Africa The journal

A day in Cape Town

 

Journaling has been fun and therapeutic.  These are journals that I sent while in Africa with my impressions and reactions to what I experienced.  I hope you enjoy them.

 

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Christel House was over and I had a wonderful send off.  There were kind words all around including a dinner Thursday night [that was really only partly for me.  There was another woman they were welcoming too].  Friday morning there was a little breakfast with coffee, and rolls.  The principal said some more kind words but what mattered most were the words from one of the teachers.  I had felt accepted and he really summed it up.  Then there was a little party thrown by my ‘fan club’.  I don’t know what I did to endear myself to these 4-6 sixth grade girls but they are always giving me hugs and even cried because I was leaving.  They scraped together 10 rand [ a lot of money for them about $1.30] and bought pop, cookies, candy, and potato chips.  They made cards, a big poster and gave me a little teddy bear they all chipped in to buy.  One of them even did a dance.  It was very sweet.  The kids said it seemed like I had been there a long time.  How did I get so close to these people in just a short time?  Shawn, the teacher, said he could imagine how hard it could be to come to a strange land knowing no one.  And yet it felt that I had been there much longer than 5 weeks.  More like two years.  He said I really cared about the teaching staff and they felt that.  That I took the time to listen to them as few volunteers had.   Maybe the Beatles have it right:

“And in the end, the love to take is equal to the love you make”…

This morning I am on the train.  My intention is to see some of those sights down town that I just haven’t been able to get too.  Things like the district six museum,  the city castle, company gardens, and the National Art Museum.  People had told me about the train… DON’T  get on it!  Well it might be  safe…  If you buy a first class ticket you might be alright… you know encouraging things like that.  So the night before I arraigned my wallets.  Yes plural.  I’m pretty sure I will get mugged so I divided up what I have so I won‘t lose it all at once.  First I leave my good wallet at home.  I place some Rand , my credit card and a copy of my passport in a plastic bag and hide it in a zippered pocket.  Then I put a small amount of Rand in a false wallet for the pickpockets.  Lastly I pack more Rand and my debit card in a special pouch which I hide in secret pocket inside my pants.  I leave my big camera behind don my hat and sun glasses  and no one will ever know I am just a tourist.  Of course there isn’t another living soul in the country with a ‘Tilly Hat”  and come to think of it there aren’t that many white people either.  Fewer still who have an American accent.  OK,I stick out like a hang nail and I know it.  Talk about the elephant in the living room I might as well wear a big red and white target around me neck!  After getting dropped off at the train station I look around and what do I see?  Muggers? Rapists,  CIA agents?  NO!   Old ladies, young girls all dressed up, and hey they don’t looked scared at all.  Maybe I will live today…

The trip down was pretty quiet  until we arrived at the train station,  A  little old lady  realized I was a lost lamb offered to show me where to go after I got off the train.  I gratefully accepted this offer to be protected by a 5 foot 70 yr old granny.  She led me by the hand through the turn style and out in to the sea of faces moving this way and that.  She has a shop in the area… makes this trip every day.  OK so maybe my fears were a little exaggerated….

 

At the end of the day I did find my way back to the central train station… well almost.  I only had to check the map 4 times to determine yes… I lost the train station.  Somehow I managed to wander past it into a very   very quiet almost abandon business district.  Exactly the place all the tourist books tell you to stay away from.  I blame the city.  They don’t

have street signs on every corner the way we do.  And by the way where is a 5foot 70 year old granny when you really need one!  Fortunately a kind soul gave me directions to the station and even walked with me making up the excuse that he had to buy cigarettes.  I accepted this little white lie and we chatted about Cape Town its future, the economy and so on until I had the target in sight.  I had to find a train that stopped at the Plumstead.  My next great adventure.  This central train station is the same place where I had that silent encounter with the young black man.  So I am practicing my new travel skill.  How to look nonchalant as you gaze with blank face at the departure board.  No Plumstead.   So I took off my tourist hat and sun glasses and causally asked 3 people until someone pointed me to the right platform.  Tourist?  How about a babe in the woods?

Usually I just keep to myself on the train.  But you know what happens when you reach out, someone reaches back.  This time I saw a very white man, and the way he talked I knew he was a local.  His red hair was glistening with sweat of the heat of the train car.  It was 34 degrees [98farenhieht]  in this metal box where not the slightest breeze blew.  “God is it hot… Isn’t hot today?”  If he said it once he said it 5 times.  The boy next to him read his book unmoved,  A peddler came through with a dirty bucket filled with ice  and a few cold drinks,  “How much” said the red haired man, 8 Rand…. Well you better have change said the buyer with a voice that meant business.  “No change said the small colored boy but I get you some quick - what you want“.  The man with the red hair reached out with is thick muscular arms and grabbed an orange pop.  Putting the can to his head he saying, “ By God it is hot.  How hot is it anyway.  It must be 40degrees!”

       The boy with the book  started fanning and I could feel a cool breeze coming my way.  I saw a chance to break the ice.  “Don’t stop!” I said, and everyone around us laughed.  The man with the red hair smiled and though you would think his looks were the last of his concerns his smile quickly collapsed to cover a missing tooth.  Though he looked like all fear had left him long ago he managed to keep his upper lip over his teeth as he talked.  I wonder how he lost his tooth?  If it bothers him I wonder why he hasn’t a false one?  I wonder about his story.  “Yes my brother, don’t stop fanning!”, he said.  We all laughed again.

     This guy knew the U.S, well.  It turns out this 6’4” hunk of a man used to be with the Ringling Bros. Circus.  He was a trapeze flyer.  He used to be the anchor man.  The one that would swing out first and catch the stars while they did their act.  He would swing back and forth and as the star would twirl falling in mid air he would reach out with two powerful hands and clasp their arms in a spit second.

Timing.

The circus was a family to him.  Odd people accepting other odd people and traveling in ‘play time’ and getting paid for it.  He talked about the road crews and how they could set up a 3 ring circus in a day.  About the travel and how hard the road could be.  He later became a trapeze teacher so helped others learn the trade.  Now he painted houses in Cape Town.  The money was good, and heights didn’t bother him so the work was steady.

My stop grew near.  He paused and said he was living in Plumstead with his partner,  Looking me in the eye to see if I would accept;    he volunteered his partner was a man who was a high wire artiest and they had been together for years.  He loved his partner very much.  Why did he tell me that I wondered?  What happened that he felt moved to tell me that personal and intimate detail?

Timing

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