Reflections of November/December (Part 1)

Written while waiting for my flight home from Paris’ Airport!

Soweto 10K – November 6^th

The words GONE FOR A RUN are nailed to one of my bedroom walls. Below them hang the medals given to me for completing distance races. A rainbow of colored ribbons remind me of my six half marathons, two Reach the Beach relays, and my two marathon finishes. Hanging on the far left of this colorful bunch now hangs a white ribbon clinging to a medal with the engraving “Soweto 10K” – my first road race in South Africa!

As I am with most things in life, I was late to sign up for the race; therefore, I ran not as Mandy Akerley but rather as my friend Robyn Spicer who had to back out at the last minute. The race ran as a 6-mile course and a marathon course – I played it safe and stuck with the 6 miles! J Thankfully, this course was a much flatter route than those I typically run back in my area of JoBurg. I crossed the finish line with a time of about 51 minutes, which I was quite pleased with given the altitude and difficulty I have been experiencing running in Johannesburg. I could have finished in two hours and still been happy – I had completed my first race in South Africa – first of many I intend to run while living here.

It was exciting to be back on the road running an organized event. The only snag in the event was my inability to open the “bag of water” that was given along the route – apparently you are supposed to use your teeth!  I experienced the same camaraderie on the South African roads that I have always enjoyed back home. Although I was disappointed the course did not take us through the notable township of Soweto, I found it an interesting cultural experience to run alongside people from all over the world. Most of the conversations being had around me were in languages I couldn’t understand. But, that didn’t matter because all I needed was to see their feet (many times bare) pounding the pavement to motivate me to keep moving.

A TIME TO BE THANKFUL – November 20^th

I can remember watching an old episode of Felicity on TV when I was in college. The main character and her new friends at NYU had all gathered together for a potluck Thanksgiving dinner because none of them were able to travel home for the holiday. The idea of not being home for a holiday was as foreign to me then as the French language being spoken around me here in the Paris airport is now. “I’ll never not be home for Thanksgiving!” I recall thinking. 

Well, fast-forward many years and where do I find myself but in South Africa at Thanksgiving – unable to make it home. This holiday would be my first celebrated away from home. I smiled at myself as I began relating with the fictional character, Felicity. Missing this holiday was sad and a reality check about my new life. Decisions that sent me 8,000 miles away to an exciting new life were also going to carry with them times of disappointment for all that I would miss back home.

Luckily, I was not alone. Once again, in the same way as Felicity and her fictional college buddies gathered to celebrate Thanksgiving, I assembled with some of my new friends and joined in a potluck feast to celebrate the American holiday we were all missing. Nearly twenty of us, all Americans, including my principal and his wife, sat at a beautifully decorated table at Ann and Charley’s house. We raised our glasses of South African wine and toasted to the American holiday that connected all of us so far from home. I wanted nothing more than to be diving into a plate of my mother’s turkey dinner, but as I passed the mashed potatoes to a friend who had been a complete stranger only 4 months prior, I smiled – a grateful smile. 

Homeward Bound

The plane wobbled and bobbed, dropped, and swayed in ways no human being should ever have to experience. All the excitement of going home drained from my body like the color did from my face. My Air France flight to Paris, the first of two flights that are taking me home, was wonderful as I slept but miserable as we descended.

All around me, passengers clung to airsick bags like these pieces of paper may perhaps erase the misery of motion sickness. I sat planning my escape to the bathroom (no way was I going to get sick into a bag!) when it dawned on me that getting sick in a turbulent airplane bathroom might not be any better than into a paper bag. I resigned myself to the reality that this rectangular shaped bag might be all that was in the cards for me, and reached in the pocket in front of me to fetch it. Unfortunately, it was not there. My legs started tingling, and I knew I’d join the airsick club if we didn’t land immediately. Either that, or I might pass out – a seemingly worse predicament.

“Do you have an airsick bag?” I sheepishly asked the man next to me. As he handed it to me, I assured him, “I will do everything in my power not to use this right here!”

After one failed attempt to land and the threat of a diversion to another airport, our pilots finally managed to touch down nearly 12 hours after taking off from Jo’Burg. I was so relieved to be on the ground (with my bag still empty) that I patted the shoulder of the stranger next to me, “Thank God!” Still clutching the white paper bag (just incase) I disembarked from the plane grateful for solid ground!

A friend of mine recently emailed me with a subject line, “BUSY?” Reflecting on the last month of my life in JoBurg, I guess busy is an accurate description! Although I am disappointed in my lack of posting, I am excited at what that means: I have a good life in JoBurg! When I accepted this position, I declared immediately that I would be coming home for Christmas. At the time, I imagined a very homesick “me” who would need a trip home to refill my “homesick bank.” As I boarded the plane last night, I said to my friend Ryan who was travelling on the same flight, “I want to go home – I’m so excited to go home – but I don’t NEED to go home.” 

I am not the “me” that I had envisioned back almost a year ago. I am a “me” who loves and needs my family and friends back home and is over the moon at the thought of seeing them all again, but I am a new “me” who is happy with my decision to move and is enjoying all that fills my cup back in JoBurg. How lucky am I to have what I do and to be experiencing what I am and to be supported every step of the way by the people whom I will embrace for the first time in 5 months - in less than 12 hours!

So, here I sit at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris, France. I am now one hour behind JoBurg and six hours ahead of Home. My next flight - my chariot home - isn’t for another three hours, so I am inclined to use this time to catch up on all that I has happened since my last post at the end of November. I will do my best to keep it short! J read on...

African Umoja and Stupid Taxi Drivers

Everyone needs a Chelsea in their life! She is the master of making a plan and organizing all the pieces to ensure it happens! Last night, she organized for Beth and me to join her at the Victory Theater near downtown Johannesburg to watch a show called African Umoja - traditional song and dance of African culture. I'll admit, I was initially skeptical - anticipating some version of a third rate production. However, when the cast bowed after the finale, I sat wishing the show would go on!

Chelsea, per usual, found a gem! This nearly 2.5 hour performance was filled with incredible music and sensational dancing. The drums were powerful, the voices gave me goosebumps, and the dancing kept a smile of amazement on my face the whole night. Standing on the stage at the start of the show was an African man, probably in his late 60's, who began to tell the story of how music has played a role in African culture. The cast transformed in proportion to the changing times portrayed in the show. They began as topless women draped in beads and topless men dressed in furs and leather pounding on drums. Their costumes, music, and dance changed as they traveled through the apartheid era, swing, gangster styles, gospel, and returning full circle to their roots. I sat there in my squishy, Victory Theater seat, amazed by their talent, moved by the importance of music, and grateful for the experience.

That was the good part of the evening. Let me rewind a few hours to the bad part....

Downtown JoBurg is not an area we choose to explore very often, in fact, not really at all. Most locals will ask you, "Why would you want to go there?" Luckily, our evening plans placed us just on the outskirts of downtown, but not so far away that the blood wasn't pumping as we drove my little Jetta down the lively streets. Thanks to the preparedness of Chelsea, we had back-up directions to rely on when the trusty ol' TomTom told us we had reached our destination as we pulled into the parking lot of an apartment building.

"There's the BP!" Beth shared, confirming we were headed in the right direction. In about two minutes, the Victory Theater was in view off to our left. The problem was that I was driving in the inside lane. Flipping on my turn signal, I slowed down in my lane and prepared to turn left. In my rearview mirror I could see a red and orange taxi quickly approaching in the lane next to me. I hesitated to make my turn but noticed the taxi appeared to slow down for me. Naturally, I began to take my turn; however I quickly corrected myself because the taxi was not actually slowing down. One thing led to another and our vehicles made contact.

Perhaps I should explain South African taxis to you before going any further. Very simply put, taxis are not to be messed with! They are about the size of conversion vans and always look as though they've been through hell. The reason is because the drivers of these taxis have no regard for any other motorist on the road. Though I don't know the accurate statistic, I would assume that taxis make up probably 75% of all accidents in South Africa! When someone tried to cut me off in the States, I played chicken with that vehicle until they backed off or at least got the impression they couldn't mess with me. Here - there is no game of chicken. Here, you back off! Taxis are not to be messed with.

Thankfully, this taxi was not moving with much speed (at all) at the moment his vehicle struck mine, so the damage to my car is no more than a decent dent and some deep scratches and thankfully none of us were hurt at all. The part of the incident that was difficult to deal with was not the accident itself, but rather the reaction of the driver. As I pulled my car over to the side of the lane and threw on my hazards, the irrate driver abandoned his taxi in the middle of the lane and stalked over to my car screaming at us. A passerby, watching the whole incident, said, "Ooooh. He's gonna kill YOU!" Back home you'd just shrug off a comment like that; however, in S.Africa - you just never know.

Chelsea and Beth got of of the car to inspect the damage.  The heavyset man, about six feet tall, bounded over to us shouting that we needed to fix his car. "Sorry, but we don't know how to fix cars!" Beth responded matter of factly. The angry man continued to yell demanding that "the driver" come to his car and look. Although I was addressing him, he continue to yell at Beth and Chelsea. Upon my refusal to get out of my car and leave it in the middle of the lane, he threatened to call the police. I told him to go ahead and we'd figure things out. He didn't like that answer, "Get out of your car and come back here to look."

When it was glaringly obvious we were not going to get anywhere with this man, Chelsea and Beth got back in the car, and we told the man we were moving the car to a safer place before we discussed the accident. I pulled out into my lane and we manuevered our way back to the parking area for the Victory Theater. The taxi driver was gone.

No one was hurt, and the car was still completely drivable. Overall, my first accident in South Africa was not anything to write home about (despite the fact that writing about it is exactly what I'm doing). Clearly, the man knew the accident was his fault and reacted the way he did because he saw three American women he thought he could fool. Little did he know, he picked the wrong three women to mess with! :)
 (I sound so brave and wise, but I'll let you in on a little secret: not one of us had our witts about us to take down his license plate number! OOOPS!)

Turning 30

November 10, 2011 = 30 years old!

When I accepted this job, along with excitement, many disappointments flooded my mind. I wouldn't be around to witness the leaves transform. I wouldn't be home to see Lori start her internship. Katie Blair wouldn't bring me Starbucks on Friday mornings. I wouldn't be able to stop over to see Gram just because I felt like it. And perhaps the most disappointing realization that occupied my mind - I would turn 30 (the big 3 - 0!) without my other half. To make matters worse, this would be our first birthday in our whole life spent apart. This wasn't enough to make me decline the opportunity in South Africa, but it did put a frown on my face. In that moment, I began to imagine a subpar birthday, void of genuine celebration; afterall, my family and friends wouldn't be with me, and I'd be standing alone as I blew out my candles.

When 12 o'clock struck signifying the beginning of November 10th, my cell phone beeped. It was Chelsea - wishing me a very happy birthday! When I woke up the next morning, my wall on Facebook had already been added to with messages of celebration from both my American friends back home and my new friends here in South Africa.  Arriving at school, I was met by a mother of one of my students holding a large boquet of flowers and a sign plastered to my door (made by my good friend Beth). During Morning Meeting, my classroom door opened and in streamed Ms. Smith and the entire group of fourth grade students singing HAPPY BIRTHDAY. After a rousing chant of, "Are you 1, Are you 2, Are you 3..." all the way to 30, Ms. Jackson and Ms. Gina (my other teammates) marched in carrying a tray of 30 cupcakes all sparkling with trick candles.

Later that afternoon, the fifth grader who I tutor handed me a sandstone figurine from Kenya. "It is supposed to be a mother and child, but I think of it as a teacher and student!" she said as I opened her present. Inside her card she wrote, "You make math fun! You are the best teacher ever!" Following my afternoon with her, I joined Chelsea and about 18 other friends at a restaurant in town. Everyone was there to celebrate my birthday. Although I sat alone in front of the candle, my new friends made sure to remember this day was not just mine: "...Happy Birthday dear Mandy (AND LORI)! Happy Birthday to you!"

The night continued when we returned home to Chelsea's apartment. Chelsea, in her extreme thoughtfulness, had secretly collected my mother's recipe for the eggless chocolate cake we have every year on our birthday, and with great success had baked a replica! BUT, she didn't stop there. Knowing how important it was that Lori be "with" me on this day in whatever way she could be, Chelsea had printed out a picture of Lori's head and held it over her own face declaring, "Look who came! Lori's here!" My heart swelled.

It was just over nine months ago that I accepted this job - this opportunity to change my life. At the time, I was focused on what I would miss while I was away from home. As I write this, at the ripe age of 30, I can now feel the sadness of missing my family, friends, and comforts of home, but I can also see the incredible new family (Chelsea), friends and comforts I have found here in South Africa.
When I laid my thirty year old head down on my pillow, I marvelled at all the love and friendship I had been surrounded by on my birthday - and all after only three months.

While it was unfortunate that Lori and I had to spend our first birthday apart, it is exciting to think we did so in such incredible ways:

I turned 30 in South Africa

and

Lori turned 30 on a cruise ship 4 days after she got engaged!

Life is good.

The Amazing Race - skydiving and wine tasting

Day #3

I was driving along Route 16 with my windows wide open. Singing along with my radio distracted me long enough to forget the check that was loosely tucked up in my visor. As I approached the exit for the mall, with the speed of a “foot in mouth” comment you wish you could take back, that check shot out of the window with the wind and sailed away among the cars behind me! There was nothing I could do in that moment – I felt hopeless (and broke!).

Fast-forward many years to the skies over Cape Town, South Africa. A small, single prop plane flew nearly 9,000 feet in the cloudless sky. The plane lacked elite status, with strips of duct tape scattered about and a piece of heavy white cardboard nailed to the side opposite the door. This door, absent of any locking mechanism, rolled open and closed and constituted nearly the entire right side of the plane. “The air is a bit warmer today,” one of the men declared as he put his hand up to a gap in the metal of the ceiling.

Packed inside were six people and a pilot. Alan Chelsea and I paired with our life-saving partners composed the entire passenger list as we journeyed to 9,000ft prepared to jump into the South African air. Tucked into the front right corner of the plane was Alan’s tandem partner, with Alan sitting close in front. To their right sat my tandem partner, Jason. He looked remarkably similar to Hugh Grant’s roommate in the movie Notting Hill, but I didn’t care as long as he knew how to pull open our shute! In front of Jason, between his outstretched legs sat me, with one arm wrapped around my legs and the other gripping Chelsea’s hand. She sat next to me, pressed up against the “not so safe” door. Her tandem partner Beu, sat opposite her, periodically checking his altimeter watch. Finally, “Ok, let’s get ready!”

Let the record show that up until this point, I was ok. I was anxious and quietly terrified, but I was composed. It had all happened so fast: got out of the car, signed my life away, strapped on a harness that would hopefully keep me alive, walked to a plane that defied all logic, climbed in without so much as a second thought, and silently panicked momentarily as the plane climbed off the runway. Squeezing Chelsea’s hand, the reality had not fully sunken in yet. When Beu announced we had reached our altitude, and Chelsea began to turn her body around to be strapped to her soon to be hero, reality came rushing in like cold to your nerves. As I scooted onto Jason lap so I could be secured, I instantly began to panic. The fear increased exponentially as soon as Beu rolled open the door and moved toward the opening where the door had been seconds before. Gripping Jason’s thighs I began to declare, “I can’t do this! I can’t do this!” Even though I was not going to ask to stay in the plane or have it turn around and land, there was still that little bit of "escape" left right up until that moment when Beu announced it was time. In that second, it was official, there was no turning back.

In the same way it is nearly impossible to avert your eyes from a car wreck, I struggled to look away as Chelsea dangled over the edge of the plane on her guide’s lap. Suddenly, like the check that flew out of my car window so many years ago, Chelsea was gone! She had disappeared into the sky, and I was next.  As the insane reality of what just happened struck me in the gut, a split second passed in silence. Then, with increased despair, I began to cry (only a little!) and panic; however, despite it all, I miraculously remembered every direction previously given to me. I tucked my feet under the plane, tilted my head back into Jason’s neck, and prayed to God!

Whooosh! Just like that…I was gone!

For what felt like minutes, I shot through the blue sky, face to the ground, with the air deafening me. I forced my arms out to my side like a bird and willed my eyes open long enough to see table mountain, the waters of False Bay, and the brown and greens of the landscape below. Jason tapped my shoulder, he pulled the cord, and our bodies reversed direction. The roar of the wind silenced as if turned off by a switch. The free fall ended. There I hung on the front of a man named Jason floating thousands of feet above Cape Town in awe of the scenery that lay below me. In disbelief that the girl who has feared heights for as long as I can remember just dropped out of the sky willingly! I smiled with appreciation for life and pride for me!

What better way to top skydiving than with a glass of wine…in fact-several glasses! Our morning was spent falling from an airplane and our afternoon would be spent touring the wineries in the heart of Stellenbosch – part of the Cape Winelands of South Africa. We spent several hours driving from one vineyard to the next sampling some of the finest wines in all of SA. The six hours we spent sitting back, relaxing, and sipping reds and whites was the icing on the cake that was our day. Green fields striped with grape vines were nestled below the Helderberg Mountains and provided some of the most incredible scenery I’ve ever seen. Many times during this day I found myself feeling the kind of contentment that declares, “I could stay like this forever.” 

Cheers!

Life is too short to drink cheap wine...

THE AMAZING RACE - Table Mountain

Day #2

The paint was a deep red. African art dressed the walls. A twin bed rested in the right corner of the cozy room and parallel to it on the left was a set of bunk beds. A modest bathroom was across the room from the beds. Tucked into each of the twin beds, with drool on their pillows, were three travelers ready to rise and continue the race… “Munna Munna, Mah Munna Mah!” Alan’s robot alarm blared and we were off!

Breakfast sandwiches and three coffees in our stomachs; waters, cameras, extra layers, and snacks (to satisfy my continuous hunger) stashed in our bags; and we were trudging up the hill to the base of Table Mountain. This 3,500 foot mountain provides a stunning backdrop to Cape Town. It overlooks the city and Table Bay and its plateau summit stretches for nearly 2 miles from side to side. Table Mountain was our Day 2 Adventure.

A text from dad that morning said, “I think I’d take the Cable Car.” Sharing this with Chelsea and Alan I commented, “My parents could do this! When they come, I’m making them hike!” Twenty minutes into our ascent up the rocky stairway that was the Platteklip Gorge I uttered these words: “My parents should take the Cable Car!”

The trail was set with rocks – small and large – that required a constant stair stepping motion tough enough to make my butt and quads wish I had taken the cable car as well!

Looking out from our place on the trail, we could see Chapman’s Peak nestled between Table Mountain and the Atlantic Ocean, the city of Cape Town stretching forever until it touched the water’s edge at the V&A Waterfront, and to our right - Devil’s Peak thrusting its rocky top towards the sky. For the second day in a row, our senses were stimulated in every way possible. The air was warm, the view was breathtaking, and the adrenaline was coursing.

After about two and half hours we reached the summit. Adding another layer, we walked around the top taking in every inch of the blue water, black and gray sandstone, and miniature buildings spread across the floor of the valley below. In the distance – plunked in the middle of the ocean – was Robben Island. This island was home to the prison where Nelson Mandela spent 18 years of his prison sentence. Cruising up to the top of Table Mountain along a narrow wire was the iconic Cable Car – or what we referred to in exhaustion as the “lazy man’s way to the top.” As the clouds rolled in covering “the table,” the temperature dropped and our stay at the top needed to end quickly! After an emergency trip to the bathroom (I hate my stomach!) and a tasty cup of hot chocolate, we began the trek down the mountain on shaky legs.

We made it to the bottom in far less time and with much less stops along the way. Turning around and looking back at our accomplishment filled us with pride. As we walked past the queue of tourists awaiting their turn in the cable car, all the sweat, tired muscles, and shivers at the top felt increasingly more worth it. Table Mountain was ours for the day – a borrowed vista upon which we stood and felt wonderfully insignificant compared to the wonders that Cape Town spread before us. 

THE AMAZING RACE BEGINS

October 15^th – October 21^st

God created the universe in 6 days. 

God has nothin' on Alan, Chelsea and me!

Day #1:

*Picked Alan up at Johannesburg International Airport – brimming with excitement as we waited. The instant he walked through the doors I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face – HOME had arrived in JoBurg! The reunion couldn’t last long – we had to gather up Alan and his bags and scramble off to Lanseria International Airport (about 30 minutes away) to catch our 12:45pm flight to Cape Town.

*Checked into Lanseria. With our footwear still on and not so much as a second glance from any guard, we crossed through security. We sat for 45 minutes before exiting the airport terminal, crossing the tarmac and boarding the bright orange plane destined to transport us two hours south to Cape Town.

*After Alan’s third plane ride in 24 hours, we stuffed our suitcases into the tiny trunk of our rented Hyundai and set the GPS for Boulders Beach. Alan’s confusion with the left side of the road continued as he stifled his warnings to “get back on the right side of the road!” The scenery, completely opposite of the landscape of Johannesburg, triggered many Oos and Ahs as we traveled along the coast. One stop to see a whale playing in the harbor, and we were finally at Boulders Beach and the African Penguin Colony. The little tuxedo wearing birds were scattered along a boardwalk. They were hidden among the bushes, squeaking like Teq’s dog toys, and laying in the sand oblivious to the tourists’ eyes. With our toes in the sand, we gazed out across False Bay and admired the beauty of the mountains, boulders, and Atlantic Ocean.

*The sun began to lower in the sky. It was time to find our B&B (The House on the Hill) and we did so by way of a scenic drive called Chapman’s Peak Drive. It’s reputation for being a gorgeous span of road along the coast was completely accurate. Shades of pink, red, and orange brushed the sky, stopping at the horizon where the deep, sparkling blue water continued to color the image in our eyes. The setting sun illuminated the mountains and ledges that we drove along causing them to almost glow. It was one of those moments in time you never want to end - visually stimulating on every level. 

ALAN IS COMING!!

October 11, 2011

With tears in my eyes, excitement somewhere inside, and fear in my head I climbed the stairs at Liz’s place emerging from the basement where the rest of the crew continued watching the Super Bowl game. Alan had just arrived and it was time to see him in person after sharing my news – I would be moving to South Africa to teach! “I’m so scared Alan!” I admitted as the salt water spilled over onto my cheeks. His response instantly warmed me, “What? Are you kidding! I’m so excited! I’ve always wanted to go to South Africa!” The excitement spread across his face like a child on Christmas morning and began to reassure me. In that moment, I knew I would have at least one visitor during my two year stay. Eight months later – here he comes!

In four days I will find my way to the Johannesburg Airport and stand near the baggage claim awaiting my great friend, my running buddy, my first American visitor - Alan. In all of my life I have never lived in a place no one else has been to before and had visitors. Seeing Alan walking towards me – a piece of home in a land so far away – is sure to be nothing less than amazing!

(His arrival marks the beginning of our spring break from school. Immediately following Johannesburg Airport, Chelsea, Alan, and I will scoot over to a smaller airport where we will take off for our visit to Cape Town. Whales, penguins, Table Mountain, vineyards, shark cages, and possibly skydiving are on the agenda…stay tuned for new posts! ) 

Hitting the Roads

October 10, 2011

“I’ll never run a 10K.”

“I’ll never run a half marathon.”

“I’ll never run a full marathon.”

Over the past several years I uttered these phrases as I proudly stood on the side of the road watching Lori reach each running milestone. Be it twin competitiveness or motivation from my beautiful other half, I have successfully proved myself wrong. I have run many 10Ks, completed five half marathons, and in a year and a half trained for and ran two full marathons. Thanks to the example my favorite person in the world set for me, I have become a genuine runner.

Turning left onto William Nichol Drive at 6:45 in the morning (Monday – Friday) is like driving the wrong way in a road race. To my right (remember: I drive on the left side of the road here) sits a solid line of traffic that stretches for what seems like miles, resembling a line of ants travelling back to their nest.  Flashing by my window on the left are walkers and runners. Different than a road race, these “competitors” are not wearing a bib or after a medal. Instead, they are dressed for work – long pants, skirts, jumpsuits, etc. Every morning it takes me by surprise.

I am nearly certain that most of these men and women are residents of a local township Diepsloot. Known as one of the more dangerous townships, Diepsloot begins about 4 miles down William Nichol from where I turn left to head to school. Although its reputation is one that certainly discourages anyone from traveling through the township while the sun is sleeping – “You don’t ever go through here at night!” we were told – these people who trod along the side of the road each and every morning are not scary.

I do not lock my doors as I drive by. I leave my windows cracked open without fear that someone will smash them. In fact, I actually find myself smiling when I spot the black man with shoulder length dreads who runs with a drawstring bag on his back with the strings cinched in front of his chest – presumably containing all he needs for the day. Sitting in my car, listening to the radio and sipping my iced coffee, I hope to catch sight of the older black man who runs with his florescent yellow shirt and light colored hat. He must be nearly sixty - if not older. I wonder as I pass him by, how many years has he been running to work?

It’s hard, at the end of the day, to make excuses for not going out for a run after seeing the same men and women trudging up the massive hills as they return from a full day’s work. Although I am not prepared to run any half or full marathons in the very near future, I have found myself remaining dedicated to the sport. Despite the effects of altitude and the insane amount of hills, I am managing to remain consistent with my running. At the risk of future embarrassment should I not follow through, I have set a goal for my second year here in Africa: to run the Two Oceans Ultra Marathon. In order to complete the 35 miles, I will need to continue conquering the elevation and overwhelming amount of hills Johannesburg has thrown in my path. I suspect that the more I bear witness to the dedication of these Diepsloot residents, I will be able to say:

“I will run 60Ks.” 

Weekend in the Bush

September 23 – 25

Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy my job, thrive in a learning environment, love interacting with my students, and feel good at the end of the day for the difference I have made. However, tell me I have a long weekend, and I will never complain! Thanks to the South African holiday Heritage Day, we were granted just that – an early release on Thursday and no school on Friday. PERFECT! 

After a three and a half hour drive, culminating with nearly 30 miles of dirt road driving, I cruised my dirty white Jetta through the gate at Madikwe Game Reserve. Beware! You have now entered Big 5 Country – the brown and yellow sign signaled the beginning of what we hoped would be a successful game viewing experience. About 10 minutes past the gate, we came across a watering hole on the side of the road. The surreal beauty of lanky giraffes, skittish impalas, and a few passive zebras surrounded us on both sides. Immediately the cameras started snapping. As the driver I was limited to my cell phone camera – why hadn’t I remembered to take my camera out of my bag?! Inside the car we remarked on the incredible reality that was our life in that moment – our innocent intrusion into the life of these gorgeous animals. Outside the car, the giraffe looked at us as if we were flies – nuisances they wished would disappear – but not dangerous enough to flee from faster than a casual stroll. The zebra barely looked up from their meal of parched grass.

Sixteen of us travelled the distance from Jo’Burg to Madikwe, which resides near the border of Botswana.  Separated in five cars, we began as a train of four, with one couple set to meet us at the park. What began as a cohesive unit quickly broke into two smaller groups as our leader, Kaitlyn, took a wrong turn! The four of us in my little Jetta stuck like glue to Sandy and Fred in their massive SUV. Marcus in his little Pugeot remained with Kaitlyn and Kurt. Thankfully, GPSs are a wonderful invention, and we all managed to reconvene at the Park Administration car park with enough time to enjoy a cold beer. Our excitement grew with the possibilities the weekend dangled in front of us as we looked at the dusty dirt roads, blowing grass the color of a lion’s mane, and the acres of bush that camouflaged nearly all of Africa’s amazing creatures. 

When all were accounted for, we put away our car keys, threw our bags into the back of an empty safari jeep, and climbed into the two other jeeps that were waiting to take us to the center of the game park – our home for the next two nights.

Mosetlha Bush Camp was an adorable camp nestled in the middle of the entire game reserve. With only two wires strung around it’s perimeter about eight feet from the ground, the camp was completely vulnerable to the African bush and all it’s inhabitants – from puff adders to spiders, elephants to giraffe. “But what about the lions – can’t they come into camp?” a friend asked. “Yup.” came in response. In fact, come to find out, the second night, while we all slept soundly, a male leopard entered and explored our camp. Had he wanted to, any one of us could have been his midnight snack. It was an uneasy, yet incredibly thrilling experience to be so exposed. As we entered camp, we were given a tour of the amenities, which despite the lack of electricity and running water, were actually quite nice. The “dining room” boasted an enormous, beautiful wooden table. It easily sat all sixteen of us with a little room to spare. We all split into pairs to share sleeping quarters. My significant other, AKA Chelsea, and I bunked together for the weekend. The cabins were cozy. Twin beds, a single table, two lanterns, and a three walls. The front and back walls were only half walls – allowing for exposure to the outdoors. Despite our susceptibility, the thing I feared most was not the lions, but rather the possibility of spiders and snakes sneaking in the nooks and crannies of our humble abode.

Although I remained pretty grimy all weekend, there were shower fascilities in camp. They consisted of a fenced off area complete with a shower stall, as well as a bathroom (a raised hole in the ground with a toilet seat on top). The shower was a steel bucket rigged to a pulley system, with a spout built into the bottom. If you desired to shower, you first must fill a bucket with water, pass it through the donkey boiler (real name!) to heat it, and then carry it to the shower stall. Next, you would pour the water into the steel bucket and then control the output with a lever attached to the spout. Quite frankly, I regret that I cannot say I experienced this.

At 4:00pm we gathered our layers (the nights get chilly), cameras, hopes and scrambled into the two Land Rover Jeeps, eight in each, ready for our first of four game drives. My guide’s name was Johnny – without so much as a smile, he placed his shotgun into its place on the dashboard, started up the jeep, and away we went.  Immediately, we were met with the chatter of the radio – filled with mentions of animal sightings (mostly spoken in Afrikaans). It felt as though we were on a mission – a level of intensity settled on our jeep – but in a way that made our hearts race and smiles increase with excitement for what was possible. Suddenly, Johnny stopped the jeep and hopped out. Where was he going?! He bent down and pointed to a fresh paw print in the dirt – lions! In that large paw print, possibility grew!

 

The other jeep had pulled off onto the side of a trail we were on. Johnny, clearly establishing himself as the more take charge of the two guides, pulled off the trail as well, but continued to drive through the bush a ways until he stopped and pointed. Ahead, hidden slightly behind the trees, but in clear enough view, were three or four Cape Buffalo. Again, they stared back at us with our flashing cameras and excited whispers, as if we were pesky, uninvited guests. In the way a woman might flip her hair and turn away, the buffalo took one last look at us and then meandered on their way – out of sight. Now, all I need to see to complete my Big 5 sightings was a lion. Game on!

The writer in me could sit here and recount every moment of that first and the next three game drives; however, my words could never do justice to the sights, sounds, and rushes of emotion I experienced. In the same way the photographer in me exerted so much energy to capture the perfect shots, every ounce of me wants to make you feel the emotions of my life this weekend: the pristine beauty of grazing zebra, the quirky habits of a warthog, the unique sounds of 30 elephant splashing and playing at a watering hole while the sun sets behind them. Mostly, I wish for you to comprehend how grateful I am to have these opportunities to exist side by side with the animals of Africa – the animals I once saw in National Geographic and dreamed (but dismissed the possibility) of connecting with in their natural habitat.

Hearing the snort of a rhino as he sleeps cuddled up next to his mate, the rustle of the grass as a wild dog shifts its weight, the trumpet of an elephant as she threatens to charge our jeep for disturbing her family in the middle of their evening stroll, or the menacing growl of two lions as they warn off a hyena who is about to steal their fresh kill under the cover of darkness reminded me how beautiful life is.

Our final game drive began with loads of hope. After the successful sighting of lions and angry elephants the night before, we all desired a finale of Independence Day proportions. The sun was rising in a cloudless sky, the chill of the morning hung in the air, and we all were huddled in our jeeps wrapped in blankets with cameras ready. Johnny, unfortunately still lacking a personality, spotted fresh lion tracks immediately. We were on the hunt. Four hours later – we completed the hunt without a single sighting of lions. It was difficult not to be weighted down with disappointment; however, I worked hard to see the day for what it was: a new kind of game experience – tracking! For those of you who have seen the TV show LOST, I felt like John Locke! In an attempt to remain positive, I look back on that failure of a game drive as a chance to say I have tracked lions!

Many times as I was sitting on the raised seats in the back of the green Land Rover with nothing but air between me and the splendors of the Bush, I found myself asking you all back home: “So what did you do this weekend?” In response to no one, I would say: “Oh nice. Me? I camped with the wilds of Africa.” 

Night Safari - tracking lions!

I've learned that anyone who goes on a safari hopes to catch sight of some lions. Watching lions under the cover of darkness, as they chase off a hyena in it attempt to steal their fresh kill, now that is what I call a lucky moment! Here is a video of just what we saw as my new friends and I waited, in the dark, on the outskirts of a thicket of trees at Madikwe Game Park. Johnny, our driver, had tracked three lions and brought us, just as the sun sank below the horizon, to the spot where they had dragged and partially eaten a wildebeest. My heart raced, and I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face as we witnessed this moment, sitting less than a hundred feet away in an open jeep...

(beware: the quality of this movie is not even close to oscar worthy, but it is pretty exciting!) 

International Food Festival

September 16, 2011

I don’t like seafood, I am not a huge fan of cheese, I’ll send back anything with mayonnaise or ranch dressing, forget about cream cheese or sour cream, and if it is pink inside – it better go back on the grill. I’m a picky eater. Everyone knows it and tries to encourage it out of me. I must say, despite the lack of credit given to me, I have made great advances in the world of culinary taste testing over the last couple of years. All this growth I have made was matched and exceeded at the International Food Festival today. The empty plate given to me as I entered the gymnasium was piled high with samplings of food from at least a dozen countries! If I do say so myself, in regard to growing less picky, I succeeded with flying colors!

In conjunction with the Parade of Nations, families from almost all 83 countries prepared traditional dishes for the AISJ International Food Festival. Spread across the entire gymnasium, tables were culturally decorated and topped with side dishes, main course, and deserts. It was incredible – the smells were divine, the options endless, and the plates weighted with more food than any one person EVER needs to eat: German chocolate cake, American turkey and chocolate chip cookies, Belgium waffles, Japanese sushi, South African milk tarts and biltong, Mexican tortillas and salsa, Indian samoosas, English scones, Hungarian sausages, Pakistani curried stew, Israeli falafels and hummus, Swedish meatballs, and so much more. Table after table of international cuisine that tempted and satisfied even the pickiest of eaters!

Following the smorgasbord, walking back to my class, I contemplated rolling down the hill because it would be easier than carrying my weighted load. Only two other times in my life am I ever that full: Thanksgiving and Christmas. The only thing that would make this Food Festival better would be if it repeated itself weekly!  

Parade of Nations

September 16, 2011

Walking down the hall towards my classroom this morning, I was greeted with the sound of good ol’ country music blaring from Sam’s iPod player in her classroom next door. With a big smile on my face and a feeling of home, I danced into her room belting out the lyrics! We both started dancing, and her “early to arrive” student stared at us like we were nuts! Dressed in cowboy boots and I in my red,white, and blue – we continued to dance like proud Americans!

Today was AISJ’s Parade of Nations – a day where students and staff were encouraged to dress in traditional clothing from their home nations. At 9:30, gathered on the field, we would parade as nations to celebrate our diversity. I layered up in my red, white, and blue and wrapped the American flag my brother gave me – which flew from his tank in Iraq – around my waist! The kids called me Captain America!

After leaving Sam’s classroom and our country line dance, I entered my classroom and immediately began playing Lee Greenwood’s PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN. Singing as my students entered the room; I couldn’t help but smile and truly feel proud to be an American. Hope was first to enter the room. She was dressed in her traditional Japanese gown – complete with a large blue ribbon tied tightly around her waist and bowed in the back. She looked beautiful. Laughing at me as I was singing, “and I proudly stand up next to you and defend her still today…” Hope began to respond to the morning message.

One by one, my students filtered into the room dressed in their countries’ colors and traditional dress; each wearing a smile that suggested excitement and pride. In those moments and for the remainder of the day, I felt beautifully overwhelmed by the “world” around me. In one way, I felt so small – a tiny part of something so powerful, and in another way, I felt larger than life to be representing a country I am so proud to call home in another country that has welcomed me and so many other outsiders.

Down on the field, our entire student body (pre-k to seniors) was separated in groups along the perimeter of a large square – facing a gathered crowd of parents and community members who mirrored the colors and faces of those students about ready to parade. As I scanned the crowd of little and big alike, all I saw was a sea of diversity. Flags from 83 countries fluttered in the wind, smiles from 83 countries sat waiting their turn to march. In one corner, the red, yellow, green, and black of South Africa stood – neighbors with the red, white, and blue of the United States of America. Some areas were filled by large groups of students, who until now had never met; while others were filled with a single representative standing tall, flag in hand.

Dr. Andy Page-Smith, AISJ’s director, began the ceremonies with the announcement that this year’s parade would be the school’s largest, representing 83 nations. Following his welcome, the elementary school’s student council president asked for all to remember those affected by the tragedy of 9-11, ten years prior. My heart skipped a beat as I felt, even deeper, the meaning of being an American. The school band and chorus joined together to lead the assembly in America’s National Anthem. It felt funny to stand on South African soil and sing the words of another country’s anthem. That didn’t stop me from proudly joining the collection of voices – standing a little taller as I did.

The parade took the format of the opening ceremonies at the Olympics. Each country, in alphabetical order, was announced and then walked around the inside perimeter of the square. Some countries had a single representative who strode along, while others marched seemingly endlessly. Little 4-year olds walked side by side with young adults. Cameras flashed and flags waved. It was inspiring to stand aside as faces from all parts of the world passed me by. I was reminded just how big the world really is, and yet how we are all so similar.  

Finally, it was our turn. Like a wave rolls onto shore, American students and staff spilled onto the parade route waving the stars and stripes. I giggled with happiness, walked with pride, and smiled with every ounce of home that filled me in those moments. It’s one thing to wear red, white, and blue on the Fourth of July in the states, but it’s completely different to wear the colors of a country I love so much in a world that is 8,000 miles away.

As the Americans trickled off the grass path, a child’s voice asked for all to stand as the National Anthem of South Africa began playing. Red, Yellow, Green and Black began parading around the square complete with loud applause. Flags swooshed through the air, painted faces smiled back at the crowd, and citizens of South Africa passed by all the foreigners who were temporarily calling this country home. I took a step back with a strong realization that for the first time in my life, I was a visitor to the country I was residing in. This was the first national celebration I have ever been to where my country isn’t calling itself host. It wasn’t a sad feeling. It was a reminder that I am not home but rather in a time in my life I will never forget – a place outside of my comfort zone where I can learn more about who I am, why I am proud to wear the red, white, and blue, and who I want to be in the future. 

Copy and Paste this link into your web browser to see my PARADE OF NATIONS photo album:

https://picasaweb.google.com/108109032757034854564/ParadeOfNationsAISJ?authkey=Gv1sRgCOLgmffRvpWaVA

Tour of My New Place

I FINALLY FIGURED OUT HOW TO UPLOAD A VIDEO TO MY BLOG!!

Here is a look around my new place. Thanks to our new friends Marcus and Beth, I finally have things on my walls! (It's nice to have friends with a serious tool box!) Chelsea lives right next door to me, so tonight (3 weeks ago now) we made dinner for Marcus and Beth in exchange for Marcus' hammer, nails, and male expertise! As we sat down to eat at Chels' table, I was really happy. It felt nice to be around good people with a good home-cooked meal in an apartment with "home" on the walls.

A Foreign Land for More Than Just Me

September 8, 2011

My career as an educator has been spotted with those students who excel at the English language both written and oral. It has been filled in the majority by students who are learning to properly write and speak the English language – essentially making these students English Language Learners. What separates all of my “English Language Learners” in the past from those ELL students I find myself challenged with here in South Africa is the defining characteristic of their native tongues. Learning English when your native language is English is natural. As a foreign student where English isn’t even your second spoken language, the challenges to your learning multiply! As a teacher with no true ELL experience, the challenges to my teaching multiply as well.

For over 60% of our student body, English is neither the first nor second language spoken in their homes – an incredible statistic for an AMERICAN International School. In my class alone, 5 out of my 15 students do not speak English as their first language. Of those five, two have almost no English and one has very little. I do my best to differentiate and address these students’ needs; however, the truth of the matter is, they will struggle. These students will quickly pick up the English language and the year will become easier and easier, but until then, it is painful to watch their frustrated faces grasp at every possible sound they recognize, complete activities incorrectly because they were honestly unable to understand the directions, or answer “get to know you” questions in a way that mimics another student’s response – ultimately not aiding in the whole “get to know you” process at all.

One of my students is from Portugal. Her English is very, very minimal, but I’ll be damned if that little girl doesn’t come in to class every day and try so hard you can see the exhaustion on her face. It is impressive to see these nine year olds sit through instruction day after day and not break down out of sheer exasperation. One little girl, equally as limited in her English, is from South Korea. Every morning she bounds in the classroom with a beautiful smile spread across her face, “Hi Ms. Akerley!!” When she struggles with directions it is, “Teacher! Teacher!” As I do my best to slow down my speech, approach the directions in multiple ways, and use visual clues, this little girl just smiles, nods her head, thanks me, and walks away. Most of the time, by some miracle, she gets me. Other times, the smile and happy nod stay with her to her desk as she incorrectly completes the given activity. As an almost 30 year old, I can say with confidence that I would not have the same resiliency if I were in this little girl’s position.

Some of my favorite moments in class has been those when my Portuguese student is aided in her understanding by another student of mine who speaks Spanish. Studies show that translating for ELL students is not helpful. My opinion – if those moments of clarity can help this little girl keep her sanity – go for it! As I sit back and listen to their Spanish/Portuguese dialogue, I am not only in awe of the language piece, but impressed by my Spanish student’s ability to support and clarify for a peer.  The translation has not stopped with the Spanish languages. One of my male students, who has a better understanding of English but it still very limited, has begun supporting my South Korean student. This little boy traveled to South Africa last year from South Korea, and he has clearly taken it upon himself to help support his culturally matched friend. Today, as I was trying my best to explain directions to my Portuguese student, this little boy noticed the South Korean student needed assistance, and before I knew it, he was standing at her desk reviewing directions with her. Adorable!

Given time, these students will need less and less support. English will always be more difficult for them, but I am confident that things will improve for them. Already I can see the mimicked responses lessening and the students finding strategies to help themselves. Yesterday, in an attempt to explain something she was proud of (our Closing Circle question), my Portuguese student was struggling to find the words in English for what she wanted to say. My ever-so-helpful Spanish speaker stepped in to assist. The Portuguese girl looked at the Spanish girl and said, “Nada, Nada,” which I took to mean she was going to get this on her own. Brave girl!

There are many moments where I feel extremely helpless with these students and wish I had a translator at my side. Learning that I had this many ELL students made me nervous and very apprehensive about this new teaching opportunity. However, as the year has begun and my awe increased at the courage of these nine year olds, I am glad to accept this new learning opportunity! 

"Who am I, Your maid?"

September 2, 2011

I spend my days reminding 4^th graders to pick up after themselves. Push your chair in. Somebody throw that piece of paper away. You are not ready to be dismissed until your tables look ready. You dropped that – pick it up. I remind myself that when I was their age I left trails of crap behind me just as much. I can still here my mum asking, “Who am I, your maid?” as I left messes or didn’t replace items to their homes. 

Today, as I returned home from work, I thought of those words moms and teachers are so good at spitting out, and I answered to no one: “No, you’re not, but Maria is!”

Allow me to introduce Maria. I have actually never met Maria in person, but I know she is a South African woman and she likes tea. She is a hard working woman who spends her week bouncing back and forth from apartment to apartment here in my complex. Maria is my new maid. As hypocritical as the previous statement may be, let me defend myself by saying that my decision to have a maid is directly improving South Africa. As a temporary citizen of the Republic of South Africa, I feel it is my duty to do my part to stimulate the economy. Not to mention, I am providing a salary for Maria. AND, let’s face it – I am not that messy of a person, so it can’t be that hard to clean my place! ;)

So, how does it work? Well, Chelsea and I actually split Maria’s time one day a week. She comes on Fridays from 8 until 3pm. We each pay her 100Rand a day, which amounts to just over $14.  She washes the dishes, mops the floor (which is great because I HATE mopping, and I have all tile/wooden floors!), cleans the bathrooms, dusts, vacuums rugs, and does the laundry. She washes, line dries, and even irons – EVERYTHING, and by everything, I am including my undies!! One day, she even cleaned Chelsea’s running sneakers! It’s like magic. On Friday mornings, I leave my apartment somewhat a mess, and when I return home – voila! It’s immaculate! My favorite part (aside from the ironed underwear) is the absence of breadcrumbs under the toaster! Sounds silly, I know, but that is an area in my former kitchens that has always been neglected!

I never imagined I’d be the kind of person who hired a maid. I pride myself on cleanliness and responsibility, but as I sit here with an overflowing laundry basket hovering in the corner of my room and breakfast dishes waiting in the sink, I can’t help but wonder – has South Africa changed me?! J

It Exists!

I found Skippy Peanut Butter at the grocery store!! No more chalky Black Cat! South Africa has Skippy! Enough said.

Oh, and speaking of vices, for those who know me well - I have only had ONE Diet Coke in the past 6 weeks, and it tasted like regular Coke - so, looks like my addiction may (temporarily) be a thing of the past!

Happy Spring Day!

September 1, 2011

Yesterday, I wrote my morning message to the students – beginning with,  “The weather is starting to warm up! Can you believe that spring is just around the corner?” Apparently, I need to learn my South African seasons because the “corner” I was referring to, happens to be today!

As I was driving in to work this morning, freezing my hands as I gripped my glass of homemade ice coffee (Nescafe, milk, and ice) and listening to Jacaranda 94.2 (the only radio station I know and listen to – mostly because I like how it switches from English to Afrikaans randomly), I learned that today – September 1^st officially marks the first day of spring here in South Africa. In my naïve American mind, I had assumed that when fall begins in the States, spring begins here. Oops!

The only thing that made me feel better about this casual blunder was the fact that when I asked my two South African 4^th graders if today was the first day of spring, they both looked at me with blank stares. Chenika followed with a shrug of her shoulders, and Daniele declared, “Yes it is. I think it is. Well, I’m not sure if it is.” None of use could get out of our own way on this issue! One hour later, my South African teammate confirmed that yes, today is the first day of spring, it’s the only “first day of” the country officially celebrates, and oh yea – the rain is on its way! :-/

Happy First Day of Spring! 

Pilanesburg Game Park

August 26 – 28^th

Over the past several years, camping has become a large part of my life. Every summer I attempt to fit in a few trips. This summer, what with the whole changing my life thing, I was unable to camp in New Hampshire prior to my departure date. I was extremely disappointed, but I reminded myself that in a short time I’d be camping in a world I’d never known before. Where I had once been aware of raccoons and bear, I was now prepared to be on the look out for scouring monkeys! Pilanesburg promised to be an incredible experience – and it didn’t disappoint.

The sun sets fairly early here in South Africa this time of year. Chelsea and I managed to set up our borrowed tent in plenty of time to grab our camping chairs, a beer, and socialize with the others before darkness settled in. My stomach was feeling better, and relaxing in sweatpants and a sweatshirt increased my contentment.  A total of nearly 90 people attended the retreat, and all of them were gathered an hour or so after sunset in the Boma area for a braai (local word for BBQ). The food was delicious; the fire was decent (I’ve seen many high quality fires in my days! I’m hard to impress J ); and the company was excellent. After some lame excuses for smores (SAfrica is not home to graham crackers), some reminiscing of hiring stories, and tales of safaris past from the returning staff members, I decided to call it a night early with the hopes of feeling even better by morning.

My alarm woke me from a surprisingly solid sleep at 5:30am. The park opened at 6:30 for the first drive. From the warmth of my borrowed sleeping bag, I could hear the now familiar calls of birds mixed with a new hollering sound – a sound I could only assume came from the monkeys lurking in the trees on the outskirts of the camping area just waiting to raid our tents. We brushed our teeth, dressed in multiple layers, grabbed a box of Honey Nut Cheerios for sustenance, and climbed into Kaitlyn’s car with cameras in hand. Chelsea had scored us seats in our new friend’s car the night before – an incredibly lucky win! This meant we each had a window to roll down and look out of as opposed to cramming onto a bus with only a few windows that opened and at least a dozen others vying for the spots. With the sun rising above the ridges of the mountains, we passed through the gates and into the wild.

Not long into the drive I realized I had not brought my extra batteries and my camera was not far from running out. I was overcome with disappointment and had to force myself not to miss the incredible views around me because of my lack of battery life. This was not an easy task being that I truly enjoy taking photographs. After some wildebeest sightings and a stop off at a hide overlooking a watering hole, which gave no opportunity for pictures, we drove by a general store (the one and only inside the park) and I eased my troubles with some double A batteries! Now, I was free to snap away.

Over the course of the next five hours, the four of us drove around a large portion of the park. Kaitlyn, who happens to love game drives, was an incredible guide with lots of useful information about the animals we were seeing. I learned many things, but particulary enjoyed finding out that when you see impalas and wildebeest alone, it is because they have been ousted by their herds. Apparently, male impalas travel with a harem of around 12 lady impalas. The males will all but starve themselves to ensure they protect their “belongings.” The lack of food makes them weaker, and consequently, other males (looking for harems of their own) will attack and try to steal the females. In addition, wildebeest will be found separated from their herds when they have “messed up.” Males can be kicked out of the herd and left alone if they fail to perform or cause problems. Nature is a wonderful thing!

Although I took many pictures of the wildebeest at first glance, they quickly became the squirrels of South Africa, and no longer was I desperate to capture their boney, black and grey bodies on film. We saw many impalas and bucks of varying kinds grazing in the dry grass. Giraffes were all over the place, but with their awkward bodies and beautiful markings, I never grew tired of seeing them. We saw a very limited amount of elephant from a far distance, as well as a few rhino from afar, which was very disappointing. However, the small group of hippos we saw resting alongside a watering hole made up for that, and the elusive leopard we happen to witness stalking near a tree just about topped the weekend! Apparently seeing a leopard is not likely. Thanks to Corinne and her fantastic eyesight, this moment easily goes down as one of the top.

Pilanesburg Game Park is actually set within the caldera of an old volcano. The land we explored rests among gorgeous mountains and is scattered with vegetation and water spots. Although the land is very dry and brown due to the winter season and lack of rain, it was extremely breathtaking. As far as you could see, nature showed itself in the most gorgeous of ways. Whether it was the blue sky juxtaposed with the brown rolling hills or the twisted and mangled trunks of trees I’ve never seen before, Pilanesburg was a welcome change from the developed, traffic-laden land of JoBurg.

A shower was first on my agenda after returning from our 5 and a half hour game drive (I am not a fan of showering while camping, but if the facilities are there – I’m not going to deny it!). Some downtime filled the next few hours, during which I was able to chat with some women I hope to become better friends with. At about 3:30, Chelsea and I, equipped with some more snacks, climbed into the back of Marcus and Beth’s Pugeot and took off for Round #2. 

Our goals were to see elephant and rhino up close, and for Beth and Marcus to catch a glimpse of the leopard. No leopard sightings, very little progress in the search of close encounters with rhinos, but we checked off close sightings of elephants! As we were snapping pictures of a young elephant eating some grass just off the side of the road, we inched the car forward – right in the path of the mama elephant and another baby! “Should I back up? Should I back up? Should I back up?” Marcus repeated as the three of us scrambled to take pictures out the window of the massive creature about 30 meters away from us! With giggles, delight, and excited exclamations, we left the Pugeot right where it was and snapped picture after picture of the (now) family of 5 elephants grazing less than 200 feet away – who could care less that we were near by.

Fueled by the high of such an incredible experience and motivated by the less than half an hour we had to exit the park, we took off down the road back toward the front gate. We stopped to take some pictures of giraffe and zebra foraging alongside the mountain. Of course the better shots always come from outside the car, but since a park official had spoken us to earlier about getting out of the car, we decided the next best thing was to sit in the windows! As silly as if we were running on no sleep and nitrous oxide, Chelsea, Beth, and I rode nearly the rest of the drive with our butts resting on the doors and our upper bodies taking in the clean SAfrican air. In that moment I forgot I had only just met Beth and Marcus 3 short weeks ago and become closer with Chelsea – I was among good people having an incredible experience, with majestic mountains and wild African animals as the backdrop to it all.

Another braai, a substantially better fire, and even more quality conversation filled the time between our return and my bedtime. Seven hours later, my alarm woke me again to a new day and one final game drive with Marcus and Beth. Our mission today was to find the lions. Apparently, the night before while we were hanging out car windows, another group witnessed a lion attack on a young elephant. Three lionesses attempted to take a baby down, but to no avail. The adult elephants surrounded the lions and eventually made it away safely. However, it was easy to assume that as darkness fell, those lionesses were going to attempt their attack again, and we hoped to spot the remnants of it that morning. Also on our goal list was to get up close and personal with some rhino and that hidden leopard.  Although we managed to find the tree the leopard was said to be resting in, we were not successful in spotting it again. Without binoculars it’s hard to say I saw them, but the three lionesses were prowling far off in the distance along the mountainside. Four hippos were sound asleep in a watering hole we passed. “Are those rocks? Nope! They’re hippos!!”

The highlight of the morning, aside from the incredibly delicious breakfast buffet we partook in at a local lodge, was our close encounter with a rhino. We almost drove by it originally but managed to spot its enormous leathery body snacking off in the trees. Marcus backed up to allow for better pictures, and as he did, the rhino meandered through the trees and tall grass – right toward our car. It was not in a threatening way, but rather in a “I don’t care if you staring at me – I have places to go” kind of way. With windows rolled down completely, we chronicled its journey out of the trees, onto the road directly behind our car, and across to the awaiting grass. It’s grey, leathery skin wrinkled as it lugged its massive body across the dirt road. It’s tiny, beady eyes watched us as it’s tusk led it in the direction of food. As quickly as the rhino had approached our car and passed it, he was gone. That just happened!

Our journey to Pilanesburg ended as the busses pulled away at 10:45am. The campsite was empty and void of all AISJ employees. Our retreat was over but it had certainly proven to be a most incredible experience. Thinking about my weekend, filled with three of South Africa’s BIG 5, loads of other wild animals, and the makings of some great new friendships, I felt content. My life is exciting and slowly filling with experiences I will never forget!