Africa at Last

After a short flight from Minneapolis to JFK, I waited at the wrong gate - the one listed on my boarding pass - for like three hours. It was entertaining, though so possibly worth it. Across from me was a billboard that said "EMBRACE CHANGE (but please don't go groping it)". Some guy danced, literally danced, past me singing to his iPod. All I caught was "like a puppet on a string," before he pranced off. A little Chinese kid kept coming over and asking me questions like, "Where is the lestloom?" I didn't know. He also asked me, "What time is it?" I told him one, but it was one forty. I am not very reliable, but must look approachable. The crowd just kept getting more Asian by the minute, and no plane landed at the gate I was waiting at, so I decided that something was up. I went to a monitor and found out that the gate was changed, and when I got to the right gate there were people everywhere. I quickly learned that the flight was overbooked. Shit. I better have a seat after waiting for three hours. I met a couple of the other volunteers before we began boarding. When the guy scanned my boarding pass it made an ominous beep, and he violently tore it up. I asked him nervously if something was wrong. He told me that I had been upgraded without making eye-contact. I have noticed that this malady seems to be a common affliction among airport employees.

Flying first-class is great. I have never done it before, but hope to do it again soon. They fed us all the time, and my seat reclined to sleeping position so I slept comfortably for most of the flight. When we landed in Dakar, Senegal I felt it. It was a lump in my throat that made me want to shriek and jump up and down and cry tears of joy all simultaneously. It was the realization that I am in Africa. I was so content to know that. Senegal was something else for the hour that I was there. It was already pushing ninety degrees at four a.m., and the humidity followed the Senegalese bomb sweeping crew onto the plane. They took apart all our seats and made us identify our luggage. If a suitcase went unclaimed it got thrown off the plane. Part of me wished that I could stay in Senegal for a couple days, by I left without touching land or any of the hot airport personnel.

I arrived in Cape Town yesterday evening. I made it through customs without any trouble even though I didn't have documentation of a return flight. I didn't have any baggage issues because I carried it all on. The guy in customs scared the shit out of me though. He asked me what I was bringing into the country, as he inspected my Goldfish crackers. I think he was hungry. He gave me grief about my new phone, asking me if I was leaving it in the country. I told him no, but it wouldn't surprise me. Someone would probably steal it. I decided not to go into possible scenarios with him, though, and just let him keep harassing me. He asked me why it took me so long to get to customs since my flight had come in a good bit earlier. Was this really customs? What the hell? Inspect me for fruit and illegal weapons, and let me go about my business.

Our drivers brought us to the home base, playing funky beats that I would expect from Africa. We definitely passed townships on the drive. We arrived at our house and found our rooms, which are named after the eleven official languages of South Africa. I am in Afrikaans, which is great because I can pronounce it. I have a fireplace, toilet and three roommates. The house is huge, but it's not the Four Seasons. During my first shower I had to stand in a foot of one of the other volunteer's used water. The drain is a little slow. I am not sure whose runoff it was, but my favorite coping strategy is denial and I think it's just better if it remains a mystery. The other constant reminder that I am not staying at the Ritz is the beefed up security. The house is surrounded by a cement wall, the slats of the metal gate are spiked so no one can jump it and it is only opened by our security guards. There is razor-wire and electric fence running around the top of the whole shebang. The view of the mountain is beautiful, if you can look past the bars on the windows. I am optimistic, though. This country has survived a lot and I am determined to survive, and hopefully fall in love, with it.