Est-ce que c’est fini?

Is it all over?  Really?

This week marks my two-month at home mark, and I thought it might be time to post my final how-it-all-ended report.  I’ll be honest.  In my head, I would have made a surprise appearance at the Full Circle Bar some night my first weekend home, to be greeted by lots of shocked “whoooooaaahh!”s and “nooo wayyyy!”s.  But alas, thanks to the powers of the interwebs, my dramatic secret return was compromised, and news of my arrival made it to the USA before my plane even landed. But whatever – theatrics forgone, being back is half awesome, half one-major-bummer, all sprinkled with a healthy pinch of “Huh??”.  I’ll get to this later, but first, I left you all hanging after my last post.

After two excessively steamy days in Togo, two more excessively steamy days in Accra, multiples stops at the British pastry shop for sausage (PORK!) rolls and Tupney pies, two trips to the Nigerian High Commission to obtain a surprise transit visa (oops), I finally made my way through Lagos to Johannesburg.  Shame on my travel agent self for not checking the transit visa situation in advance, but thanks to the ever-watchful eye of my boss from 10,000 miles away, I was able to get it just in the nick of time.  Like, on the way to the airport.  Arriving in Lagos, I wandered over to the Ethiopian Airways desk (escorted by a Nigerian soldier), where I jubilantly learned that my next flight had been canceled.  Jubilant because out of the corner of my eye I saw a non-stop Lagos-Joburg flight that was checking in.  As expected they rebooked me on South African Airways nonstop to Johannesburg, and in the end, I arrived in sunny George 8 hours early.

George is a smallish town on the coast of South Africa, where some of the most intense and amazing scenery awaited me.  I’d seen this coastline thrice before, but finally, on my fourth trip to George, I had the opportunity to kick back and actually enjoy it.  The Myburgh family welcomed me with open arms and for a week, I became the fourth child, made all the more amusing by the fact that their youngest, Alwyn is a redheaded freckle-faced lad who looks more like my brother than anyone else’s!

With my "little brother" Alwyn at Buffles Bay

A big part of the fun of being in South Africa is Pieter, friend, colleague, one hell of a dad, but also part 12-year old boy who likes body surfing and motorcycles.  We did a fair share of body surfing (which thankfully was never photographed) and also took a full day out on the bike to see the surrounding mountains and valleys, which are s.t.u.n.n.i.n.g.

Twisty Rocks

Safety First!

Bummer.

Near the end of our trip, we stopped by Outshoorn, the famous land of Ostriches.  It’s a place most of our clients visit, so Pieter showed me around.  As it happens, I’m not the biggest fan of ostriches.

They made me ride him.

Then they made me feed them.

Soon enough it was time for the final frontier.  Lesotho – land of ponies and Greg Viola.  I flew back up to Johannesburg and rented a car, and drove to Ficksburg to meet good-0ld Greg.  Greg’s been in the Peace Corps in Lesotho since June of last year, so he’s settled in and as happy as one can be in a country that has a LOT of problems.  HIV has ravaged this small country, which is located in the dramatic Drakensberg Mountains, and is surrounded by South Africa.  It has the third-highest HIV prevalence in the world at about 23%, just behind its neighbors Swaziland and Botswana.  That, of course, only takes into account recorded cases, and in a world that largely denies the existence of the disease, one can only imagine what the realistic estimate would be.

Last month, the understandably controversial South African president, Jacob Zuma, the notorious polygamist Zulu horn-dog who famously claimed he has avoided contracting the virus by taking hot showers after sex, finally submitted to testing.  He tested negative, but has accepted that his country needs to act. Lesotho and South Africa share a common language (Sesotho), their currencies are linked, their people cross the borders pretty easily, and SA has considerable interests in Lesotho’s resources, namely water.  One can only hope the new initiatives in SA will also leak over the border into Lesotho.

Problems aside, what a beautiful place!  It’s rumored that JRR Tolkien, a  South African, took inspiration from Lesotho’s mountains to create his Middle Earth.  It doesn’t quite look like New Zealand, as Hollywood would have us believe, but it’s pretty darned spectacular, nonetheless.

Lesotho

Mordor

Greg lives in Buthe Buthe, in the Northwest corner of Lesotho.  His village is a small one, set on a hillside, sort of like The Shire?  By Guinea standards, Greg’s home is downright lovely.  With high thatch and cinderblock walls, the place stays relatively cool, even in the heat of summer.  There’s no power and no running water, but the well isn’t too far AND he has a gas stove.  He’s got a pit-latrine up the hill, which has a seat(!) and toilet paper(!) and black widows(!). He also has a pee bucket, which is used for pee only, in the night-time.

The Kitchen

The Dining Room

With the luxury of having a car, we were able to dart all over the country to visit various friends of Greg who are dotted all over the place.  We first went to a birthday party in Sefako, the farthest north one can get in the country.  It’s so close to the South African border, that while you’re driving on the pith rock roads that destroy your car, you can actually see the fence and the paved road with guard-rail on the other side.   It was the twenty-somethingth birthday for Meg, another volunteer, and in her honor, we killed two chickens and cooked it right up, along with mashed potatoes and some other stuff.

Proof that you CAN pluck and drink at the same time.

Greg, doing the good work of a lady.

Our next trip was to Mashai, via Thaba-Tseka, to visit another friend of Greg’s, Jonathan.  I forgot to take photos of Jonathan, his immaculate rondavel, his adoreable bo-me, his dog, Charlie Hansa or his unusual group of child-followers, but I assure you, it was a highlight.  It was about a 7 hour journey through some of the most exciting, terrifying passes I’ve ever seen (one could see the remants of old wrecks – decrepit combis at the bottom of 300 foot drops, etc), but we made it unscathed.  I can’t say the same for the Corolla, but it was a rental, so who gives?

I had the pleasure of meeting Lorian, Greg’s girlfriend and fellow-volunteer.  She lives in Mohale’s Hoek, reportedly the armpit of Lesotho, and had come to Buthe Buthe the night before, and we traveled together up to Mashai.

Lorian and Greg

Two nights and 12 Hansas later, it was time for the LAST NIGHT of my adventure.  We drove another 6 hours to Maseru, where we stayed with Phil, another volunteer, who had a three bedroom house with power and internet and water…  I think it was by some freak technicality that he got this amenities-packed house in the capital, but no one was complaining.  We had movie night with pizza delivery (?!) and hit the hay early.  For tomorrow would be a long day.

I hit the road at about noon for Johannesburg to catch my flights home.  I realized about an hour outside Maseru that I had Lorian’s purse in the car, so I had to drop it off at a drugstore in Ladybrand, and then I got pulled over for speeding (I paid a bribe and kept going), so by the time I arrived in Joburg, I had no time to look around.  I was going to search for the childhood home of Sash, a friend of our family, but alas, straight to the airport!

I found a flight home on Egypt Air for $400 through Cairo, which sounded almost criminal.  The flight to Cairo was about 9 hours, and the flight from Cairo to JFK was 11 hours.  After all that, I was picked up at JFK by Greg and Emily, whisked to my office for a quick kitty cuddle and a beer and a shot at Mugs, before dropping me off at LaGuardia for my FINAL final leg of the trip.  It was only a 55 minute flight, but it was the longest and most uncomfortable 55 minutes of the entire trip.  It may have been psychological, it may have been fatigue, but I’m pretty sure that it was because it was the first time in 5 months that I had to wear closed-toe shoes!

And so I survived.  My head is filled with memories and swimming with ideas.  Africa has opened my eyes to a whole other world of possibilities.  I learned so much about the world, and it gave me the unique opportunity to see life through a whole lot of different perspectives.  More importantly, I’ve learned my limits, and am pleased to report they’re a lot more reaching that I had thought.  I’ve learned about love, about patience and tolerance, about being grateful for what I have and the benefits of having an open mind.  I can now appreciate the importance of being bilingual, the ability to cope with poverty, disease and corruption, the significance of a positive attitude.  It’s left me with so much to hope for and to look forward to, and this, friends, is certainly not the last that Africa will see of me!

Here is a list of FAQs.  These are the things that everyone asks…

1) What was your favorite part?

Mali, more specifically Timbuktu, the festival and the week that followed.  It was so unique, and such a great experience being surrounded by people who made it that way.  My week with Bouba and John was amazing.  I’ve never felt so free and happy.  In fact, I hope to return to the festival again, maybe as soon as this year, so if anyone’s up for the adventure, give me a call.

2) How did you fare, health-wise?

I drank the water, ate anything that was given to me, and aside from a cold, a UTI and 2 days of dodgy stomach, the only major issue was a pretty nasty mouth infection… imagine having like 30 raw, stinging ulcers all at the same time inside your gums and lips.  It only lasted about a week.  I couldn’t eat or smile or laugh.  I only barfed once, and that was the fault of a mad taxi-driver.

3) Financially, how did you do?

I’m pretty sure that I spent as much on my trip as I’d have spent living in New York, so it seems that it was an equal trade.  Including flights, for 5 months, I spent about $10,000.

4) How’s your French?

Well, the lady at the French restaurant around the corner says it’s fine, but that I sound like an African.  Word!  I’m wondering if that is similar to someone who learns English but sounds like a Southerner or talks like Eminem or something.  I’ve worked really hard to try to speak correct French, grammatically, which is not easy in a place where it’s everyone’s second language.  Reading has helped, specifically Harry Potter and other YA stuff.

Harry Potter et la Coupe de Feu

5) How was the food?

Well – it varied.  Senegalese food is amazing.  Timbuktu food is even better.  Guinean food doesn’t consist of much.  Rice, Rice and more Rice.  And tough chicken. However, they do have TOUBA, which is an amazing coffee infused with ginger and cayenne pepper.  Say what??

Mood: Lamenting

Health: Re-Gained my freshman 15.

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