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.