Stream of Consciousness

To be more specific, it's stream of consciousness at three a.m. - so don't say I didn't warn you!

So, I made it safely back to Africa. Despite a minor plane malfunction that left me hanging out in the Dakar, Senegal airport for an hour or so. But I’m back…for a little while anyway.

I cried a little in the Atlanta airport and again as the plane was taking off, but I don’t feel as empty as I did the last time I came back from visiting home. Perhaps it’s because I know I will be going back to the US in just a few short months. Or maybe it’s because coming back to Africa this time meant being reunited with Roger. Or maybe I’m just more okay with living here than I was five months ago.

When so many of you ask me how I like living in South Africa, I don’t know what to say. Usually I go with something like “I’m enjoying it, but it’s certainly not forever,” or “I love the adventure, but of course I’m a little homesick.” Both statements are true, but also intentionally vague. The truth is – the answer is more complicated than small-talk allows.

In those first months, had you asked me if I liked living here, I would have said yes whether it was true or not. In fact, I hardly gave myself a chance to truly evaluate the question for fear of discovering the answer wasn’t what I wanted it to be. I suppose I thought that if I said it enough, it would eventually be true.

It’s a good theory. And it works, I suppose. I can now confidently say that I do like living in South Africa. But ironically, the thing I love most is also the thing that causes so much of my “angst” (then again, every good writer needs a little angst). You see, part of the reason that moving to South Africa was so attractive to me was the career change. I envisioned myself spending my days at the computer, churning out a novel or two. No more weekends spent sitting in a construction trailer or a model home. No more driving fifty miles to and from work, getting home at eight o’clock. No more verbally abusive Monday morning sales meetings. I could say goodbye to that part of my life (of course I would also say goodbye to a rather impressive income, but I was okay with that).

But now that I’m here, my days in front of the computer feel indulgent. I feel guilty. I hear a voice telling me my novels and short stories – even my blog – are a waste of time and will never amount to anything. So I try to focus more on copywriting because it generates income, thereby validating my existence somehow...

I realize now that formerly, my identity was very much tied up in my career as a real estate agent. Not so much in the title itself, but in the fact that I was financially successful, that I was a hard worker, that I was willing to sacrifice every weekend for my job. Those facts became who I was. So who am I now? Who is this girl who occasionally works and, lately, spends most of her time on vacation? I barely recognize her, and at times, I’m kind of embarrassed by her.

And yet…

Isn’t this why I agreed to come to Africa? So I could focus on my writing…enjoy life a little more…stop living to work instead of working to live?

So why am I beating myself up?

The thing is – I am the queen of “should” and “shouldn’t.” I think I’m not fully enjoying this experience because of the thousand “shoulds” running though my mind. I should be working more. I shouldn’t be eating this. I should be doing laundry. I should have a baby. I shouldn’t watch so much TV. I should be more organized. I shouldn’t travel so much. I should be making more money. I should know more about world events. I should empty the dishwasher. I should go to the gym……

It’s not that I want to banish the “shoulds” completely – sometimes they are just the kick in the pants that I need. The “shoulds” force me to set goals and demand more from myself (and occasionally empty the dishwasher!). But lately, instead of inciting action, I find myself standing still – overwhemed by everything I'm not instead of encouraging the things that I am. I'm paralyzed by the fear of failing at whatever it is that I “should” be doing. Fear of doing it wrong. Fear of saying something stupid. Fear of misunderstanding, of not knowing the answer. Fear of spending 3,000 hours on a novel and having it suck. Fear of posting my innermost thoughts on the internet and being laughed at. Fear of finding out that all of my potential doesn’t amount to much at all.

It’s late and once again my restless mind is keeping me up. This time, however, instead of lying in bed and telling myself that I “should” use my time as an insomniac to do something productive, I actually got out of bed to do it (that is, if you consider my blog productive). I tell you this so that you will forgive the “tortured soul” tone of this post. For I assure you that I’m not depressed or miserable, but doesn’t everyone feel a bit tortured when alone and awake (and sober) at three a.m.?

I recognize that this entry has been a bit all over the place. I think the literary term is “stream of consciousness” (that makes it sound better anyway). So…how did I begin this oh-so-cheery post in the first place? Oh yes, I think I was telling you that I like living in South Africa. And I do. But like I said, it’s complicated…

(I bet none of you ask me that question again!)

Inspired

Oh to be home again!

Apart from missing Roger so much my insides hurt…it’s been pretty perfect.

I’ve spent the past week hanging out with friends and family, and of course frequenting my favorite restaurants and stores. It’s been truly inspirational…as proven by the following poem:

Ode to Target
The doors swing wide as I approach;
I can almost hear angels sing.
Like a magnet the shopping cart is drawn to me,
Though I only need one thing.
I pause at women’s fashions,
But I don’t know where to start.
From Mossimo to Mizrahi…
Oh, be still my heart!
The prices are so reasonable,
The clearance rack divine.
It’s just a shame the fitting room
Only allows 6 items at a time!
I cross the aisle to accessories
Where the sunglasses are so chic,
And the purses are so pretty –
I buy one for each day of the week!
Then I stroll by the men’s department,
And I feel a bit of shame.
Should I buy something for my husband,
Other than a video game?
Perhaps a pair of pajama pants
Or mabye a funny tee.
Nah, who am I kidding…
All he wants is Guitar Hero III!
I move on to the media section –
CD’s, DVD’s, and books.
I download most of my music now,
But I still want to take a look
Because there’s something about a real CD
That makes me feel so fine –
Especially when bought in this superstore
For just $10.99!
Then I begrudgingly ask the sales clerk
To open the Xbox case.
I choose a few games for Roger
Though to me it’s such a waste.
But nothing can spoil my shopping spree
And I’ve still so much more to do –
Linens, cookware, stationary…
And that’s just through aisle 22!
I make my way to home décor,
I might want towels or sheets.
I don’t know how I’ll pack it all,
But the prices you just can’t beat.
And speaking of my suitcase,
Perhaps I need one more.
I evaluate the contents of my shopping cart
And head to the back of the store.
I find the suitcase that I want
But it comes in a set of three!
I sigh in resignation,
For this can only mean one thing.
I go back up to the front of the store
To find another shopping cart.
I now have two more cases to fill
So I better make a start.
But I don’t think I’ll have a problem,
Finding more to buy today.
For here I’ll find all I’d ever want,
At Target – no – Targét!






(I said I was inspired…I didn’t say it was good!)

Frequent Flyer

Here I am – headed home again.

I’m desperate to see my family and friends…so why am I crying at the airport? This isn’t the leg of the journey where I usually shed my tears. As I stand in the security line – alone – I tell myself that this is ridiculous. Surely I can handle eleven days without my husband, right? And yet, waiting to board the plane, I feel somehow incomplete. Everything is a bit surreal. I feel off balance without him beside me.

My sudden awareness of the void created by Roger’s absence has me wondering exactly when and how this happened to me. It certainly wasn’t an immediate consequence of the words “I do.” No, this mutual dependence (and his water filled eyes as we said our goodbyes confirmed that these feelings are mutual) has been a gradual process – born out of six years of eating, drinking, sleeping, traveling, laughing, crying, and fighting together. These feelings are natural, I suppose, but this void inside of me is slightly terrifying. Have I become too dependent on Roger?

And yet, there is another void inside of me too. The void that is driving me to head home for the second time in less than ten months. I’m dying to see my friends, my mom and my sister, and yet I can’t help but feel a bit silly, returning so soon. Those closest to me assure me that it’s fine, and yet I 'm afraid this makes me a wimp. In the first five years of our marriage, Roger and I visited his family in South Africa twice. He went home two times in five years, and I’ve gone home two times in ten months! Is this another instance of me being too dependent? Am I too dependent on my friends and family?

Is it any wonder I feel like an emotional train wreck so much of the time? The things I need to feel whole – 1) Roger and 2) my family and friends – are on opposite sides of the planet! I know this won’t always be the case and yet until then, how do I reconcile this tug of war with my emotions? Obviously, my husband is first and foremost in my heart and mind, but I can’t deny the void in my life where daily contact with my family and friends once was.

I’m overdramatic. At this point, you should take that as a given. But my heightened experience of my emotions is precisely why this tug of war is so gut wrenching. Of course, tug of war implies that I’m being pulled by outside forces, but this is an internal battle. It’s a desire to be in several places at once. I know that eventually Roger and I will move back home, but even then I’m afraid the problem won’t be resolved completely. Because the longer I live in South Africa, the more I rely on my family and friends there. So, I know that when I move home there will be a new void in my heart created by Gary and Laurel’s absence. I know my heart will ache to see Connor and Dale.

To love and be loved is scary. When you do it right, it makes you extremely vulnerable. I’m blessed to have amazing people in my life. And I’m thankful to be able to put myself out there and let those people in, but the whole experience can be heartbreaking….to love so many people and never have them all in one place.

But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe the real blessing is having people to love all over the globe. And no matter where I go on this planet, I will find people who love me.

I think I can live with that…as long as I have frequent flyer miles anyway.

Lions and Zebra and Boar, Oh My

Or
Things I Learned in the Bush

1. Embrace Bugs
You will almost certainly have nightmares about Orb spiders, and you’ll probably wake up every hour certain that there is a beetle in your bed. But relax...this is Africa! And if you happen to find a spider sharing your outdoor shower, chances are it’s not poisonous. Sure, it could possibly bite you, but most likely, it won’t be too terribly painful…just itchy.

2. Mosquitos Like Tequila
While gin may be a bug repellent, tequila (even when mainlined) does not have the same effect. I am sorry to say that the participants in this experiment suffered greatly in the pursuit of this discovery.

3. African Elephants are kinda cranky.
Our ranger, Andrew, was quick to inform us that every year people die in the game reserve at the hands (or tusks) of elephants. Dumbo they’re not. And yet, when the big “daddy” peacefully came to munch on a tree just a few feet from my spot on the deck, I had to resist the urge to reach over and “pet” him. On the other hand, when we met the pregnant “mamma” on the road a few days later, my instincts told me we should put the foot on the gas. Fortunately, that’s just what Andrew did.

4. Leopards can’t change their spots, but they can definitely hide them.
When another ranger radioed in that he had seen a leopard, we drove an hour across the plains to try to get a glimpse. We didn’t see him that night, so we got up at four a.m. to try again. No such luck. A few days later though…triumph! And thanks to Gary, a photo to prove it.

5. When jogging in the bush, always take your ranger.

On the mornings we weren’t chasing leopard, Andrew drove me to the gates of the game reserve, where he and I could jog with a large fence between us and the lions (After all, we wanted to jog, not sprint!). But the fence didn’t stop the baboons. And while I think they’re pretty harmless, I was quite happy to have Andrew by my side when we were forced to pause at a “baboon crossing.” There had to be at least thirty of them.

Now, this is something I don't have to worry about in Joburg…

6. As much as you may want to, please don’t sing.
This is not a Disney movie, and the lions probably won’t appreciate your rendition of “Can You Feel the Love Tonight?” Actually, it was “I Just Can’t Wait to Be King” that got stuck in my head as we watched the little cubs at play. Magnificent.

7. Warthogs have the right idea.
Our lodge frequently hosted impala, wildebeests, and warthogs. They came to hang out at the watering hole where they had a little something to drink and spent some time frolicking in the mud.

Life is good.

Occasionally, the elephants came by too.

8. When dressing for an African themed New Year’s Eve party, make sure your costume doesn’t look better on your nephew.
Laurel went as a zebra with Connor and Dale dressed as hunters. Bryan was an Arab Sheik. I opted for an afro wig and a sash proclaiming me to be “Miss Uganda.” I’m not sure I would have won any beauty pageants though, especially since I lost my wig to Connor who looked much better with an afro than me.

If there had been a prize for best costume however, my husband would have won. He dressed up as the “Ivory Ghost”... He makes me laugh!

9. Shut up and look at the sky.
It’s mesmerizing. The stars are shinier; the sun is brighter; the clouds puffier. Words like “brilliant” and “ethereal” and “luminous” come to mind, but they don’t quite do it justice. It’s awe inspiring. Too beautiful to be real, and yet…there you are, in the middle of nowhere, viewing God’s greatest achievement and wondering how you could ever question the existence of a Creator…

10. This may not be paradise, but it's pretty close.

"Let the gardener do it..."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew how it sounded – but in all fairness, that wasn’t at all what I meant. There we were, the whole family, lounging by the pool in the middle of the African “bush.” One of the kids tosses the beach ball and it bounces off the deck and over the electric fence beneath us (there to protect us from ferocious wildlife). My brother-in-law grabs the pool net but soon announces that he can’t quite reach the inflatable ball. “Oh, let the gardener get it,” I say lazily from my spot on the deck chair. Laughter erupts from the entire family.

“Spoken like a true South African!” my sister-in-law says, still laughing.

I sit up, immediately defensive. “I didn’t mean – ”

“Soon you’ll be leaving all the dishes for the maid to do,” she adds.

“Next thing you know she’ll say ‘Ironing? What’s that?’” my mother-in-law teases.

“But that’s not what I meant – ” I say again, but there was no point. I was clearly providing the entertainment for the moment, and there was no use defending myself. And I suppose it was humorous, but the whole exchange upset me. My heart was pounding as they teased me, and I was forced to wonder if they were right…

Am I becoming a typical South African? Am I turning into someone who wants others to do my dirty work? And if so, is that so terribly wrong? I try not to judge others for paying a maid to wash every dish and iron every t-shirt and make the bed every morning, and yet something inside of me panicked at the thought that I might become like them. Sure, I pay Sheila to clean and iron once a week – but there’s a difference, isn’t there? I still make my own bed, wash my dishes, do most of my laundry, some of my ironing…Oh God, they’re right. I’m becoming a spoiled brat.

It’s a very different way of life here. Everyone seems to have a maid (sometimes two) and a gardener – if not full time, at least once a week. How much you ask that maid to do varies from person to person. She might make your bed, scrub your floors, get your groceries, cook your meals and bathe your children, or she might come in once a week to simply do the ironing. For most people, it’s somewhere in between. Most South Africans don’t sit around being waited on hand and foot. Surprisingly, even with a full time maid, people still manage to find chores and tasks to busy themselves. It’s human nature, I think, to want to be busy. God, if you could hear my mother-in-law talk about how much she does around the house, you’d never know she has a full time maid.

While my mother-in-law's martyrdom annoys me, I do respect the fact that she doesn’t leave the dinner dishes for the maid to wash the next morning, because a lot of people do. After a dinner party, I always jump up to help wash the dishes but I’ve slowly noticed that no one else ever offers to help. At first I thought my friends and acquaintances just didn’t have very nice manners, but I’ve finally realized that when the hostess says “Just leave the dishes,” she doesn’t mean just leave them and she will take care of it after the party; she means just leave them for the maid to do in the morning. The other guests don’t offer to help because it’s not actually helping the hostess, it’s helping the hostess’s maid.

I’m sure I’m generalizing here, and my few South African readers may feel that I’m misrepresenting them which is not my intention. I certainly don’t mean to imply that South Africans are lazy or that they don’t know how to operate a dishwasher – I can assure you that they do – but whenever possible they will pay someone else to do it. And come on, if you’re being honest…wouldn’t you do the same?

Everyone has fantasies of winning the lottery and hiring someone to do the cooking and the cleaning and all the other annoying tasks associated with day to day living. But in reality – it makes me a bit uncomfortable. I’m not sure I want to be the kind of person who never makes a bed or folds laundry. Or perhaps the real source of my uneasiness stems from the fact that I haven’t won the lottery. I can only afford to have a maid once a week because I’m taking advantage of a system that doesn’t seem quite fair. Domestic help is extremely cheap in this country.

I’m not sure what it says about me – that I exploit this unethical system on a weekly basis. Whenever I voice my concerns, people say that paying the maids more would only disrupt the “system.” It’s ridiculous, I know. The idea is that if we paid the maids much more, most people couldn’t afford them and a hell of a lot of women would be out of work. It’s kind of true, I guess. If we paid Sheila what she was worth, we certainly couldn’t afford to hire her one full day a week. I don’t know. Maybe I’m simply rationalizing. Maybe my family here is right. Maybe I’m turning into a South African.

It’s a good thing that I’m going home later this month; I clearly need a healthy dose of reality.


(As for my trip to the bush…I will post some photos later this week!)