       "Mama Tofu, you are ninety four, have lived a long life and seen many things."

       "Yes."

       "Do you have any words of wisdom for me?"

       She took both my hands in hers and looked deeply into my eyes, pausing for a long moment before she spoke.  It was as though she knew me, her eyes searing straight through to my soul.  I felt extremely vulnerable and uncomfortable as it seemed that minute stretched into two or three while she stared at me.

       "You," she paused, "are enough."

       In the ninety-degree heat, I had goose bumps.

Freedom Road

      The moment I stepped into Johannesburg, South Africa I was in a completely different world. It was developed, western and there were white people everywhere. (Oh, by the way, I’m not being politically incorrect, in Africa we are referred to as white and black.) Before I started this trip, I’ll admit I didn’t even know that South Africa was a country in itself.  I just thought it described the southern part of Africa in general.  It is definitely it’s own country and quite different from the rest of the continent.  Even the locals say, ‘There’s South Africa and then there’s real Africa.’ It was interesting to me that most South Africans in Johannesburg had never even been to real Africa.  Many of my conversations with them were answering questions and describing what it was like up in the eastern part.  They had the means to go there, yet didn’t. I wondered why volunteers were coming from all over the world to help their continent, but they themselves, were not. I asked several South Africans about this and they said,

       “During Apartheid we were not allowed to travel north at all.  It has not been that long and I guess it’s just not on our radar.”

       As I spent more time in Jo-burg though, I began to wonder if it wasn’t in part because they had no desire to help.  Racism still lives on in South Africa, conspicuous in every conversation, and equally strong on both sides of the coin. After spending months trying to help black people though, it was disturbing for me to hear them being scorned by whites.  I couldn’t abide it, and knew I could not stay there for long. 

       South Africa is still in the beginning stages of reconciliation as we were in the US in the seventies. After one day of staying at the hostel, I noticed they had put the whites in one building (the nice one) and the blacks in another. When I asked about it, they feigned innocence and said they hadn’t noticed. I moved over to the other building. It will take time. There are those enlightened few who are doing their best to eradicate the disparities, but it takes three generations to wipe out racism, and that is only if all three generations want to be a part of the process.

       In the mean time, tension is high in Johannesburg.  It feels a little like a ticking time bomb. Violence is an every day occurrence, and the people live in constant fear.  They stay behind high walls with barbed wire on the top, security guards, and panic buttons in their homes.  They drive straight to their destination, go inside, come out, and hurry back into their walled habitat.  I was saddened by it all, as it seemed they were prisoners of their own lives. During the World Cup everyone had been on their best behavior because it was such an economic boom for the area. A new Police Commissioner was appointed two years earlier who really clamped down on the car jackings and violence. It could be that it is actually safer now, but South Africans are still reeling from old anxious fears.

       The hostel I stayed in was located in a very nice area with a mall five blocks up the street. I put my laptop in my backpack and walked up the street to buy an Internet modem.  I said hello to everyone I passed, which was only black people because all the whites have cars and wouldn’t dream of walking the streets. I entered the retail kingdom and marveled that every single item known to mankind was suddenly at my fingertips. I bought a real coffee in a ‘take away’ cup, and they gave me napkins!  I used three, just because I could, and put one in my pack for safekeeping.  As I strolled I was quickly overwhelmed with choices and excess.  I had learned to live with nothing, and it would take an adjustment to live comfortably in this life again. The modem store did not have the right equipment for a Mac computer and said I would need to return the next day.

       In the afternoon I spent a very emotional three hours at the Apartheid Museum. As I entered the museum I was randomly given a ticket that allowed me through one door or the other. Depending on whether I was black or white on my ticket determined the experience I had for the first twenty minutes of my time in the museum. They’ve done a brilliant job of not only taking everyone back in time, but also doing so in such a manner that one feels as though they were there.  I observed several people, black and white wiping tears from their eyes.  Nelson Mandela addresses the issues at hand:

        "No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart  than its opposite." 

        "As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn't leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I'd still be in prison." 

       "There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires" 

        "As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same." 

       The moment I returned to the hostel I was hit with it again by one of the long term residents who said,

       “I saw you walking with your pack today.  Don’t do that, you’ll get mugged!”

       “I didn’t have a choice, I had to have my laptop with me.”

       “Well, just don’t, and don’t ever take a regular cab either.  It won’t be safe for a white woman alone.”   It seemed I wasn’t left with any options.  I had just become imprisoned.

       The next day I took my laptop up the street to the mall anyway, just as I had the day before.  The store was able to sell me the right modem, but said,

       “In order to use this type of equipment, special software must be installed.  You need to take a cab to our Data Care Center and they’ll load it for free.” 

       Oh boy, now what do I do? I decided to go back to the hostel and ask for suggestions on transport.  On my way down the road, I saw the side of a Crowne Plaza Hotel.  I’d stayed at the Crowne many times in New York City.

       Ah ha, I thought, they’ll have safe taxis parked in front of the hotel. They would never let one of their clients get into a cab that wasn’t known to be secure.  I went inside to the extravagant lobby and headed for the concierge desk.

       “Hello. How much would it cost for me to take a taxi to this shopping area?” I showed her the address, “Also, do you think I could ask the driver to wait, because this will only take fifteen minutes.”  I explained what I was trying to accomplish.

     “Well since it’s not going to take long and you want him to stay, I’ll just call our driver.”

       “Oh, thank you.”  She must have thought I was staying there. 

       The driver found me in the sitting area.  He was dressed in a black suit with a tie. Very nice. I picked up my pack and followed him outside to a limousine. (!)  I laughed out loud with disbelief at my security in transportation. He took me to the Data Center, and as I came back out, he was waiting and held the door for me. I felt like a celebrity. He escorted me back in to the sitting area.  After thanking him, I tipped him and walked out the side door, at which time I strolled across the street to my fifteen dollar a night hostel.

Ahh, civilization, and they included a piece of chocolate.
perfect breakfast 

Johannesburg

The tenants, democracy, reconciliation, responsibility,
respect, diversity and freedom

entrance to the museum

I don't think so

Football stadium in Jo-burg built for the World Cup. Whites were upset because
football is a black sport in SA.  Whites play Cricket.