Note: I realize by the time you read this, I
will have landed, seeing as I have not internet access on the flight, meaning I
can’t post until I land. However, the urge to write hit me during the flight.
It may not be a bakkie, but there are some thoughts than only come to you
kilometers high.
Here I am. SAA Flight 075.
Namibia-to-Johannesburg. After two years, I am actually leaving Namibia. I’ve
commented on more than one occasion how beautiful Namibia is. It’s also a very
sparsely populated country. One of the smallest populations per space. I know
this. I’ve seen it from the ground. I kind of noted it flying in. Now, after
two years, as I sit in a window seat and look out at the country I’ve called
home for the last two years, it’s remarkable. I can see small villages off in
the distance. I can see long stretches of road. I can see towns. I can see farm
land. I can see hills. And, I can see how far everything is from everything
else. Now, it’s true, there are parts of the O-lands where you have towns/villages
right next to each other. But, most of Namibia is not like that. It’s
incredible to look out. No clouds right now. Sunny. Massive visibility. When
the Namibian national anthem mentions “contrasting beautiful Namibia” it is
referring to both the people and the land. From up here, the people all look
the same. The diverse landscape, however, is incredible. Yes, I am feeling a
tad sentimental. I think I’m entitled to a little of that right now. Okay,
we’re descending. Got to go.
Note: Now in Jo-burg Airport
Okay, it’s official. I have left Namibia.
Sitting in the Mugg & Bean, sipping all the coffee I can drink. I got a
couple bottles of wine at Duty Free (2 red, one white) so I can maybe do a
tasting. I was debating getting a nice bottle of scotch, but the truth is, they
may cost more, but I know where to get good bottles of scotch back home. South
African wines? Not so much (granted, I’m sure 5 minutes on Google would even
that one out).Besides, South Africa is known for its wines. They came with these
little animal things you put on your glass so you can know whose glass is
whose. Think my mom will like that gift. I also got a beautiful painted ostrich
egg and traditional style shirt, as well as an SA soccer jersey for myself.
Flying into Jo-burg was weird. Looking out at
a big city; population: more people than all of Namibia, multiple times over.
It was massive. Honestly, it blew my mind. Just imagine how the US is gonna
look. Not so spread out and all. Chatting now with a man from Mozambique about
it (and about how Namibians are frickin’ wimps when it comes to spicy and need
to learn to enjoy more kick in their food).
I guess not is as good a time as any to write
about my last night in Namibia. Shortly after writing the blog post about
leaving, I went to the Peace Corps office to drop off my guitar for Den and say
some last goodbyes. After that, I took a last trip to the braai stand outside
of that Standard Bank. Damn, I’m going to miss Namibian street meat. Honestly,
street foods might be one of my favorite parts of traveling. You learn so much
about people and a culture from the cheap eats on the streets (okay, I admit
I’ve had a couple free shots in the airport, some wine on the plane, and may
still have some of last night in my system).
I interrupt this story to announce my
chicken and avo wrap has arrived. The lady asked if I wanted any sauce for it,
and I obviously asked if they had hot sauce (for my wrap and the side of
chips). She brings me a bottle of Tabasco, 350ml. I think that must be heaven
right there. Or, at least, heaven must have them on every table. Sorry for the
sidetrack. Now, back to the non-hot-sauce-related story.
So, after getting our meat, Shayna and I went
to the Old Brewery. They no longer brew beer there, but it is filled with craft
shops. She had no idea about the upper part, so I showed her that NamCraft and
Diamond Works (so she could look for something for when her parents come). We
got some gifts, me for my friends and family I will soon be seeing, her for some
people getting married. Shayna is an interesting girl. We were joking that
she’s basically lived her life a year behind me. She joined Year Course,
working for MDA, the year after me, getting back to the US around the time I
was arriving for my summer with MDA after my freshman year. She’s a health
volunteer a year behind me. She wants to go to Tulane, my alma mater, for her
masters. I gifted her my mezuzah when I left. When Taylor found out I’m Jewish,
she spent a couple weeks trying to play matchmaker, even singing wedding songs.
Sorry, kid, not happening. But thanks for the laughs. Anyway, I got a solid
haul. I already had some makalani nut keychains and kapana spice for people, a
couple wood carved animals, some shitenges, and (for myself) a springbok horn
bottle opener. I got a second horn for my dad, some Himba bracelets
(over-priced, but I didn’t have a chance to get back to Opuwo). I got an
adorable bushman hand-knitted doll (a mouse with a little backpack). I could
lie and say I’m planning on bringing it back and giving it to one of my younger
relatives, but let’s be honest, it’s for me. It’s adorable, and it’s something
I can maybe give to my own kids, if I have any, and start telling them my
story. I got some jewelry for Amy (I had both Shayna and Alicia approve the
purchases, and they feel you’ll be satisfied).
After dropping Shayna back off at the Peace
Corps office, I returned to Chameleon Backpackers’ Lodge to gather my things.
They didn’t have any room for me that night, so I was to move to another
backpackers’ lodge, the Cardboard Box. The Box’s bar is a bit nicer and open
later. They have whiskey and they have Hansa on draught. After trying to call
the taxi driver the Chameleon people gave me, I got impatient, ran out to the
road, flagged down a taxi, told him to come around to where I was, and went
from there. About 5 minutes later, I was on the road to The Box.
After arriving, I took about an hour to go
through my bags. I tried to lighten everything as much as possible, tossing
what I could, making sure nothing in my carry-ons were illegal. I knew my bags
were overweight, but f*** it, two years’ worth of stuff was in there. When I
was done, I SMS-ed some friends and took a quick shower and nap while waiting.
Around 5:30-ish, a group of friends arrived, some for the beer, some to see me
off. Shayna, Alicia, Sachi, Oskar, and a friend of Oskar’s who was actually
staying at The Box for the night. It was my kind of night. The beer was
flowing, but it was low-key. No clubs, no terrible music; just good conversation and reflecting. We got some pizzas for dinner. Around 10 (maybe a little after), I
went to the fridge (backpackers’ places tend to have somewhat decent kitchens
and large fridges, as the cater to people trying to save money while backpacking
across a continent or country; most even let you stay in tents, rather than
your room). I came back down with what was left of the herbal liquor I’d
purchased at the Kristal Kellerei winery all those months back (about a
year-and-a-half) during my second reconnect. I poured a round of shots for my
group of friends and pretty much everyone else in the bar. We toasted me. A
little later, I took the last three shots on my own. A little after midnight,
we said our goodbyes. I’ll admit that while I actually liked everyone in the
group, Alicia, my little buddy for the last two years, since the day we met in
Philly, was the hardest. Which makes sense. She’s been an amazing friend to me.
But, she’s got an amazing third year project coming up.
This morning, I woke up, had breakfast, and
headed to the airport. There was some stress caused by someone at the lodge
having been robbed and demanding the place be locked down and everyone searched
by the police. Sorry, but I was in a rush. I finally got the airport, but
paying for my overweight bags took some time. I made it through security in
time to use the can and buy some coffee just before they called for boarding. After
taking a call from my mom, I made sure to call Taylor one last time and send
messages to Esna, Martha, and Den (the clock had run out on time for calling).
So, that’s where I am so far. Gonna finish up
one last cup of coffee, hit the head, pay my bill, and make my way to my gate.
We board in about half an hour. Next stop, Dakar (well, the tarmac; I don’t
think I leave the plane), and finally, DC, family, friends, certain comforts
I’ve been without for two years, washing machines, fast Wi-Fi, and, of course,
DC sports. So, I may add to this during those two legs, or maybe not. Anything
after I land will probably get its own post, as I begin the next chapter (think
of this post as the interlude, a short story linking books one and two, not
part of either story, but important to bridge the gap).
Note: Layover in Dakar
This is a tad weird. I’m hearing American
accents all over the place. Other than the Peace Corps trainings and
conferences, this is the first time I’ve been in a situation that seems to be
predominantly American, and for some reason it’s more striking than those PC
situations.
We’re
in Dakar. A little after midnight right now. For some reason, I’m super f***ing
wired. Haven’t had much caffeine since Joburg (or, any I can think of). Watched
a few movies/shows during the flight, listened to some music, busted out the
iPad to read. Saw the pilot episode of “The Flash”. I’m thinking that one and
“Arrow” might be my new shows this summer (any other recommended shows, those
of you who know what I like? I have taken a couple sleeping pills out so I can
pop them for the Dakar-DC leg. I think sleeping will be smart.
Every time I land and takeoff, this all gets
more real. Met a couple other Southern Africa RPCVs on the flight. Like, from
years ago. Zambia, South Africa, and I think one other, but I forget. It just
hit me that this flight is the first time I’ve had both my passports on me at
the same time. A certain someone tried to give me advice about pillows and long
flights. Looking at the passports and realizing I’ve had one since my age was
single digits, she may have seen more countries recently than I have, but I’m
no newby to international travel.
Got that Carbon Leaf song “International
Airport” running through my head right now. Not sure why lyrically, but the
title certainly fits my life at the moment. Still got about 45 minutes until
the next takeoff. At least I get to stay on the plane this time. I’ve been
through security twice so far, and I still had to have my bag hand-checked
before boarding this flight. I think America might be getting a tad paranoid,
no?
Vuvu, the wood-carved elephant who spent the
last year-and0a0half or so on my windowsill, protecting me, is in my carry-on.
For some reason, that does make me happy. Okay, time to do a Sudoku. Maybe
listen to some music. Hopefully we leave on time for this final leg. I’m ready
to be done being in transit.
Note: Over the Atlantic
They’re about to serve breakfast. Got a
little sleep. Very close to America, though not sure exactly, as the flight map
is no longer working. However, based on what they said at the start of the
flight and the estimated time of arrival from the beginning, I’m guessing about
2 hours. Not looking forward to how long security will take, and a little
nervous about my bags (I had to pay extra as they were about 5kg overweight,
total, and the woman was having issues printing my receipt. Hopefully they made
it. If I have to fight with SAA to find my clothes going both directions, I’ll
be a tad pissed. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see. No use getting worked up
about hypotheticals until they happen. Gonna finish eating and change soon. Red
Peace Corps polo (yes, Taylor, with my pin), safari hat, aviators, and jeans.
Or, as the girl who picked the outfit for me called it, “Afrikaans Dundee”.
I’ll worry about trying to readjust later, for now, I’m gonna get off the plane
being me.
Do wish this cold would’ve gone away.
Windhoek was much colder than Khorixas, and I got a little sick there. Being on
a plane, with the cycled air, not moving around much, etc., hasn’t helped.
AMERICA!!!
I made it. When I first saw the morning
lights of DC, I almost cried. I’m going to miss Namibia, but home is home, as
OAR has sung about. My luggage made it this time. It was pretty quick through
passport control and customs, and my dad was there waiting for me. Now, to head
home. Not feeling super great, exhausted, stomach feeling a bit ravaged, and
the DC humidity is killing me. Give me a couple days, and I’ll get into the re-adjustment
to life in America.