It's funny that once you've been somewhere, you can always find someone else to talk to about it. Since I've returned, I've had no less than four conversations with as many people about South African experiences, both mine and theirs.

It's funny how small the world really is.

Burning (wo)Man

Consider it a lesson learned. 

I've been thinking back on my experience (as I'm so often prone to doing) and I'm realizing that one lesson I need to learn out of this is: stop burning bridges. 

I wrote a five page (typed) debriefing when I left South Africa detailing my problems with the business project at Projects Abroad South Africa. I agree with everything I said. I re-read that document no fewer than five times (which is a first, considering I hate proofreading my own work). Every statement I made was meant to be effective yet emotionally removed from the situation at hand. It was supposed to reflect my views on South Africa as being positive but my views on the business end of things to have a more pessimistic outlook. 

I don't regret it. 

I wish I would have been able to explain it, though. Because I know that everyone who goes to that program (and many of the other programs under the Projects Abroad umbrella) have problems with it. And I know that not everyone is going to speak up about it. I'm happy that I voiced my concerns. I hope that the UK office chooses to take to heart some of the criticism they're getting (and have been receiving in recent months) and take some action. 

I realize that it's a non-profit organization and there are limits to their spending abilities, but let's just say that 3rd party sources have confirmed that the administrative fees we pay support very luxe lifestyles. And it's a given, but it would be nice if some parts of those salaries could be be put toward the projects "we're" supposedly supporting - something besides free labor. 

(This started out as an apology of sorts but then I realized I don't have anything to apologize for. I love South Africa. I liked the people who worked for Projects Abroad. I hated the way they implemented their programs. Enough said. I won't be asking them for references and I can assure you I won't be getting any. All that's left to do is complete an article and finish editing a small video for micro-financing and then all will be well in the world. They'll carry on and so will I.) 

Food Update

I brought a pack of Pick N Pay Ginger Biscuits on the plane with me, hoping that they'd last until we landed in Denver. I've never been particularly fond of ginger, but for some reason, I'm now completely in love with the sharp spicy sweetness of these biscuits. I opened the pack on the flight from DC to Denver, and between the two of us, they were gone before the stewardess could make a round with the drink cart.

I found South African wine at King Soopers. While I'm not entirely sure why King Soopers is selling wine, I'm not complaining (at least, not yet). I didn't find any of the labels that I was seeking, but I found one that was familiar and another that was $5. So of course, I bought them both.
It's going to be interesting to try and find the wines I want here. Hmm....however, there's a bottle from Spier that I brought back. I'm holding onto it until I feel like drinking it, but it's going to be delicious. Maybe it'll be my Christmas dinner contribution.

Fairview makes the best white rock cheese with apricots. They also make one with cranberries. I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to get packages of the cheese home alive, so I settled for trying to find some here. And I found an English white cheese with cranberries, so I bought it. However, it lacks the sweetness of the Fairview cheese and instead, tasted almost too bitter for me. I'm going to have to be creative in my cranberry cheese applications now, as I have a rather large triangle of it and no particular inclination to devour it.

Things I bought yesterday: turkey. Sliced turkey breast. I have not seen any lunch meat that's not processed in three months, so it was a pleasure to open the container and taste pure turkey with black pepper. Mozarella. I have a feeling I'll never get away from this new love of cheese. Fruit. Cabbage. V8. This is heaven, really.

The call for coffee consumes me.

...US soil

It's 6:30 am.
I've been awake for two hours.
All I really want to do is go dancing. That's weird, I think.
I've watched Sister Act on Comcast and am contemplating re-reading the 7th Harry Potter book.

It's too dark to go for a run.
It's too late to go back to sleep.
I'm too mind-boggled to try and start finishing this blog beautifully.

The trip was long. But it went smoothly. Apparently as we landed in DC, the winds were almost too much for our 767. People were throwing up in their vomit bags. I am glad I enjoy turbulence.
We almost missed our third flight (to Denver) because of the line at customs, but we ran, so it was alright.
I am so glad that Mike is my little brother. He's the best.

Quick itinerary and the like

Of course I haven't packed yet, are you mad?



Itinerary, for the interested:

Flight # 1:  
Cape Town to Joburg
departs 1:50 in the afternoon.
Duration: 2 hours

arrive Joburg at 3:50pm.
Layover.

Flight #2:
Joburg to Washington Dulles
departs: 6:55 pm
Duration: 18:05 hours (ugh)

arrive DC at 6 am (Wednesday)

Flight #3:
Dulles to Denver
departs: 8:20 am
arrives 10:35 am
Duration 4:15.

With 24 hours of flying time ahead of me and nearly 36 hours of actual travel time, I'm already prepared to be exhausted.
Pick up for the airport is before 11 tomorrow.


Will give more information about Projects Abroad debriefing and my tormented emotional state tomorrow when I buy internet at the airport, or finally manage to get it to go from my phone to my computer again.

There were tears yesterday and I anticipate more tomorrow.


Cape Town, I have loved you.

(Dis)quiet

I almost cried last night, overwhelmed and exhausted, laying in my bed staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
I didn't, though.
I've only cried once in Cape Town, and it was right in the middle/end of September when the days seemingly stretched on endlessly and I thought I'd never find my way.
Those feelings are long gone.
I used to cry a lot. It's my way of cleansing. But during the past few years I've seemed to stop doing that. Part of me wishes I could just have a good cry sometimes, followed by a hot bath and heavy sleep.
But maybe that part of me is just wishing for a hot bath and heavy sleep.

I'm ready.
There are no words to describe the feeling I have now.
I've put off leaving - I always do. There is still a large mountain of things to do spread before me, around me, and I'm not sure if I'll get to all of them before I leave.
The most important is the District Six museum. I want to buy little things, of course, little flags and stuff, but I'm warning you ahead of time that I'm not going to be bringing much home with me. When I think of Cape Town, I don't think of the mass-produced wooden spoons with carved giraffes. I think of other stuff entirely.
So, it's been decided that you'll each get something else. We'll explain it later.


Last night, there was a discussion. It was like being six all over again. I sat in the corner and tried to mind my own business while the argument occurred. There was no escape. I read the news on my phone and tried to be as engrossed as I possibly could in the North Korea situation. In the end, I had to jump in as mediator, but it was futile, just like all mediation attempts. No understanding was reached, there were tears (not mine), and all wasn't well when we all retreated to our separate bedrooms for sleep that didn't come.

Again, I'm tired. I feel it pulling at the bottoms of my eyelids, pressing into the tops of my cheeks. I'm desperate for rest. I want to pile pillows all around me and jump into a nest of blankets. I want to pull all the shades closed and sleep for a week. And I plan on it.

Applications will be made, but there's a glitch in the process at the moment. I can't apply until I have a working phone number, which might be just as well. I can have a few days to breathe before the application process begins, although there's an opening at the Colorado Blvd store that I'm quite eager to fill. Nervous energy is coursing through me.

Petty Drama in the House of Females

Tension is rising in the house at the moment.
Priscilla hates that my room is cluttered, is having dreams about mice, and will be certainly convinced that my room is the center of the flea epidemic that's hitting our house once she finds out about it.
However, I am not the epicenter of the flea problem. Margaret works in Vrygrond and there's a good chance that she's brought them home with her from work where they have begun to nest in her bed.
Or it might be bedbugs (it's a very common host family problem here). I still lack the bites that she has - this morning there were 18 new ones on her, and zero on me. I've got three left over from the weekend, and they're all in exposed places like my feet or arm, and none of those can be traced to fleas or bed bugs. I'm calling mosquitos on those.

Either way, my clutter and her bites aside, there are problems at home.
Margaret and Priscilla are the same age. Margaret is a successful, wealthy (ish) woman from the Netherlands who shows no signs of slowing down in her professional career. Priscilla is ready to retire, constantly complaining about menopause and possibly realizing her socio-economic situation more and more as Margaret has been here.

She accuses Margaret of being a snob, an accusation that I wholeheartedly disagree with. And Margaret is upset about unfairly being singled out all the time

There are food issues. I have them too. Priscilla won't buy the food that we'll eat and won't listen to our suggestions - instead, buying things she thinks we want. It's been an issue, but I long ago learned to not worry about eating breakfast at home and to just buy lunch out. It's costly, but necessary.

There are space issues. When Margaret came in, she didn't have a door to her room. We put up a blanket, just to block out the light. She wasn't overly concerned about privacy, because there's really not any anyway. So Priscilla called it the Vrygrond door in her derogatory way and we went about our business. This weekend, she had Jared, her daughter's boyfriend, put a door in. It's a nice door and Margaret said thank you. But Priscilla has been calling it "Margaret's door" and constantly referring to it. Margaret doesn't care. She's happy to have a door but at the same time, she doesn't want it to be all about her - meaning that it's Priscilla's house and if she wanted a door, then it's fine.

Then there was the bathroom painting incident. I live in a cramped, narrow, all-too-pink room and there's a small bathroom (toilet, sink, shower all within arm's reach) behind it. The bathroom is a bit moldy due to climate and lack of ventilation, and Priscilla had decided to paint it. So after asking several (seven) times, Margaret and I volunteered to paint it. I couldn't get out of work, though, so Margaret spent Friday afternoon painting the bathroom purple. Priscilla didn't say thank you, and then began criticizing the painting.

It's a hot mess, really.

So while I am going to miss both of them (equally), I'm not going miss being caught in the crossfire.

Also, as an added plus for the week, Priscilla has offered to drive me to the laundry today. I don't leave my clothes in the drawers because they (the drawers) are strangely dirty and smell of mothballs, but since when have I ever put my clothes in drawers? So they are strewn around, spilling out of suitcases, etc.
Obviously, this is a ploy to get me to pack, but it also saves me from having to haul 10 kilos of laundry a mile or so.

I'll take that.