Sweetness

Life is sooo good.  I can hardly believe it.  South Africa is AMAZING.  I love it.  Cape Town is AMAZING.  I have climbed Signal Hill, the Lion’s Head, and Table Mountain.  Each one of these climbs began with me just opening my door from the hostel and then walking to the mountain.  No cars, no trains, no cable cars, no nothing.  Each walk has a beautiful story with meaningful experiences.  Some stories have no words.

 

I have now met quite a few South Africans and many of them have invited me to various meals, events, and other social situations.  The hospitality here is something that even southerners don’t know about.  I have spent the last 5 days with Niall Campbell, a Sangoma from Botswana who currently lives in Cape Town.  The experience has been unbelievable.  For some strange reason, his schedule magically opened up and I was able to spend almost all day with him every day.  He is an amazing man with such incredible stories, wisdom, and love.  Conversations with him have strongly challenged my perspectives on life.  I thought my way of looking at things couldn’t get much weirder, but it appears my weirdness knows no bounds.  How can African traditions be so different from the native traditions in North America that I know?  I thought I could approach the African traditions in a similar manner as I have those in North America.  Wrong.  Not only is it different, but sometimes it is antithetical to what I have previously learned.  Well, maybe this Niall guy doesn’t really know what he is talking about.  But, then why do so many people around here seem to agree with him, including me?  Why does this part of me light up inside when I hear him talk about things that I normally disagree with?  Damn.  I hate it when my ignorance introduces itself to other people without my permission.  I am sinking deeply into the unknown.  In this place, fear is the gateway to understanding.

 

Did you know that people are happier over here?  It’s true.  I’ll tell you how I know.  When you smile at someone, it is the most natural thing in the world to have him or her smile back.  Sometimes, people don’t smile back.  There are many possible reasons why: I don’t know you, I’m busy, I don’t feel like it, I didn’t notice, smiling causes an expedited wrinkling of the face, I don’t have nice teeth, I might send the wrong impression, I smiled last week…   No matter what the reason, I generally believe the person’s happiness in that moment is not very strong.  In the United States, I have smiled at quite a few people.  I’m creepy like that.  And, I have had many mutually smiley experiences.  However, in Africa, not only has the percentage been much higher, but the quality is different as well.  On some occasions, when I smile at someone, he or she will look back and smile so big that I feel their heart hugging mine.  In that moment, everything disappears and only love exists.  It is an amazing experience and it happens daily in South Africa- at the bookstore, in the parking lot, on the street, in the hostel, from a security guard, to the parking attendant, to the homeless person.  And I must say, it has been happening more frequently with black people.  That is scary to say.  Is that racist?

 

I have been thinking a lot about fear and danger recently, especially in application to the above experiences.  It is way more dangerous in South Africa than in the U.S.  There is no doubt about it.  It is dangerous to go outside at night, even for the locals.  It is dangerous to walk many places alone in the daytime.  And, there are many places where you just don’t go, ever.  This goes for almost everywhere in South Africa.  Generally, the U.S is just much safer.  To quote Niall, “Even Lucifer prays before he comes to Africa.  He reminds God that he once was an angel.”  So why are these people so damn happy?  Shouldn’t they just be scared all the time?  I think it has a lot to do with people’s relationship with fear.  In the U.S, we have so much investment in fear.  We must be safe at all costs, we must insure EVERYTHING, we must have a back up plan for our back up plan, we must never get ourselves into a situation where we feel afraid.  We are afraid of fear.  Don’t they say that the greatest trick the devil ever played was to convince the world he did not exist?  And so it is.  How much of my daily life is devoted to avoid fear or prevent loss?  I will focus on anything that will prevent me from feeling afraid- TV, my job, hobbies, exercise, reading, writing…  If life is not lived in a way that creates true fulfillment, then you are avoiding loss.  “But I have responsibilities, I have bills to pay and kids to feed.”  “Hmmm.  Maybe you’re right.  Maybe your responsibilities are more important than you…Maybe not.”

 

Consider an alternative.  In South Africa, people know that they are taking a risk every time they walk out the door.  They can be mugged, beaten up, raped, shot… whatever Fate has on the dance card.  This is a very real possibility.  One of my tourist friends was mugged, another had a knife pulled her, a friend of a friend got shot in the face last week.  This was all in Cape Town, which is one of the safer big cities in South Africa.  Even with all of the possibility of danger, people look fear in the face and continue to live their lives.  There is an amazing acceptance of fear and death.  People die.  I’m going to die.  You wanna have lunch?  There is a tremendous amount of freedom when accepting one’s own mortality.  I am taught every day how to do this by different people who live here.  There is something so primal about being here that it reminds me about the essence of life.  Facing fear and death reminds me of what is really important in life.  By facing fear, it loses its power and there is true freedom.  This freedom can make you smile so wide that you remember what life is and show it to the world.

Guardian Angels

I am hesitant to write about this story because I don’t want my mom to freak out, but I suppose that I will write about it anyways.

 

I decided to go to a festival the other day that was about 100km away from Cape Town.  I made arrangements with the same guy that I am trying to buy a car from to fetch me (South African lingo) at 2:00pm.  At 2:30, he was not there, so I texted him to ask where he was.  No response.  I then called him at 3:00.  No answer.  I decided to take the train instead, which takes 1.5 hours to a place called Paarl, which is allegedly 15 km away from my final destination, at which time I would take a taxi the remainder of the way.  Sounds pretty good right?  Well, here’s what happened…

 

First of all, the train is sketchy and it is flat out dangerous after dark.  I left at 5:00pm, which would allow me to get to my final destination by 7:00, which is when it gets dark.  So, I hopped on the train with my enormous backpack (I have my tent, all my clothes…) and I was the only white person.  I am basically announcing to everyone that I am a tourist, I’m alone, and I may not know where I’m going.  I decided to talk with the people next to me about the world cup that will be held in South Africa because I really wanted to know what they think about it and I thought they could help me if anything went wrong.  Maybe if other people saw that I was talking with the locals, they wouldn’t hassle me.

 

About an hour into the ride, and after talking with probably 8 different people about their opinions about the World Cup, I started talking with people about my plans to take a taxi from Paarl to Worcester (my final destination).  They explained that taxis don’t operate after 6pm outside of Cape Town.  At this realization, the people with whom I had been talking became very worried and they began talking with each other quickly in their native tongues.  I wasn’t quite sure what all of the fuss was about.  I could just figure it out when I get there.  WRONG.  The woman across from me explained, “Whatever you do, don’t leave the station when you arrive in Paarl until you have made your plans.  There are security guards there.   It is a very dangerous place.”  Another person on the train suggested that I walk immediately to the police station to wait there.  At this point, most of the people on the train were talking frantically on their cell phones, checking numbers and advising me on different options.  I decided that I would either stay overnight in Paarl in a hotel that was nearby the station or use transport from a friend of a guy on the train, who was happily charging an amazing amount of money.  During all the commotion, I called my contact at the event in Worcester to ask if she might be willing to pick me up.  We have been emailing for a long time and she has been quite helpful in helping me plan my trip.  When I told her where I was, she sounded surprised and explained that it was a long ways away from Worcester.  I told her that it was only 15 km away according to google maps.  She didn’t really respond to this assertion, but said that she would look into acquiring a car to pick me up.

 

At this point people on the train have spread the news and there are approximately 30 people who are now offering their opinion about what I need to do.  Everyone in the car knows that I am from the U.S, have an enormous bag worth a lot of money, and might be stranded.  Then I hear a really loud noise when the train tries to start again from one of the stations. The train nudges forward and then abruptly stops.  At this point people start talking about whether or not the train is broken, which apparently happens quite often because people steal various cables underneath the train while it stops at the stations.  10 mintues go by, no movement.  20 minutes go by, no movement.  30 minutes go by, nothing.  Then a load of people get out of the train and go into the station.  I ask the people nearby what is going on and they explain that the train is broken and that it can not be fixed.  They will be calling buses to pick us all up from the station.  I am now 20 minutes from Paarl in a place that has no hotels, no taxis, and no police stations anywhere near that I could go to.  Instead, I am in a train station with 200 passengers who are incredibly poor, overworked, hungry, and pissed.  I am still the only white person.  I am carrying valuable things: cell phone, atm card, money, tent, clothes, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, glasses…  People are robbed for the shoes on their feet in South Africa.

 

At this point, before getting off the train, there are three colored women (a term that South Africans use to describe people who are not only solely or white, but of mixed race) that have emerged as the main people who are concerned with my well-being.  One of them said, “Stay close to us, we’ll protect you.  If anyone starts bothering you I’ll just tell them that you are my boyfriend.”  I received a call from Ashleigh, the contact in Worcester, and she agreed to come pick me up.  Praise Jesus! However, the women that I was with decided that it would be best for her to pick me up in Paarl 2 stations away because it is dangerous and very complicated to drive to the station we were at without knowing the way.  My new friends called their friends and arranged a ride to come pick all of us up from the station we were at and take us to Paarl to drop me off.

 

At this point, people were informed that buses were being deployed to the station to take everyone to the remaining stations.  200 people are packed inside the station, nudging to get to the front.  The women told me explicitly that I was with to stay extremely close and not flash anything valuable.  45 minutes went by, still no ride and no buses.  People in the buses started getting agitated and a few folks started yelling.  Then I heard a crash and more yelling.  People smashed the door to the station and others were breaking random tables and chairs.  I was already fearful and this was not helping.  To my relief, a bus pulled up.  At the site of it, a stampede ensued, as people flooded out the door to the bus.  There was probably only room for about 70 people on the bus out of the 200.  Not good.  People who were on the bus started pulling their friends from the outside up and into the bus through the windows.  People then started smashing the windows on the bus to make it easier for their friends to get in.  At this point the bus was entirely full and the bus driver was telling people that no more people could fit.  This did not go over very well.  Two guys proceeded to crush the door by slamming into it multiple times and then managed to break it off its hinges.  With the door broken, the bus could not go anywhere.  Now people were even more enraged.  While people continued damaging the bus, I was busy trying to make myself disappear.  It didn’t work.  A few minutes later, another bus arrived.  Can you guess what happened?  The exact same thing.  Only this time, the bus driver had a tazer and was shocking people who got unruly, which was everyone.  Again people smashed the windows, broke the door and shattered the windshield.  No one was going anywhere.  All I could do was watch, pretend like I wasn’t urinating on my inner thigh, and make incomprehensible conversation with the people I was with.  One of the women asked me, “How are you feeling?  You seem really calm.”  I told her I was freaking out on the inside, but I didn’t want anyone to see that part.  She said that was a good idea.

With no more buses to destroy, a new target was needed.  The banter among the people around me increased and I was wondering what they were talking about.  I asked my new friends and they said that they were talking about me.  OH SHIT.  My internal organs simultaneously fell to the floor of my body.  At that very moment, one of the women I was with exclaimed that she saw our ride pull into the station.  We all half walked and half jogged to the car, threw ourselves in, and peeled out of there.  I was safe.

 

These three women saved me.  I am so grateful to them.  We talked about what I should refer to them as when I write about them and we agreed that they should be called the three guardian angels.  And so they are.