Freebird

“Fear is a Prison” the wall read on the beach wall at Muizenberg. And, ironically enough, this had been a thought in my head for the past couple of days, a thought that never quite got words pushed behind it. Afraid keeps you inside. It limits possibilities and chains up potentials. It’s…well, it’s scary.
The thought had come to mind because the thought of living in a third world country could ignite that prison within anyone making such a drastic change. It could lock up apartment doors and close curious eyes, put its cold hand on my shoulder and say, “Seriously, dude. It’s scary out there. Stay inside with me.”
And perhaps this sounds dramatic and overenthusiastic or journal entry from hypersensitive phobia prone bleach and rinse sweaty palmed nail-biter girl, but that is simply not the case. My paranoia rarely exceeds that of an average person, (unless it’s directionally based: then I am certain I will get lost and robbed, or eternally taunted for the continued confusion on which way is North, despite the compass I wear around my neck). But even the most reasonably tempered person has those bouts of fear in one regard or another: those inhibitions that prevent the real goal from being obtained, the honest words from being spoken, or the right actions from being executed. It’s biting your tongue when someone gets pushed around, or not trying it out because of what others may say. That’s reasonable enough: that’s human, and those are fear-bars.
One thing I learned right away is that Africa is full of bars. There are bars in my window and bars on my porch and bars on the gate just outside, and no bars on my cell phone and no bars for the internet, and no bars that it’s safe to walk home from at night. And it’s a decision I make every single day if I allow this to be equivalent to bars on my heart.

I learned how to surf today. Well, began to learn. And maybe I didn’t stand up quite right and maybe I was thinking obsessively about sharks for a Colorado girl who generally lives painfully far from any sort of significant body of water, and maybe my eyes burned like salt and I wished my Mom could just teleport on occasion and come hang out when the board hit my head. But when I finally rolled with that wave and felt wind and sand and, well pure determination through my veins; when I looked out at the beach ahead, at the mountains and low clinging clouds, when I saw where I was now and the progression of this journey, I realized in an awe inspiring instant that, hell yeah, these things are scary, but I have never, ever been so free.

TIA!

If you are from around these parts, the phrase TIA is probably fairly familiar. “This Is Africa!” is the meaning behind the acronym, and can be used to explain away any odd, ridiculous, terrifying, or super awesome thing you may encounter while on the continent. (As in, “The grocery store is out of bread.” “Well, TIA!”)
So, in true life TIA style, I have provided a list of the circumstances recently encountered that caused for a pause, a rewind, and an understanding that, well, this is Africa:

1. Ostrich burgers have commonly been on the menu. And they kind of taste like meatloaf.
2. My beautiful roommate recently purchased a 12 rand bottle of wine. For all of you out there who aren’t conversion buffs, this is approximately $2.
3. As fifteen of us piled into the absurdly loud “minibuses,” my dear friend Sarah got the opportunity to sit next to the driver. The driver saw his chance for Western knowledge, turned to Sarah and asked, “So is Tupac really dead?”
4. The grocery store really was out of bread.
5. Baboons are bullies and will steal your purse/candy/dignity if you let them. They can also open car doors.
6. Refrigeration of milk and eggs is optional. Refrigeration of body at night is not optional. You will freeze.
7. A classmate of mine speaks seven different languages and has never driven a car or learned how to use a computer.
8. If you run out of electricity… you can buy some tomorrow at the ShopRite.
9. Penguins sleeping under a parked vehicle are a legitimate concern. And…
10. Days may be long, cold or rough, but everyone is still smiling!
This is Africa, but friends are home.
Peace tonight.

Upwards

Everyone around here knows about July 18. It’s the celebration and birthday of Mr. Nelson Mandela, previous president and lifeboat savior from the consuming waters of the apartheid era in South Africa. “Madiba Day” as it is called by natives,(as Mandela is from the Madiba tribe) has its focus in celebrating the sixty seven years Mandela gave to fighting the division in this country and encouraging the rest of the world to give their own sixty seven minutes to promoting this unity and breaking bonds that .
The movie “Invictus” came out a few years ago in order to tell the story of Mr. Mandela and his journey through the destruction of the apartheid: twenty seven consuming years in prison and the fire of a segregated country. And, if you have seen the movie you may recall the namesake of the film, a poem by William Ernest Henley:

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

The freedoms of our nation can make it hard to imagine a captive body: one that is told when and where it can go and why and what it can do. We have grown up unfamiliar with places like ‘District Six’ in Cape Town, where entire communities were forced to abandon lifelong homes and memories because of the color of their skin. This contrast is the very reason we put our hands over our hearts out of respect for America and prevent our flag from touching the ground: to show we know and love our freedom.

And while the concept of the captive body may lack resonance in affluent ears, most will quietly affirm the idea of a captive soul. A broken heart, a restless spirit, an unspoken or resolved wish that may never take root: those are things we are familiar with, those are the captivities that we can relate.

Words are just letters until someone gives them meaning, and actions are just movement unless you decide it equates to more, but a soul only wanders if you allow it too, it only remains in chains if you decide it that way and stays captive only under its owners consent. I find Henley’s words hard to compete with: I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. Despite the circumstance and regardless of the situation.
So here is a big Happy Birthday to Mr. Mandela and an even bigger thanks to God for providing a desperate time with such an unconquerable soul.

Here is to the Rainbow Nation and the Red, the White and the Blue.
Here is to persistence and to bravery;
And here is to free bodies and to free souls.

Close to Home

There is an overwhelming feeling when I wake up each morning in my white little apartment. It happens in that split second when I roll over in bed and realize that I’m not at home. That the pillows smell a little different and the light is a little bit yellower when it comes through the window and my heart is a little bit further from the calm it usually holds when I first wake up.
It’s that overwhelming feeling I get when I realize that home is oceans away and I will get out of bed today and face head on a culture I don’t yet understand and accents I can’t always decipher and tasks that really don’t make much sense (buying my electricity and cell phone minutes at the grocery store was something that took a moment to register.)
But it is in that overwhelming moment when I am noticing the bars in my windows and the locks on my door when I hear laughter outside. And it’s that big overwhelming kind that shakes your whole body and makes other people laugh, too, just because the process itself looks fun. And you know what? That sound of laughter is close to home.
And there are other places where the familiarity can be felt. It was in the taxi driver, driving me home from the hotel after saying farewell to my mom and my aunt, looking at my tear stained cheeks and saying, “I understand that kind of missing and that kind of sad. Just pay me half.”
It was in the coffee skinned babies at the township we visited: holding up their arms and clicking their tongues, and the universe understands that they wanted held just like any baby from home.
It was the awe of every single person as they gazed at the sunset and moonrise at Lions Head Peak. That’s not a perception of beauty that changes with the hemisphere.
It’s the late night dancing and too strong coffee and unbridled hugs that remind me that I may be thousands of miles away from that place that I call my home, but I can see pieces of what I know in everything. It’s in those pieces that I know that everything is ok, and this is a good place to be.
Because as far as I can tell, smiles mean the same thing no matter where you are.

Anticipation

I can picture myself at ten years old; surrounded in the savannah I had created in my head. One that consisted of a jungle of bed sheets and the company of a stuffed giraffe and elephant. It was in this kingdom where I held my own safaris, my own world without ever leaving my bedroom.
Perhaps this was what enticed me to travel to Cape Town: the vision of adventure still floating around in my mind. But now, that child has grown up. I want more than the adventure that thrilled my young heart. Now, I long for the insight.

Perhaps that is both the opportunity and the challenge that I foresee in this journey to Cape Town: the discovery of insight. It is the understanding that I both desire and cringe at the thought of. It is the fact I will go on this voyage to a place I don’t know, and undoubtedly find myself overwhelmed by the shock and the difference in location and culture. I will see the struggles and heartache of a new nation that will not only challenge me, but challenge what I have been taught and what I had previously understood.

At the same time, this new insight will offer me an opportunity to open my eyes to the vastness of this planet and appreciate in full what our world has to offer. I will experience beautiful things; things that can only be felt through experience, could only be understood through action. Then, I will leave Cape Town not only with the adventure in my soul, but also with the insight in my heart that will stay with me forever.